“And I have been expecting that we might come upon them at any moment,” said Marcus, with a sigh of relief. “Then we shan’t see them till we get there?”
“And like enough not then,” said Serge, with a grim smile; “so you may make yourself comfortable about this scolding that’s got to come, for it won’t be yet.”
“But we shall see my father as soon as we get to the army.”
“Some time perhaps,” said Serge; “but the army will be miles long perhaps on the march, and it’s hard work, boy, to find one in a hundred thousand men.”
“Then we may not find him!” cried Marcus, in an agonised tone.
“Well, no, my lad, but you may make your mind happy about that. One man’s not bound to find his general, but his general’s pretty sure to find him, or the legion he is in. There, don’t you fidget about that. If you and me hadn’t done any harm we should be pretty safe, but so sure as one does what one ought not to do, one may make up one’s mind that he’ll be found out.”
The rest was pleasant, but Marcus did not feel so satisfied in his own mind when they started once again on the tramp.
It was on the evening of a hot and wearying day that Marcus sat in a shady grove, gladly resting, while Serge was relieving him of his armour and carefully hanging it piece by piece from, one or other of the branches by which they were surrounded.
“Grand thing, armour,” said the old soldier, as he watched the tired boy from the corners of his eyes.
Marcus started from a waking dream of Rome and its glories as he pictured it in his own mind.