Free The Lost Prince by Frances Hodgson Burnett Page A

he said. ‘It was in that piece of magazine I told you about – the one where I read about Prince Ivor. I studied it until it fell to pieces. But I could draw it myself by that time, so it didn’t matter. I could draw it with my eyes shut. That’s the capital city,’ pointing to a spot. ‘It’s called Melzarr. The palace is there. It’s the place where the first of the Maranovitch killed the last of the Fedorovitch – the bad chap that was Ivor’s father. It’s the palace Ivor wandered out of singing the shepherds’ song that early morning. It’s wherethe throne is that his descendant would sit upon to be crowned – that he’s
going
to sit upon. I believe he is! Let’s swear he shall!’ He flung down his piece of chalk and sat up. ‘Give me two sticks. Help me to get up.’
    Two of the Squad sprang to their feet and came to him. Each snatched one of the sticks from the stacked rifles, evidently knowing what he wanted. Marco rose too, and watched with sudden, keen curiosity. He had thought that The Rat could not stand up, but it seemed that he could, in a fashion of his own, and he was going to do it. The boys lifted him by his arms, set him against the stone coping of the iron railings of the churchyard, and put a stick in each of his hands. They stood at his side, but he supported himself.
    ‘’E could get about if ’e ’ad the money to buy crutches!’ said one whose name was Cad, and he said it quite proudly. The queer thing that Marco had noticed was that the ragamuffins were proud of The Rat, and regarded him as their lord and master. ‘’E could get about an’ stand as well as anyone,’ added the other, and he said it in the tone of one who boasts. His name was Ben.
    ‘I’m going to stand now, and so are the rest of you,’ said The Rat. ‘Squad! ’Tention! You at the head of the line,’ to Marco. They were in line in a moment – straight, shoulders back, chins up. And Marco stood at the head.
    ‘We’re going to take an oath,’ said The Rat. ‘It’s an oath of allegiance. Allegiance means faithfulness to a thing – a king or a country. Ours means allegiance to the King of Samavia. We don’t know where he is, but we swear to be faithful to him, to fight for him,to plot for him, to
die
for him, and to bring him back to his throne!’ The way in which he flung up his head when he said the word ‘die’ was very fine indeed. ‘We are the Secret Party. We will work in the dark and find out things – and run risks – and collect an army no one will know anything about until it is strong enough to suddenly rise at a secret signal, and overwhelm the Maranovitch and Iarovitch, and seize their forts and citadels. No one even knows we are alive. We are a silent, secret thing that never speaks aloud!’
    Silent and secret as they were, however, they spoke aloud at this juncture. It was such a grand idea for a game, and so full of possible larks, that the Squad broke into a howl of an exultant cheer.
    ‘Hooray!’ they yelled. ‘Hooray for the oath of ’legiance! ’Ray! ’ray! ’ray!’
    ‘Shut up, you swine!’ shouted The Rat. ‘Is that the way you keep yourself secret? You’ll call the police in, you fools! Look at
him
!’ pointing to Marco. ‘He’s got some sense.’
    Marco, in fact, had not made any sound.
    ‘Come here, you Cad and Ben, and put me back on my wheels,’ raged the Squad’s commander. ‘I’ll not make up the game at all. It’s no use with a lot of fat-head , raw recruits like you.’
    The line broke and surrounded him in a moment, pleading and urging.
    ‘Aw, Rat! We forgot. It’s the primest game you’ve ever thought out! Rat! Rat! Don’t get a grouch on! We’ll keep still, Rat! Primest lark of all ’ll be the sneakin’ about an’ keepin’ quiet. Aw, Rat! Keep it up!’
    ‘Keep it up yourselves!’ snarled The Rat.
    ‘Not another cove of us could do it but you! Not one! There’s no other cove could think it out. You’re the only chap that can