When youth was lord of my unchallenged fate,   And time seemed but the of my will,
I entertained certain guests of state—
  The great of older days, who, faithful still,
Have kept with me the my youth had made.
—S. Mitchell.
 
"Who am I?" asked John Armitage soberly.
 
He tossed the stick of a match into the fireplace, where a pine-knot , drew his pipe into a glow and watched Oscar screw the top on a box of which he had to Armitage's arm. The little soldier turned and stood sharply at attention.
 
"Yon are Mr. John Armitage, sir. A man's name is what he says it is. It is the rule of the country."
 
"Thank you, Oscar. Your words me. There have been times lately when I have been in doubt myself. You are a pretty good doctor."
 
"First aid to the injured; I learned the trick from a hospital .
If you are not poisoned, and do not die, you will recover—yes?"
"Thank you, . You are a consoling spirit; but I assure you on my honor as a gentleman that if I die I shall certainly haunt you. This is the fourth day. To-morrow I shall throw away the bandage and be quite ready for more trouble."
 
"It would be better on the fifth—"
 
"The matter is settled. You will now go for the mail; and do take care that no one pots you on the way. Your death would be a positive loss to me, Oscar. And if any one asks how My is—mark, My Majesty—pray say that I am quite well and equal to ruling over many kingdoms."
 
"Yes, sire."
 
And Armitage roared with laughter, as the little man, pausing as he a belt under his coat, bowed with a fine mockery of .
 
"If a man were king he could have a devilish fine time of it, Oscar."
 
"He could review many troops and they would fire until the powder cost much money."
 
"You are right, as we say in Montana; and I'll tell you quite , Sergeant, that if I were out of work and money and needed a job the thought of being king might me. These gentlemen who are trying to stick knives into me think highly of my chances. They may force me into the business—" and Armitage rose and kicked the knot.
 
Oscar drew on his gauntlet with a jerk.
 
"They killed the great prime minister—yes?"
 
"They did, Oscar."
 
"He was a good man—he was a very great man," said Oscar slowly, and went quickly out and closed the door softly after him.
 
The life of the two men in the was established in a definite routine. Oscar was drilled in habits of observation and attention and he realized without being told that some serious business was afoot; he knew that Armitage's life had been attempted, and that the receipt and of telegrams was a part of whatever errand had brought his master to the Virginia hills. His occupations were wholly to his ; there was simple food to eat; there were horses to tend; and his errands abroad were of the nature of and in keeping with one's dignity who had been a soldier. He rose often at night to look abroad, and sometimes he found Armitage walking the or returning from a tramp through the wood. Armitage spent much time studying papers; and once, the day after Armitage submitted his wounded arm to Oscar's care, he had seemed upon the of a confidence.
 
"To save life; to prevent disaster; to do a little good in the world—to do something for Austria—such things are to the soul's credit, Oscar," and then Armitage's mood changed and he had begun chaffing in a fashion that was beyond Oscar's comprehension.
 
The little soldier rode over the hills to Lamar Station in the spring , asked at the telegraph office for messages, stuffed Armitage's mail into his pockets at the post-office, and turned home as the moonlight poured down the slopes and flooded the valleys. The Virginia roads have been cursed by larger armies than any that ever marched in Flanders, but Oscar was not a swearing man. He paused to rest his beast occasionally and to observe the landscape with the eye of a strategist. Moonlight, he remembered, was a useful accessory of the assassin's trade, and the faint sounds of the spring night were all traced to their causes as they reached his alert ears.
 
At the gate of the hunting-park grounds he forward in the saddle to lift the chain that held it; urged his horse inside, bent down to refasten it, and as his fingers clutched the iron a man rose in the shadow of the little and clasped him about the middle. The iron chain swung free and against the post, and the horse snorted with fright, then, at a word from Oscar, was still. There was the barest second of waiting, in which the long arms , and the great body of his assailant hung heavily about him; then he dug spurs into the horse's flanks and the animal leaped forward with a snort of rage, jumped out of the path and tore away through the woods.
 
Oscar's whole strength was taxed to hold his seat as the burly figure against the horse's flanks. He had hoped to shake the man off, but the great arms still clasped him. The situation could not last. Oscar took advantage of the moonlight to choose a spot in which to terminate it. He had his bearings now, and as they crossed an opening in the wood he suddenly loosened his grip on the horse and flung himself backward. His assailant, no longer supported, rolled to the ground with Oscar on top of him, and the freed horse away toward the stable.
 
A rough and tumble fight now followed. Oscar's , vigorous body in the grasp of his , now free, now clasped by giant arms. They saw each other's faces plainly in the clear moonlight, and at breathless pauses in the struggle their eyes maintained the state of war. At one instant, when both men lay with arms interlocked, half-lying on their , Oscar in the giant's ear:
 
"You are a Servian: it is an ugly race."
 
And the Servian cursed him in a fierce .
 
"We expected you; you are a bad hand with the knife," Oscar, and feeling the bellows-like chest beside him expand, as though in preparation for a of the fight, he suddenly himself free of the Servian's grasp, leaped away a dozen paces to the shelter of a great pine, and turned, revolver in hand.
 
"Throw up your hands," he yelled.
 
The Servian fired without pausing for aim, the shot ringing out sharply through the wood. Then Oscar discharged his revolver three times in quick succession, and while the discharges were still keen on the air he drew quickly back to a of underbrush, and crept away a dozen yards to watch events. The Servian, with his eyes upon the tree behind which his had sought shelter, grew anxious, and thrust his head forward .
 
Then he heard a sound as of some one running through the wood to the left and behind him, but still the man he had grappled on the horse made no sign. It dawned upon him that the three shots fired in front of him had been a signal, and in alarm he turned toward the gate, but a voice near at hand called loudly, "Oscar!" and repeated the name several times.
 
Behind the Servian the little soldier answered sharply in English:
 
"All steady, sir!"
 
The use of a strange tongue added to the Servian's bewilderment, and he fled toward the gate, with Oscar hard after him. Then Armitage suddenly leaped out of the shadows directly in his path and stopped him with a leveled revolver.
 
"Easy work, Oscar! Take the gentleman's gun and be sure to find his knife."
 
The task was to Oscar's taste, and he made quick work of the Servian's pockets.
 
"Your horse was a good despatch bearer. You are all sound, Oscar?"
 
"Never better, sir. A revolver and two knives—" the weapons flashed in the moonlight as he hel............