THE BALLOON GOES UP.
Still absorbed in his own thoughts, Lucius followed his friend in
silence through the crowded streets until they reached a remote field or
piece of waste land at the very outskirts of the town, and here Ephraim
halted and spoke once more.
The pomp and circumstance of glorious war had laid hold of poor Grizzly,
for his cheeks were still red and his eyes sparkling, while there was
something intense in his voice as he said: ‘Air ye sot, Luce? Air ye
still sot like ye war?’
‘Set on what?’ asked Lucius, still dreaming.
‘On seeing the fight.’
‘Oh yes,’ answered Lucius; but his expression plainly showed that he had
scarcely heard, and certainly not comprehended Grizzly’s remarks.
‘Waal, come over hyar, then,’ said Ephraim, ‘and I’ll show ye what I’ve
been fixed onter fer the last five months.’
He moved mysteriously towards an old shed of considerable size that
stood in a corner of the field, and with many anxious glances all around
unlocked the door. Though it chimed in with his mood, his caution was
unnecessary, for not a civilian was in sight. Only in the near distance
they could see part of the cordon of sentries pacing up and down with
bayonets fixed, and ever and anon a patrol rode swiftly by. Occasionally
a bugle blared in the town, and the hum of many voices came faintly to
them. Except for these all was quiet, and they were quite alone.
‘Come along, Luce,’ said Ephraim, pulling him through the door, which he
carefully shut and locked behind him. ‘Ye won’t know whar ye air, but
I’ll tell ye. This is my new workshop. I got it a bargain from Pete
Taylor last December after us two had thet talk. I pinned him down not
to let on that I had the place, fer I didn’t want ter be followed and
worried by the boys. And I been fixin’ things hyar ever sence ye ’lowed
ye war so sot.’
He flung the shutters wide as he spoke, and the light streamed through
two windows upon a great heap of blue cotton material, apparently
enveloped in a network of fine ropes. Here and there lay other ropes
neatly coiled, and close beside the blue heap was what looked like a
large round hamper without a cover.
‘Waal,’ demanded Ephraim anxiously, after a somewhat protracted pause,
during which Lucius glanced vacantly around the workshop, ‘what d’ ye
think of her? I ’lowed I’d try and fix her up fer ye, seein’ ye war so
sot.’
‘For me?’ echoed Lucius. ‘What is for me? I don’t see anything.’
‘Don’t see nuthin’, don’t ye?’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘I reckon ye see
without onderstandin’. What d’ ye ’magine this is?’
He took up an armful of the blue fabric as he spoke and let it fall
again in a heap.
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ answered Lucius.
‘Co’se ye don’t; co’se ye don’t,’ said Ephraim, rubbing his hands
together, and grinning delightedly. ‘Ye never see nuthin’ like her
before, I bet.’
‘I have not,’ returned Lucius, now thoroughly awake, and examining
everything with great curiosity. ‘What a queer-looking——Oh! why,
Grizzly, if I don’t believe it’s a balloon!’
Ephraim sprang off the ground and twirled round in the air for joy.
‘Thet’s it,’ he cried. ‘Thet’s it! By time! ef ye ain’t cute. Thet’s
jest what it is.’
‘But—but—I don’t understand,’ said Lucius, fingering the network. ‘Where
did you get it?’
Ephraim gave himself another spin. ‘I done read her up out of a book,
and made her myself,’ he said.
‘Grizzly!’ cried Lucius in profound admiration. ‘You—made—it—yourself.
Well, if you don’t just beat every one. You’re a genius, that’s what you
are. What put it into your head to make it? You clever old stick!’
‘You did,’ answered Ephraim, glowing with pride and pleasure.
‘_I_ did! Why? How? What is it for, then?’
Ephraim took a step forward and looked into his eyes. ‘_Fer you and me
to sail around in and watch the war_,’ he said.
Profound silence followed this extraordinary announcement, and then
Lucius sat down on a heap of shavings and rather feebly remarked, ‘Oh!’
There really seemed nothing more to be said.
‘Yas, sir,’ went on Ephraim, still beaming with satisfaction; ‘when ye
said ye wuz so sot ter see some fightin’, I began ter study and figger
out what’d be the best way for ye ter do it ’thout ye gettin’ in the
track of the bullets.’
‘Oh,’ commented Lucius, ‘you were afraid of being killed, were you?’
