He rose from his seat and went to a corner of the
room. He knelt down, turned back the carpet,
lifted a plank, and took something from beneath it.
It was a sword, and, as he came back to Marco, he drew
it out from its sheath. The child’s strong,
little body stiffened and drew itself up, his large,
deep eyes flashed. He was to take his oath of
allegiance upon a sword as if he were a man.
He did not know that his small hand opened and shut
with a fierce understanding grip because those of his
blood had for long centuries past carried swords and
fought with them.
Loristan gave him the big bared weapon, and stood
erect before him.
“Repeat these words after me sentence by sentence!”
he commanded.
And as he spoke them Marco echoed each one loudly
and clearly.
“The sword in my hand—for Samavia!
“The heart in my breast—for Samavia!
“The swiftness of my sight, the thought of my
brain, the life of my life—for Samavia.
“Here grows a man for Samavia.
“God be thanked!”
Then Loristan put his hand on the child’s shoulder,
and his dark face looked almost fiercely proud.
“From this hour,” he said, “you
and I are comrades at arms.”
And from that day to the one on which he stood beside
the broken iron railings of No. 7 Philibert Place,
Marco had not forgotten for one hour.
A YOUNG CITIZEN OF THE WORLD
He had been in London more than once before, but not
to the lodgings in Philibert Place. When he was
brought a second or third time to a town or city,
he always knew that the house he was taken to would
be in a quarter new to him, and he should not see
again the people he had seen before. Such slight
links of acquaintance as sometimes formed themselves
between him and other children as shabby and poor as
himself were easily broken. His father, however,
had never forbidden him to make chance acquaintances.
He had, in fact, told him that he had reasons for not
wishing him to hold himself aloof from other boys.
The only barrier which must exist between them must
be the barrier of silence concerning his wanderings
from country to country. Other boys as poor as
he was did not make constant journeys, therefore they
would miss nothing from his boyish talk when he omitted
all mention of his. When he was in Russia, he
must speak only of Russian places and Russian people
and customs. When he was in France, Germany,
Austria, or England, he must do the same thing.
When he had learned English, French, German, Italian,
and Russian he did not know. He had seemed to
grow up in the midst of changing tongues which all
seemed familiar to him, as languages are familiar to
children who have lived with them until one scarcely
seems less familiar than another. He did remember,
however, that his father had always been unswerving
in his attention to his pronunciation and method of
speaking the language of any country they chanced
to be living in.
