"But," he demurred, after a moment's thought, "I haven't got wings
an' things - or a trumpet."

"Your kind never do have wings and trumpets."

"Oh, I see," he said; and sitting down began to wipe the mud from
his legs with his stockings.

"Rather muddy, aren't you?" I hinted. The boy cast a furtive glance
at his draggled person.


"'Fraid I'm a teeny bit wet, too," he said hesitatingly. "You see, I've
been playing at 'Romans" an' I had to wade, you know, because I was
the standard bearer who jumped into the sea waving his sword an'
crying, 'Follow me!' You remember him, don't you? - he's in the
history book."

"To be sure," I nodded; "a truly heroic character. But if you were
the Romans, where were the ancient Britons?"

"Oh, they were the reeds, you know; you ought to have seen me
slay them. It was fine; they went down like - like - "

"Corn before a sickle," I suggested.

"Yes, just!" he cried; "the battle raged for hours."

"You must be rather tired."