‘No, and I warn’t neither,’ returned Ephraim simply; ‘but I wuz powerful
frightened lest ye might be. Bullets is sech darned unpolites—they never
stops ter inquire if ye b’long ter a fust fam’ly or if ye don’t.’
‘But you know,’ explained Lucius, ‘when I said that I wanted to see a
battle, I meant that I wanted to take part in one.’
‘I know ye did,’ assented Ephraim. ‘At the same time, ez fur ez I kin
l’arn, that’s about _the_ most or’nery way of seein’ a battle ez has
ever been invented. I tell ye, a bullet is the meanes’ thing alive.’
Lucius laughed. ‘But we can’t fight if we are up in the air, Grizzly,’
he observed.
‘Can’t we? I reckon we kin, though,’ replied Ephraim. ‘But ez fur ez
that goes, who wants ter fight? I don’t, fer wun; and I don’t mean to
let you, fer another. Ain’t there enuff of ’em hammerin’ away just now
without you and me joinin’ in?’
‘That’s not very patriotic,’ said Lucius with emphasis.
‘Ain’t it?’ answered Ephraim drily. ‘I reckon it’s sense all the same.
Anyway, this is how I’ve fixed it up. If ye don’t like my way, I promise
ye, ye won’t get a chance to go off on yer own, ef I have ter tie ye in
a chair and keep ye at my own expense until the war is through.’
Lucius laughed again. ‘You dear old Grizzly,’ he said, ‘you are always
thinking of me. I’d just love to go with you. It will be splendid fun.
But, tell me, how ever did you manage to make such a wonderful thing all
by yourself?’
‘Waal, I don’t say it war ez easy ez hoein’ a row,’ replied Ephraim,
‘but it warn’t so dreadful hard nuther. I got it all outern a book, as I
was telling ye, and made her to measurement, and thar she is, ye see.
Besides,’ he added with an affectionate grin, ‘seein’ ez how it wuz fer
ye I made her, Luce, I didn’t take no count of trouble. Ef thar wuz any,
I reckon it never come my way.’
‘Upon my word, you are a good old Grizzly,’ cried Lucius
enthusiastically, and fetching Ephraim a sounding slap between the
shoulders, which seemed to delight the assaulted one immensely. ‘To
think of your taking all that trouble just to please me. And the thing
itself—why, it’s magnificent! If you aren’t clever! Say, Grizzly, are
you sure it will hold us?’
‘I reckon,’ answered Ephraim. ‘Git inter the kyar and see.’
‘Yes, I see there’s plenty of room in there,’ said Lucius, ‘but what I
meant to say was, will it bear us, hold us up, or whatever you call it?’
‘Waal, I should say so,’ cried Ephraim joyously. ‘Ye onderstand, Luce,
thet’s jest whar the hard part came in. I had ter cal’clate the strain
and——But d’ ye know anythin’ ’bout airy nortics?’
‘Airy who?’ repeated Lucius, puzzled. ‘Oh, I see, aeronautics.’
‘Waal, I said so. D’ ye know ’em?’
Lucius shook his head.
‘Then I han’t no time ter teach ye now. Ye kin read ’em up twixt now and
the time we go up, ef ye like.’
‘I shouldn’t understand it,’ said Lucius. ‘I guess I’ll leave it to you.
It means the way to handle a balloon, I suppose?’
‘Thet’s about it,’ answered Ephraim sententiously. ‘I ’magine it’s easy
’nuff. I read her up, and if ye care to come, why, I ain’t afraid ter be
airy-nort.’
‘I’ll go with you fast enough,’ said Lucius. ‘It will be grand. When do
you mean to start?’
‘Waal, perhaps we’d better wait till we get a notion whar old
Stonewall’s goin’ ter. Then we kin foller him up; fer, don’t ye know,
thar’s bound ter be some mighty stark fightin’ when old Stonewall is
around.’
‘Oh!’ cried Lucius, flushing scarlet, as a sudden recollection struck
him. ‘I forgot. I won’t—I mean I can’t go with you.’
‘What! what’s thet ye say?’ exclaimed Ephraim, too astonished for
further speech.
‘A soldier’s first duty is obedience,’ went on Lucius, speaking to
himself. ‘It’s no use, Grizzly; I’ll just have to stay behind.’
‘What ails ye ter say such ez thet?’ asked Ephraim, much aggrieved.
