"So am I," said the boy, delighted; Eric's acknowledgment of an ignorance which coincided with his own seemed to bring them nearer to each other.
They passed over a plat where men were weeding and putting the ground in order. A little old man, with a shy but shrewd look, was at work; he took off his cap, and said good-morning. "Have you seen my father?" asked Roland. "He is over there," replied the little man, pointing toward the green-houses.
The long green-houses, constructed of pale-blue glass, came in sight. A door stood open, within which a fountain was to be seen, in whose gray marble basin lay blocks of stone with water plants growing in all their crevices. Some of the trees which needed protection from the winter were still here, and a few which did not thrive had thick wrappings on trunk and branches.
They heard a voice. "There he is in the cold-house," said Roland. Eric told him to turn back now, as he had something to say to his father alone.
The boy stood as if rooted to the spot. In Eric's manner of ordering him to go, there was an air of such irresistible authority that he did not know what to make of it.
As Eric went forward, the boy stood motionless, then turned, snapped his fingers, and whistled to himself.
Drawing a long breath, Eric stopped a moment to collect himself. What if this boy were related to him by blood, and he were to find here his missing uncle? Walking slowly and composedly, he entered the open door of the green-house.
CHAPTER III.
THE FLAG IS HOISTED.
"Who's there? what do you want?" was asked by a form as it raised itself up from a bed of black earth. A coarse, gray, sacklike linen garment covered the form from head to foot; it was like that worn by convicts, or rather, by the insane.