from the table and made for the door.

"Won't you say good-bye, Marcus?" cried Serge, pitifully.

"No," was the short, sharp reply. "What's the good? But stop a moment.
I'd better go and shut up Lupus, or he'll come bounding after us and we
shan't get rid of him again."

"Oh!" roared the old soldier, angrily, and he dashed his bundle and
staff across the room to the corner from which they had been taken.
"You're both of you too much for me."

"Come on, Serge, old fellow," said Marcus, softly, as he took his old
companion by the arm. "Shall I come in to father with you?"

"No!" growled Serge. "I'm going to be beat, and I'll go alone."

The next minute his steps were heard plodding heavily towards his
master's study, and, as he listened Marcus burst out into a merry,
silent laugh.

"Poor old Serge!" he said. "How father hurt his feelings! He'll never
leave us while he lives, but I believe if he had gone away it would have
broken his heart. Well, that's all over, and things will be all right
again."

The boy stood thinking for a few minutes, and then he sighed.

"My poor old sword and shield," he said, half aloud; "and the helmet and
armour too! Oh, how grand it was! When I had them on I used to feel as
if I was marching with a successful army coming from the wars, and now
it's all over and I must sit and read and write, and the days will seem
so dull with nothing exciting, nothing bright, no war in the future--
Yes, there will be," he cried; "there'll be those boys. They'll be
coming on again as the grapes turn black. Yes," he went on, with a
merry laugh, "and if they come I'll make some of them turn black. No
war! I'll make war with them, with old Serge and Lupus for allies. And
then the winter will come again, and there'll be the wolves. Why,
there'll be plenty to think of, after all."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

COMPANY COMES.

"I want to go out," said Marcus to himself, one morning, as he sat at
the little table exclusively his.

There was a small volume, a double roll tied round by a band of silk,
his tablets and stylus were before him, the latter quite blank, and the
window was open, giving him a glorious view of the distant, sunlit
mountains, while the air that was wafted in through the vine leaves was
rich in delicious odours that came gratefully to his nostrils.

"But I can't go out," he said; "I have all that writing to do, and the
first thing when father comes back will be to ask me ho