‘Right now ye seemed willin’ ’nuff, and ye looked right peart and
chipper. Ye seemed ter ache ter come. Co’se ye mought have been funnin’
bout’n thet; but ef thet’s so, why, I give in I never war so fooled
before.’
‘No,’ said Lucius, shaking his head sadly; ‘you were not wrong. I did
want to go. I do still, very much indeed.’
‘Then why in thunder don’t ye?’ queried the mystified Ephraim.
‘Well,’ answered Lucius, growing very red again, and stirring a coil of
ropes with his foot, ‘you know what father said when I told him I wanted
to join; and then _he_ said—the General, I mean—“a soldier’s first duty
is obedience.” And, oh! Grizzly,’ he cried, flinging himself face
downwards upon the blue heap, ‘I’d just love to go now; for since he
spoke to me, I’d follow him through fire and water all the world over.
But I mustn’t—I mustn’t.’
Ephraim stood twining his long brown fingers together, the picture of
distress at sight of Luce’s grief. A blue vein which ran perpendicularly
in the centre of his forehead, swelled out, a rugged bar, against which
the waves of red which chased one another over his face broke and
receded. His eyes were troubled, and swept rapidly up and down and round
and round as if seeking inspiration, while so firmly were his lips
compressed that the line of parting could barely be distinguished.
‘Don’t ye take on so, Luce. I can’t abear it,’ he muttered huskily, at
last. Then, as if with the breaking of his silence the idea of which he
had been in pursuit had been captured, he emitted a sudden cackle of
satisfaction, and flinging himself down beside Lucius, drew the boy to
him and hugged him like a grizzly indeed.
‘Cheer up, Luce!’ he cried. ‘I done got the way. By time! what an
or’nery fool I must hev been not ter remember thet.’
‘Remember what?’ asked Lucius, willing but unable to see a ray of
comfort.
‘What I been doin’ ter let thet notion past me?’ inquired Ephraim
cheerfully of himself. ‘I declar’ I had her all along; on’y when ye up
’n said ye wouldn’t come, I ’low I let her slip fer a minnit.’
‘I wish you’d explain,’ said Lucius fretfully.
‘Comin’, Luce, comin’. Don’t ye go fer ter knock thet idee out er my
head agen with yer talk. Why, I war workin’ along the very same lines
myself when we began ter talk, if ye recollect. Now, see hyar. This is
the way I put it up. Your par, he says ye’re not ter go fightin’—and I
swow it’s the last thing _I_ want ter do—Old Stonewall he ’lows ye orter
do ez yer par says, and ye ’low ye orter agree with both of ’em. Ain’t
thet so?’
‘That’s so,’ admitted Lucius forlornly.
‘Ezacly! Waal now, Luce, I’ll give ye the whole idee in a par’ble. Ye
know thet black bull way down ter Holmes’s place?’ Lucius nodded. ‘Waal
then, we’ll suppose yer par sez ter ye: “Luce,” sez he, “that bull er
Holmes’s is powerful servigerous. I’ll not hev ye goin inter the field
ter take him by the tail!”’
‘Well?’ laughed Lucius, as Ephraim paused to wrestle with his idea.
‘Waal, ye ’low ye’ll do ez yer par sez; but all the same ye hev an
outrageous hankerin’ ter see thet bull er Holmes’s. Now, what d’ ye
reckon ye’d do?’
‘Why, sit on the fence and look at him,’ answered Lucius.
‘Ezacly!’ cried Ephraim joyously. ‘Thet’s what I ’lowed ye’d do. And
think no harm of it?’ he finished anxiously.
‘No,’ said Lucius; ‘I wasn’t told not to look at the bull. I don’t see
how there could be any harm in doing that.’
‘Then thet’s all right. This hyar fight, thet stands fer Holmes’s bull,
ye onderstand; and the old balloon, she stands fer the ring fence. How
does thet strike ye?’
‘You mean,’ said Lucius thoughtfully, ‘that since we only intend to
watch what is going on, I shall be doing no harm if I go with you.’
‘Thet’s it, I reckon. Why, don’t ye know, I’ve been studyin’ all the
time how I could git ye thar, and give ye suthin’ like what ye wanted,
without ye runnin’ no resks.’ It did not appear to strike Ephraim that
there could be any risk connected with the balloon itself. ‘Waal,’ he
added after a pause, during which Lucius gave himself up to reflection,
‘what d’ ye ’low ye’ll do?’
