"Number!

"Slope arms!

"Form fours!

"Right!

"Quick march!

"Halt!

"Left turn!

"Order arms!

"Stand at ease!

"Stand easy!"

They did it so well that it was quite wonderful when one considered the
limited space at their disposal. They had evidently done it often, and
The Rat had been not only a smart, but a severe, officer. This morning
they repeated the exercise a number of times, and even varied it with
Review Drill, with which they seemed just as familiar.

"Where did you learn it?" The Rat asked, when the arms were stacked
again and Marco was sitting by him as he had sat the previous day.

"From an old soldier. And I like to watch it, as you do."

"If you were a young swell in the Guards, you couldn't be smarter at
it," The Rat said. "The way you hold yourself! The way you stand!
You've got it! Wish I was you! It comes natural to you."

"I've always liked to watch it and try to do it myself. I did when I
was a little fellow," answered Marco.

"I've been trying to kick it into these chaps for more than a year,"
said The Rat. "A nice job I had of it! It nearly made me sick at
first."

The semicircle in front of him only giggled or laughed outright. The
members of it seemed to take very little offense at his cavalier
treatment of them. He had evidently something to give them which was
entertaining enough to make up for his tyranny and indifference. He
thrust his hand into one of the pockets of his ragged coat, and drew
out a piece of newspaper.

"My father brought home this, wrapped round a loaf of bread," he said.
"See what it says there!"

He handed it to Marco, pointing to some words printed in large letters
at the head of a column. Marco looked at it and sat very still.

The words he read were: "The Lost Prince."

"Silence is still the order," was the first thought which flashed
through his mind. "Silence is still the order."

"What does it mean?" he said aloud.

"There isn't much of it. I wish there was more," The Rat said
fretfully. "Read and see. Of course they say it mayn't be true--but I
believe it is. They say that people think some one knows where he
is--at least where one of his descendants is. It'd be the same thing.
He'd be the real king. If he'd just show himself, it might stop all
the fighting. Just read."

Marco read, and his skin prickled as the blood went racing through his
body. But his face did not change. There was a sketch of the sto