“But the Consul’s brow was sad. And the Consul’s speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, And darkly at the foe.
“‘Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge What hope to save the town?’”
He said it in a queer, lifeless, sing-song voice, with not the smallest shade of expression. The end of each line was a recognized stopping-place, where he halted heavily. It was evident that the brave old lines conveyed nothing to him. Jo shuddered.
“Hold on!” she said. “Why did you begin there, Rex?”
“And don’t you know anything of the part that goes before?”
“But there’s lots, and it’s the jolliest lines!” cried Billy excitedly. “All about the Etruscan Army marching, and coming down on Rome, and all that. Didn’t you never have it?”
“No,” said Rex. “Thank goodness, I didn’t. I reckon I had quite enough.”
“Well—!” said the twins explosively. They looked at each other in bewilderment. “Horatius” had been part of their lives since they were very small people.
“Jo,” said Jean, “let’s have the ‘Horatius’ play.”
“It isn’t wasting time, if we can make him see it.” She turned to the bewildered small boy. “Rex, you like stories?”
“Well, that’s a simply ripping story, if you get it the right way. Will you try and forget that you know a bit of it, and that you don’t like it? and we’ll make a game of it for school this morning.”
“But you _can’t_ make that stuff into a game!”
“Can’t we!” laughed Jean. “Billy, you’ve got all your soldiers, haven’t you?”
“Rather!” gasped Billy. “D’you really mean to get them? And no lessons?”
“Really and truly!” laughed Jean. “And bring any blocks you’ve got. Clear the table, and we’ll go back to Ancient Rome!”
She darted to the store-room, returning presently with half-a-dozen packets of matches.
“Must be careful of these, because they’ve got to go back,” she said, stripping off the paper wrappings. “I know Billy hasn’t enough blocks left, now. Come along, Rex, and we’ll build Rome.”
They built it at one end of the table, a wobbly oblong, enclosed by strong matchbox walls. There were turrets and towers here and there, made of cotton-reels. Without, ran the Tiber, a noble river of yellow ribbon, wide, and doubtless deep. A bridge spanned it—a high-walled bridge, long and narrow. From the bridge you came out upon a wide plain, the rest of the table: it was easy to see it was a plain, because it was flat, and there were trees on it, and cattle, contributed by an ancient Noah’s Ark. It was all workmanlike and comprehensible, and something like interest kindled in Rex’s eye.