‘I’ll come,’ said Lucius, rising to his feet. ‘There can’t be anything
wrong in this, for it’s only a piece of fun.’ There was a note of doubt
in his voice; but he was anxious to allow himself to be convinced.
‘Then thet’s fixed,’ said Ephraim, with a sigh of relief. ‘’Taint likely
ez I’d ask ye ter do anythin’ wrong, Luce.—Now we’ll git outern this,
and I’ll let ye know when all’s ready fer a start.’
‘But how are you going to manage it?’ asked Lucius. ‘What about the
gas?’
‘I’ll show ye,’ answered Ephraim. ‘See them two bar’ls?’
‘No,’ said Lucius; ‘I don’t see any barrels.’
‘Thar, opposite the door, buried in the ground.’
‘Oh yes; filled with straw. What are they for?’
‘They ain’t filled with straw, ye onderstand,’ explained Ephraim. ‘I’ll
show ye.’
He gathered up the straw from the top of one of the barrels, and
disclosed underneath a quantity of iron filings and borings.
‘Why, that’s iron,’ exclaimed Lucius; ‘what has that to do with gas?’
‘Hold on,’ replied Ephraim genially. ‘I’ll make it cl’ar ter ye in a
jiffy. Ye see,’ he pursued, ‘this kind er thing goes on all the way
down—a layer er straw and a layer er iron-filin’s plumb down ter the
bottom er the bar’l.’
‘I see,’ said Lucius, looking very wise, though, as a matter of fact, he
was as much in the dark as ever.
‘Now,’ went on Ephraim, pointing to some carboys ranged against the
wall, ‘them things is full er sulphuric acid—vitriol, that is ter say;
and ez soon ez ever I take and heave the acid on top er the
iron-filin’s, the gas—hydrergin it’s called—begins ter come off.’
‘Does it?’ said Lucius, much interested. ‘Let’s see.’
Ephraim grinned. ‘I reckon I han’t been gatherin’ the stuff all these
months jest ter fire it off before the time,’ he remarked; ‘but I’ll
show ye the same thing in a little way, so ter speak.’
He took a glass flask from a shelf and placed a few iron filings in it.
He then poured some sulphuric acid into a cup, added some water thereto,
and finally introduced it into the flask, completely covering the lumps
of iron.
‘Now,’ said he, ‘ye’ll see what ye’ll see.’ He closed the mouth of the
flask with a cork through which was set a glass tube, and to the free
end of this latter he presently applied a lighted match. Instantly the
gas which was issuing from the tube ignited, and burned with a pure,
pale flame.
‘Hooray!’ shouted Lucius. ‘That’s wonderful. I never saw anything like
it.’
‘Waal, it’s been done before, ye know,’ said Ephraim drily. ‘I didn’t
invent it.’
‘You’re a marvel, all the same,’ cried Lucius enthusiastically. ‘My!
what a splash you’ll make when you get to college, Grizzly.’
Ephraim turned quickly away, and stooping down, replaced the straw which
he had taken from the barrel. When he looked up again, his face was very
pale.
‘Ye see, Luce,’ he went on, concluding his explanation, but speaking
with much less fire and animation, ‘what went on in the flask is what’ll
go on in the bar’ls, and ez the hydrergin comes off it’ll be led through
these pipes, which I can fix onter the bar’ls, inter a tank er water, ye
maybe noticed standin’ outside. Thar’s a receiver in the tank, or thar
will be wanst we’re ready, and another pipe’ll be led from thar to the
balloon, and thar ye air.’
‘What do you lead the gas under water for?’ inquired Lucius.
‘Ter cool it fer wan thing, and ter wash it fer another.’
‘Well, it’s wonderful! That’s all I can say,’ repeated Lucius. ‘And to
think that you should have done everything all by yourself. But,
Grizzly, surely you can’t fill the balloon and let her up without help.’
‘I know thet; but don’t ye fret,’ returned Ephraim. ‘I bet she’ll be
ready when we air. There’s two or three in the works ez I kin trust to
tell about her ’thout them lettin’ it go all over the town. All ye hev
ter do is ter go home and set still till I arsk ye ter git up.—Come on;
let’s be off out er this.’ For some reason or other he was growing
restless under Luce’s perpetual fire of questions.
‘How pretty the blue stuff looks, varnished,’ said Lucius, adding
suddenly: ‘It must have cost an awful lot, Grizzly. Where did you get
all the money to buy it with?’
