they enjoyed the fracas. But in Billy's eyes was no enjoyment. It
was as if he had certain work to do and had doggedly settled down
to do it.

Scarcely more expression did she note in the face, though there
was nothing in common between it and the one she had seen all
day. The boyishness had vanished. This face was mature in a
terrifying, ageless way. There was no anger in it, nor was it
even pitiless. It seemed to have glazed as hard and passionlessly
as his eyes. Something came to her of her wonderful mother's
tales of the ancient Saxons, and he seemed to her one of those
Saxons, and she caught a glimpse, on the well of her
consciousness, of a long, dark boat, with a prow like the beak of
a bird of prey, and of huge, half-naked men, wing-helmeted, and
one of their faces, it seemed to her, was his face. She did not
reason this. She felt it, and visioned it as by an unthinkable
clairvoyance, and gasped, for the flurry of war was over. It had
lasted only seconds, Bert was dancing on the edge of the slippery
slope and mocking the vanquished who had slid impotently to the
bottom. But Billy took charge.

"Come on, you girls," he commanded. "Get onto yourself, Bert. We
got to get onta this. We can't fight an army."

He led the retreat, holding Saxon's arm, and Bert, giggling and
jubilant, brought up the rear with an indignant Mary who
protested vainly in his unheeding ears.

For a hundred yards they ran and twisted through the trees, and
then, no signs of pursuit appearing, they slowed down to a