The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ dropped, everything dropped, even Samavia. The Rat was up and on his crutches as if some magic force had swung him there. How he gave the command, or if he gave it at all, not even he himself knew. But the Squad stood at salute.

      Loristan was standing at the opening of the archway as Marco had stood that first day. He raised his right hand in return salute and came forward.

      “I was passing the end of the street and remembered the Barracks was here,” he explained. “I thought I should like to look at your men, Captain.”

      He smiled, but it was not a smile which made his words really a joke. He looked down at the chalk map drawn on the flagstones.

      “You know that map well,” he said. “Even I can see that it is Samavia. What is the Secret Party doing?”

      “The messengers are trying to find a way in,” answered Marco.

      “We can get in there,” said The Rat, pointing with a crutch. “There’s a forest where we could hide and find out things.”

      “Reconnoiter,” said Loristan, looking down. “Yes. Two stray boys could be very safe in a forest. It’s a good game.”

      That he should be there! That he should, in his own wonderful way, have given them such a thing as this. That he should have cared enough even to look up the Barracks, was what The Rat was thinking. A batch of ragamuffins they were and nothing else, and he standing looking at them with his fine smile. There was something about him which made him seem even splendid. The Rat’s heart thumped with startled joy.

      “Father,” said Marco, “will you watch The Rat drill us? I want you to see how well it is done.”

      “Captain, will you do me that honor?” Loristan said to The Rat, and to even these words he gave the right tone, neither jesting nor too serious. Because it was so right a tone, The Rat’s pulses beat only with exultation. This god of his had looked at his maps, he had talked of his plans, he had come to see the soldiers who were his work! The Rat began his drill as if he had been reviewing an army.

      What Loristan saw done was wonderful in its mechanical exactness.

      The Squad moved like the perfect parts of a perfect machine. That they could so do it in such space, and that they should have accomplished such precision, was an extraordinary testimonial to the military efficiency and curious qualities of this one hunchbacked, vagabond officer.

      “That is magnificent!” the spectator said, when it was over. “It could not be better done. Allow me to congratulate you.”

      He shook The Rat’s hand as if it had been a man’s, and, after he had shaken it, he put his own hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder and let it rest there as he talked a few minutes to them all.

      He kept his talk within the game, and his clear comprehension of it added a flavor which even the dullest member of the Squad was elated by. Sometimes you couldn’t understand toffs when they made a shy at being friendly, but you could understand him, and he stirred up your spirits. He didn’t make jokes with you, either, as if a chap had to be kept grinning. After the few minutes were over, he went away. Then they sat down again in their circle and talked about him, because they could talk and think about nothing else. They stared at Marco furtively, feeling as if he were a creature of another world because he had lived with this man. They stared at The Rat in a new way also. The wonderful-looking hand had rested on his shoulder, and he had been told that what he had done was magnificent.

      “When you said you wished your father could have seen the drill,” said The Rat, “you took my breath away. I’d never have had the cheek to think of it myself—and I’d never have dared to let you ask him, even if you wanted to do it. And he came himself! It struck me dumb.”

      “If he came,” said Marco, “it was because he wanted to see it.”

      When they had finished talking, it was time for Marco and The Rat to go on their way. Loristan had given The Rat an errand. At a certain hour he was to present himself at a certain shop and receive a package.

      “Let him do it alone,” Loristan said to Marco. “He will be better pleased. His desire is to feel that he is trusted to do things alone.”

      So they parted at a street corner, Marco to walk back to No. 7 Philibert Place, The Rat to execute his commission. Marco turned into one of the better streets, through which he often passed on his way home. It was not a fashionable quarter, but it contained some respectable houses in whose windows here and there were to be seen neat cards bearing the word “Apartments,” which meant that the owner of the house would let to lodgers his drawing-room or sitting-room suite.

      As Marco walked up the street, he saw some one come out of the door of one of the houses and walk quickly and lightly down the pavement. It was a young woman wearing an elegant though quiet dress, and a hat which looked as if it had been bought in Paris or Vienna. She had, in fact, a slightly foreign air, and it was this, indeed, which made Marco look at her long enough to see that she was also a graceful and lovely person. He wondered what her nationality was. Even at some yards’ distance he could see that she had long dark eyes and a curved mouth which seemed to be smiling to itself. He thought she might be Spanish or Italian.

      He was trying to decide which of the two countries she belonged to, as she drew near to him, but quite suddenly the curved mouth ceased smiling as her foot seemed to catch in a break in the pavement, and she so lost her balance that she would have fallen if he had not leaped forward and caught her.

      She was light and slender, and he was a strong lad and managed to steady her. An expression of sharp momentary anguish crossed her face.

      “I hope you are not hurt,” Marco said.

      She bit her lip and clutched his shoulder very hard with her slim hand.

      “I have twisted my ankle,” she answered. “I am afraid I have twisted it badly. Thank you for saving me. I should have had a bad fall.”

      Her long, dark eyes were very sweet and grateful. She tried to smile, but there was such distress under the effort that Marco was afraid she must have hurt herself very much.

      “Can you stand on your foot at all?” he asked.

      “I can stand a little now,” she said, “but I might not be able to stand in a few minutes. I must get back to the house while I can bear to touch the ground with it. I am so sorry. I am afraid I shall have to ask you to go with me. Fortunately it is only a few yards away.”

      “Yes,” Marco answered. “I saw you come out of the house. If you will lean on my shoulder, I can soon help you back. I am glad to do it. Shall we try now?”

      She had a gentle and soft manner which would have appealed to any boy. Her voice was musical and her enunciation exquisite.

      Whether she was Spanish or Italian, it was easy to imagine her a person who did not always live in London lodgings, even of the better class.

      “If you please,” she answered him. “It is very kind of you. You are very strong, I see. But I am glad to have only a few steps to go.”

      She rested on his shoulder as well as on her umbrella, but it was plain that every movement gave her intense pain. She caught her lip with her teeth, and Marco thought she turned white. He could not help liking her. She was so lovely and gracious and brave. He could СКАЧАТЬ