“Poor fellow!” cried the Major irritably. “There, again!”
“I told him to pick it up and bring it in,” continued Archie firmly; and the Major grunted, for he was evidently cooling down.
“There! Humph! Dinner,” grunted the Major again. “Now, quick! What have you got to say?”
Archie was silent for a few moments, for the simple reason that he could not speak, only stand trying to gaze steadily in the eyes of the fine old officer, who was watching him intently with a look that forced him to speak at last; but even then his voice shook a little, in spite of his efforts to make it firm and loud. Then the word that had struggled for utterance came, and it was in Latin:
“Peccavi.”
It was only that word, but it was enough to make the old Major lean forward, clap one hand on the lad’s shoulder, and half-whisper:
“Spoken like your father’s son!” and then, as the door behind him opened, he half-shouted, “Coming!” Then to his companion, “Now, my lad—dinner!”