"No, not now, boy. Things can never be the same again."

"Why not?" cried Marcus.

"Because they can't, boy."

"Oh, Serge, don't be so obstinate!"

"No, my lad, not obstinate; only doing what's right. I can't help what's done, nor what's said."

"But don't stop talking, Serge. Father wants to see you at once."

The old soldier shook his head and went on packing with increased vigour.

"Well, why don't you go?" cried Marcus, impatiently.

"I daren't," said the man, frowning.

"Then that's because you feel you're in the wrong, Serge."

"Yes, boy, that's it; I'm in the wrong, and the master knows it, so it's of no use for me to go."

"Oh, Serge," cried Marcus, "you do make me so angry when you will keep on like this. Look here, Serge."

"No," said the man, sourly, "and it's of no use for you to talk, boy, because my mind's made up. You want to talk me round, same as your father, the master, would. I've done wrong, and I told him so. It's all because I tried to make a good soldier of you, as is what Nature meant you to be, and he can't forgive me for that. He couldn't even if he tried. There, that's better--you lie there, and that'll make more room for the boy's helmet. Yes, that'll do. Swords lie on each side under the shields and keep them steady," he continued, apostrophising the different portions of the military equipment, as he worked very rapidly now in spite of Marcus' words, till the whole of the war-like pieces were to his liking and the chest quite full, when he closed the lid and sat upon it as if to think, with his eyes fixed upon one corner of the place.

"There, now are you satisfied?" cried Marcus. "Fortunately, father is reading, and he will not notice how long you have been. You've made me horribly impatient. Now go in to him at once and get it over."

"I shall only want a little bundle and my staff," said Serge, as if to himself. "That is mine, for I cut it in the forest and shaped and trimmed it myself. Yes, that's all."

"Aren't you going to take the chest into father's room?" said Marcus, quietly.

"Eh? No, my lad."

"But he told you to."

"Yes, boy, but it was after all was over, and I can't face him again."

"Then you are going off without saying good-bye to him?"

The old soldier nodded.

"And you are not going in to see him after he has sent for you to come?"

"No, boy," said the old soldier, with a sigh. "It's the only way. I'm just going to take my bundle and my stick, and then I'm going off at once--_alone_," he added, meaningly.

"No, you're not, Serge, for someone else can be stubborn too."

"What do you mean?" cried the man, sharply.

"What I told you. I'm coming too."

"Nay, boy, you're not; your father would stop that, and you must obey him," cried Serge, angrily.

"No, I mustn't," said Marcus.

"What! Sons must obey their fathers."

"And soldiers must obey their officers."

"But he's not my officer now."

"Yes, he is," cried Marcus, angrily; "your officer as well as my father.

If you go, Serge, I shall go, and I don't care where it is."

"He'd never forgive you," cried the old soldier, angrily.

"Well, I should take my chance of that. You know me, Serge. When I say I'll do a thing I do it; and I shall do this, for I don't mean to let you go away from here alone. Now what have you got to say?"

The old soldier got up from the shut-down lid of the chest, walked to the corner of the room, and took his crook-like staff, to which a rough bundle was already tied, and then he stepped back to where Marcus was seated upon the edge of the table which had so lately borne the armour carefully spread out.

"Good-bye, Marcus, boy," he said, holding out his hand.

The lad sprang from the table and made for the door.

"Won't you say good-bye, Marcus?" cried Serge, pitifully.

"No," was the short, sharp reply. "What's the good? But stop a moment.

I'd better go and shut up Lupus, or he'll come bounding after us and we shan't get rid of him again."

"Oh!" roared the old soldier, angrily, and he dashed his bundle and staff across the room to the corner from which they had been taken.

"You're both of you too much for me."

"Come on, Serge, old fellow," said Marcus, softly, as he took his old companion by the arm. "Shall I come in to father with you?"

"No!" growled Serge. "I'm going to be beat, and I'll go alone."

The next minute his steps were heard plodding heavily towards his master's study, and, as he listened Marcus burst out into a merry, silent laugh.

"Poor old Serge!" he said. "How father hurt his feelings! He'll never leave us while he lives, but I believe if he had gone away it would have broken his heart. Well, that's all over, and things will be all right again."

The boy stood thinking for a few minutes, and then he sighed.

"My poor old sword and shield," he said, half aloud; "and the helmet and armour too! Oh, how grand it was! When I had them on I used to feel as if I was marching with a successful army coming from the wars, and now it's all over and I must sit and read and write, and the days will seem so dull with nothing exciting, nothing bright, no war in the future-- Yes, there will be," he cried; "there'll be those boys. They'll be coming on again as the grapes turn black. Yes," he went on, with a merry laugh, "and if they come I'll make some of them turn black. No war! I'll make war with them, with old Serge and Lupus for allies. And then the winter will come again, and there'll be the wolves. Why, there'll be plenty to think of, after all."

CHAPTER SEVEN.