Where first we learned the soldier’s skill;
The green, the field, the barracks grim,
The years that come shall not avail
To blot from us the mem’ry dear
Of Fardale—fair Fardale.”
“Fair Fardale!”—that was the song. How often Frank had joined in singing it when a boy at Fardale Military Academy. No wonder Frank knew it well! By the time the stanza was finished the singers were much nearer, and their words could be plainly distinguished. Dulzura and his tools were astounded, but the man urged them still more fiercely to accomplish their task before the singers could arrive.
The singing of that song, however, seemed to redouble Merry’s wonderful strength and skill. He was now like a flashing phantom as he leaped, and dodged, and swung, and thrust with the heavy staff. His heart was beating high, and he felt that he could not be defeated then.
Finally the baffled and wondering assailants seemed to pause and draw back. Frank retreated toward the wall and stood waiting, his stick poised. The musical voices of the unseen singers broke into the chorus, and involuntarily Frank joined them, his own clear voice floating through the evening air:
“Then sing of Fardale, fair Fardale!
Your voices raise in joyous praise