‘Oh, hyar and thar,’ answered Ephraim uncomfortably. ‘I sold things. She
ain’t made er silk, ye know—only er cotton stuff.—Come on, Luce, it’s
gittin’ late, and Aunty Chris will be hollerin’ fer her tea.’
But Lucius stood still, looking down upon the confused heap of material
and cordage, and pondering deeply. All at once he swung round and faced
Ephraim. ‘Grizzly,’ he said jerkily, ‘I believe you have broken into the
pile.’
Ephraim’s face was a study. If he had been caught robbing his master’s
till, he could not have looked more sheepish and ashamed. He shifted
uneasily from one foot to the other, and twisted his long fingers in and
out till all the joints cracked like a volley of small-arms. ‘Waal,
waal’——he stuttered.
‘You’ve broken into the pile,’ interrupted Lucius. ‘For five years
you’ve been grubbing and saving all for one purpose, working overtime,
and making odds and ends here and there for the boys, all for one
purpose—that you might go to college. And now you’ve gone and upset
everything. I’ll bet you haven’t a dollar left of all your savings. Now,
have you?’
‘No,’ mumbled Ephraim shamefacedly. ‘But’——
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ broke in Lucius—‘you did it for me.
You are always doing things for me. But you’d no right to do this. You’d
no right to spoil your whole life just for me. What can I do? I can’t
pay you back. And father’——
‘Ez ter thet,’ interjected Ephraim, ‘it war my own. I ain’t askin’ any
wan ter put it back.’
‘It wasn’t your own,’ burst out Lucius. ‘At least it wasn’t your own to
do as you liked with. It was to help you on in the world. It was to give
your brains a chance. Oh! weren’t there heaps of ways in which we could
have had our fun without this? If I’d known it, if I’d dreamed of it,
I’d have gone off and ‘listed without a word to any one.’
‘I know ye would, Luce,’ said Ephraim quietly. ‘Ye were mighty nigh
doin’ it thet snowy night when ye came ter me. Thet sot me thinkin’. I
sez ter m’self, sez I, I reckon it’s mostly froth on Luce’s part. Ef I
ken git him pinned down ter come with me, I guess I kin keep him out er
harm’s way. Lordy! Luce, what would I hev done ef I’d gone and lost ye?
Waal, ez I sot thar thinkin’ ter m’self, all at once thar comes an idee.
I dunno whar it came from, but thet’s it’—he pointed to the balloon—‘and
wanst I gripped it I never let it go again, fer it jest seemed the best
way in all the world fer ter let ye see all ye wanted ter see, and ter
keep ye safe et the same time.’ He held up his hand as Lucius was about
to speak.
‘Don’t say it again, Luce. It’s done now, and can’t be undone. Maybe
some folk’d think it war a mad thing ter do; but it didn’t seem so ter
me, seein’ it war done fer you.’
Sometimes the step from the ridiculous to the sublime is as easy as that
in the opposite direction. It was so now, when the rough, hard-handed
mechanic, whose brains, nevertheless, had been able to devise and
execute this wonderful thing, stood before the high-spirited,
empty-headed boy, whom he loved, and for whose well-being, as he
imagined, he had thrown away his substance and his worldly hopes.
For a few moments there was silence between the boys, Ephraim standing
with his hand upon the bolt of the door, Lucius driving first the toe
and then the heel of his boot into the ground. At last he shuffled over
to Ephraim, glanced shyly up into the big gray eyes that beamed so
affectionately down on him, and with something that sounded suspiciously
like a sob, clasped Grizzly’s free hand in both his own.
Ephraim flung wide the door. ‘Garn away!’ he said with a genial grin,
and tenderly shoved Lucius out of the cabin.
On the following Wednesday Jackson marched his army out of Staunton,
broke up the camp at West View, and started to attack General Milroy,
whom he met and defeated with heavy loss at McDowell. Movement then
followed movement so rapidly that the people of Staunton were
bewildered. However, as all the news they received told of the success,
they were also content. Meanwhile the month wore to an end without
another word from Ephraim to Lucius on the subject of the balloon. But
at last, one bright afternoon in early June, the long expected and
desired summons came.
Lucius was sitting idly on his own gate, whittling a stick, when a
working-man approached him, and after a cautious look up the avenue to
see if any one else was in sight, observed interrogatively, ‘Young
Squire Markham?’
