army moved off in perfect order from their camp
upon the hill, a message came to where Marcus was marching on one side
of his father's horse, Serge limping stiffly along on the other, that
the boy was to come forward to join his cohort at once, by the general's
orders; and Marcus started upon seeing that the messenger, at the head
of ten stern-looking veterans, was the young officer who had fetched him
to the general's tent.

There was a brief and soldierly leave-taking, and then Marcus was
hurrying forward with his guide, who began at once to falter out
hurriedly his apologies for his former treatment of the boy.

"I didn't know," he said. "I couldn't tell who you were. I thought you
were to be a prisoner brought in as a traitorous Roman who had been
fighting on the enemy's side."

"Don't say a word more," cried Marcus, holding out his hand, and, the
best of friends directly, the young officer began to tell him how all
that he had done was known in the cohort, and how proud the men were to
have Cracis' son appointed to join their ranks.

"Ah," said Serge, as soon as he could get an opportunity to speak to
Marcus alone, "do you see how I am marching now, my lad?"

"Oh, I have been watching you all the way," cried Marcus, "and pitying
you."

"What!" growled the old soldier.

"You seemed so lame and in such pain. I don't know what has become of
our chariot, but as that's gone you ought to be in one of the litters
carried by the slaves."

"Wha-a-at!" growled the old soldier, making the interjection as long in
its utterance as half a dozen six-syllabled words. "Well, I do call
this hard! The knocking about you have had must have got into your
head, my lad, and upset your eyes. Why, you can't see a bit!"

"What do you mean?" cried Marcus.

"Why, this, boy. When I began to march after that young cockerel had
brought the orders, I was so stiff that I could hardly put one leg
before the other; but the very news of you being appointed to take your
place in one of the leading cohorts of the army has acted like salve,
and all my stiffness is as good as gone. Carried in a litter by slaves!
Me! Do I look the sort of fellow who wants carrying in a litter like a
sick woman? Bah! Why, before we get far on the march we shall have the
enemy closing in on all sides, and the fight beginning."

"Think so, Serge?"

"Yes, my boy. We have got our work cut out, for they'll never believe
till it's knocked into them tha