“Why, Serge,” he cried, “I’ve been hunting for you everywhere! Ah! What are you doing there?”
Without waiting for an answer, the boy drew sharply back, ran to an open doorway, entered and made his way at once into Serge’s room, a rough museum in its way of the odds and ends of one who acted as herdsman, gardener, and general odd man to the master of the little country Roman villa.
“Why, I have just come in time!”
“Oh, here you are, then,” said Serge, ignoring the boy’s question. “Well, what did the master say about the broken vines?”
“Nothing,” replied Marcus.
“Well, about your cuts and bruises?”
“Nothing,” said the boy again.
“He must have said something, seeing how you’re knocked about.”
“No, he must not.”
“What!”