“Now then,” he cried, and he caught Marcus by the wrists, and a struggle seemed to be imminent.
“Serge!” cried Marcus, angrily.
“Your orders were to stay at home, sir, and home you go,” cried the old soldier. “If you will be carried back like a scrap of a little child, why, carried you shall be. So give up. I’m twice as strong as you, and it’s your father’s commands.”
“Hah!” cried Marcus, ceasing his struggles on the instant, and leaving his wrists tightly clasped in the old soldier’s hands.
“Well, what are you ‘hah-ing’ about?” cried Serge, as he noted the suddenly triumphant tones of the boy’s voice.
“I was thinking about my father’s orders,” cried Marcus, in a state of wild excitement now.
“Good boy; and quite time. Pity you didn’t think more of ’em and much sooner. Then you’re going to mind me without more fuss, and come home like a good boy now?”
“No,” cried Marcus, fiercely. “I am going on to my father. I will not stir a step backward now.”
“What!” cried Serge, as fiercely now, for the old man was roused by the boy’s obstinacy. “You won’t obey?”
“No,” cried Marcus, catching his companion by the top of his breast armour. “It’s my turn now. Look here, sir; you talk about my father’s commands.”