“He’s getting ready,� said Harry.
“It will be a Christmas story, boys.�
“By all means,� said Verney, seeing as he spoke the old Devonshire hall—his home, the holly and the mistletoe, and hearing the merriment that seemed to sail to him on fairy ships over three thousand miles of sea. They would drink his health this night.
He was recalled to a sense of his alien surroundings as the Count said: “This is a story, boys, my father used to tell when I was a little fellow, but it was never told except on Christmas Eve when we sat in the great hall of my own home.�
“What made you come away to fight us?� This was Bill’s contribution. Harry punched him to emphasize his wish that there should be no interruptions.
Mrs. Markham did not, as usual, reprove the twin whose ingenious capacity to unite impertinence and curiosity was in great need of check. She merely looked up at the Hessian gentleman, who gravely made reply to Bill: “I am a soldier and go where I am ordered, even though it take me to death.�
The twins discussed this later, but Tom was old enough to note the suddenly serious look of the officer as Mrs. Markham, who knew his history, said: “Be quiet, boys. I want to hear the story, even if you do not.�
“But we do,� cried the twins.
“When I tell this story I think of the great hall of the castle, with no light but what the big logs gave, and how it flashed red on the armor and on the lances and swords on the walls.�
“Why must there be no lights?� asked Harry.