whose countenance lit up with
delight, as he shouted:

"Why, Serge! Can this be you?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

TURNING THE TABLES.

"Marcus, boy!" came back the next instant, as the old soldier dashed
down his shield and his sword upon it with a clattering noise, before
catching his deliverer in his arms and holding him to his breast.

"Well done!" he cried. "Well done, boy! Well done! Hah! Hurrah!
Think of it! Six on 'em! And you set 'em running. Hah!" he panted,
breathlessly, as he freed the boy, took a couple of steps backward,
planted his great fists upon his hips, gazed at him proudly, and then
gave a sweeping look round as if addressing a circle of lookers-on
instead of blocks of stone and trees; "Hah!" he exclaimed. "I taught
him to fight like that!"

"Yes, Serge, you did--you did!" cried Marcus. "But you are covered with
blood, and you are badly hurt. Those wretches must have stabbed you
with their knives."

"Eh?" growled the old soldier, beginning to feel himself all over.
"Yes, how nasty! All over my breast. It's a long time since I have
been in a mess like this. I felt a dig in the front, and another in my
back, and another--" Serge ceased speaking as his hands were busy
feeling for his wounds, and then he exclaimed: "Yes, it's blood, sure
enough, but 'tain't mine, boy. Their knives didn't go through. I am
all right, only out of breath. But you? Did you get touched?"

"Oh no," cried Marcus. "I escaped."

"But you made your marks on them, boy. My marks, I call 'em."

"Pick up your sword and shield, Serge," cried Marcus, excitedly.
"They'll be coming back directly perhaps."

"Well, yes, it would be wise, boy," said the old soldier, taking his
advice. "Look yonder; that's the fellow I cut down," and he pointed
with his sword to the man who had been bathing his wound and, after
crossing the rivulet, was also in full retreat. "No, he's had enough of
it, and if the others came back it wouldn't be six to one, but five to
two--two well-armed warriors, you and me," said the old man, proudly, as
he made Marcus' shield clatter loudly as he tapped it with his sword.
"You and me, boy," he repeated. "Tchah! They won't come on again.
Why, back to back, you and me--why, we are ready for a dozen of them if
they came. Here, I had my wash, but I must go now and have another
while you keep guard over me. Think of it!--While you keep guard over
me, boy! No, I won't call you boy no more, for