"'Hew down the bridge, sir consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me
Will hold the foe in bay,—
In yon straight path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand
And keep the bridge with me?'"
"Did they talk in po'try?" inquired Ginevra with awe.
"Sometimes," said Miss Billy. "And two other brave men volunteered to go with him. The three crossed the bridge together, and boldly faced the army on the other side." The little Canarys showed signs of restlessness, and the young Murphys yawned, so Miss Billy went on hastily. "Of course there was a terrible battle there. Every time a man set foot on the bridge Horatius or one of his companions would rush upon him and slay him."
"How? With a spearer?" inquired Aaron Levi with interest.
The story teller nodded. "Till seven men lay dead, and Horatius himself was wounded in the shoulder. The big army stood still. Their chief was killed, and no soldier dared to move. Meanwhile the Romans had been at work at the bridge with their axes, and it hung over the river just ready to fall. The three men knew they must get back before it dropped. They started, but the great bridge cracked, and went down with a crash like thunder. Two of the men had time to get over safely, but Horatius was too late. He had darted back, and stood all alone on the bank of the river, with the enemy before him, and the broad river behind him. And then what do you think he did?"
"Speared 'em some more," suggested Aaron Levi.
"Died fer his country," quavered Ginevra.
"Waded home," said Fridoline.
"No, the water was too deep. He sheathed his sword, and faint and weary though he was, plunged into the raging flood."
"Gee!" ejaculated Launcelot.