“Oh! Then I might have been a stranger?”
“Yes, of course. I saw six men attacking one, and—”
“Oh, come, he ain’t got such a bad heart as I thought,” said the old soldier. “And you did behave very well. I did feel a bit proud of you. But never mind that; we have got something else to talk about,” said Serge, as he rearranged his armour and picked up his wallet and spear. “Now then, let’s get back at once, and mind this, if you attempt to give me the slip—”
“Give you the slip! Get back!” cried Marcus, excitedly. “What do you mean by get back at once?”
“Why, get back home to your books and that there wax scratcher to do as your father said. This is a pretty game, upon my word!”
“But I am not going back, Serge,” cried the boy, firmly. “I am going to join my father.”
“You are not going to join your father,” said the old soldier, sturdily. “You’ve run away like one of them village ragged-jacks, and I am ashamed of you, that’s what I am. But ’shamed or no ’shamed, I’ve catched you and I am going to take you back.”
“No!” cried Marcus, fiercely.
“Nay, boy, it’s yes, so make no more bones about it.”
“I am going to join my father, sir, and answer to him, not to his servant.”