Lucius nodded, and the man went on: ‘Ef that’s so, I’ve a message fer ye
from the Grizzly. He sez ye’re ter jine him et the shed any time ye
think fit after midnight, and before day.’
‘Is he—going up?’ asked Lucius, with rounded eyes.
‘I ’low he is, ef the wind holds from the south-west,’ replied the man.
‘Will I say ye’ll be on hand?’
‘Rather!’ answered Lucius. ‘Here’s a dollar for your trouble. I’m much
obliged.—Hi! you won’t say anything about it?’
‘I’m dumb, squire,’ grinned the man as he moved away, while Lucius,
ablaze with excitement, stole into the house and shut himself up in his
room to think.
He knew perfectly well that he was about to do wrong; but he tried to
deceive himself into the belief that Ephraim’s casuistry afforded him a
sufficient excuse for going off without the leave which would certainly
never have been granted him. Moreover, he argued that, after the
sacrifice which Ephraim had made just to give him pleasure, he could not
now hang back. In a word, as many a wise person has done before and
since, he set up objections like so many men of straw, and deliberately
proceeded to knock them down again.
At last he succeeded in crowding his conscience into a corner, and about
eleven o’clock, when every one else in the house was fast asleep, rose
from the bed where he had tossed and turned since nine, and slipping on
his clothes, softly opened the window and got out.
The night was very dark; a light breeze blew from the south; and the
waving branches of shrubs and trees smote Lucius gently on the face as
he stole through the plantations to the turnpike. His heart thumped
violently against his ribs, for it seemed to him as if unseen hands were
laying hold of him and striving to draw him back to his duty. But all
these sombre thoughts took flight when he reached the rendezvous, where
Ephraim, with the aid of half a dozen of his fellow-workmen, was engaged
in inflating the balloon.
Three or four great torches illuminated the scene, which was to Lucius
at least sufficiently awe-inspiring, for what he had last seen a tangled
heap upon the floor of the cabin, now rose a vast bulk, which, passing
into the mirk above the flare of the torches, seemed to rear itself into
the very vault of heaven. Lucius trembled as he watched it.
‘Hello! Luce,’ said Ephraim, coming forward. ‘Ye’re hyar on time.’
Lucius attempted to reply, but the words stuck in his throat, and he
only gripped Ephraim nervously by the arm.
‘Purty, ain’t she?’ asked Ephraim with pardonable pride, as he surveyed
his handiwork, which, now nearly full, and securely anchored to the
ground by strong ropes, swayed to and fro in the night wind.
‘She ain’t big, ye know,’ went on Ephraim—big! she seemed to Lucius like
a vast mountain—‘she ain’t big, ye know, but she’ll carry the like er us
two shore and easy. Say, Luce,’ as he felt the latter shaken by a
violent shiver, ‘ye ain’t afraid, air ye?’
‘Not I,’ answered Lucius, as well as he could for his chattering teeth.
‘I’m cold—I’m excited; but I’m not in the least frightened. Shall we get
into the car?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Ephraim. ‘She ain’t full yet. I’ll tell ye when.’
But two intolerably long hours passed before Ephraim hailed him with:
‘Now then, Luce, I reckon she’s ready, ef ye air.’
At the sound of his voice Lucius started. To say that the boy was merely
frightened would be incorrect. He was sick and faint with a deadly,
paralysing fear. The terrors of the unknown had got hold upon him with a
vengeance. However, he managed to stumble forward without knowing
exactly how he did it, and assisted by one of the men, scrambled into
the car, where Ephraim was already standing. The next moment the
balloon, released from all its bonds save one, shot up to the extent of
the remaining rope.
‘We’ll be off in a jiffy,’ said Ephraim cheerfully. ‘Good-bye, boys.
Take keer on yersels till we see ye again. It don’t matter who ye tell
now. We’ll bring ye the latest news from the seat er war. Cast her
loose.’
‘Wait!’ gasped Lucius, rousing himself by a mighty effort. ‘I meant to
write a message before I left home; but I forgot. One of you go up to
the Hall in the morning and tell my mother I’m all right, and that I’ll
be back in a day or two.’
He leaned over the side of the car as he spoke, and one of the men
answered him. Then, even as he looked, the torches suddenly lessened to
brightly twinkling points of light, then to mere sparks, and finally
went out altogether.
[Illustration]