It was early morning of a midsummer day, and a dozen or more boys, between the ages of ten and fifteen, marched out of the market town of Morainville, some armed with wooden swords, and others with broom-handles which did service as rifles, while the most of them were eating big slices of bread with keen relish.
"One! two! right! left!"
The time of the annual fête, when the soldiers would come, was drawing near, and for several days the youngsters of the place had been preparing to receive them in fitting manner.
All their usual forms of play had for the nonce been abandoned in favor of drilling, and grave councils of war, and much attention was given to the making of wooden swords and guns wherewith to more closely imitate the soldiers.
Then came the important matter of choosing the officers, which, however, were always the same, because the smaller boys never failed to vote for the bigger ones, knowing well that if they didn't they would assuredly get a licking.
A couple of boys in the party had a special talent for imitating the trumpet by placing their shut hand over their closed lips, and these led the little troop.
By eight o'clock the children had marched over a mile, and reached the top of a hill planted with spruce trees on both sides of the road which slanted sharply in front and rear of their route.
The captain of the company ordered a halt, and as their young legs were pretty tired, it was decided that they should there await the arrival of the soldiers.
A sentinel was placed on the road to report the appearance of the regiment in good time to allow the boys to get ready for its reception.
Half-an-hour later, as the little soldiers of the wooden swords waited beneath the spruce trees, the sentinel from his post of observation gave the signal.