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 gallant troop, and so gain in early years a strong impression of the grandeur of the Roman arms and the fame of our unconquerable and godlike Caesar."

Young Lucillus did not dare to object to the Centurion's words. But his face grew dark. He dropped back into his accustomed position in the troop and said in a whisper to his neighbour, also a young man:

"These children are perhaps the offspring of that same rebellious gang. I'd cut them up with joy. Our Centurion has become too sensitive and is losing the true valour of a soldier."

But his friend replied in displeasure: "Why should we fight with children? What glory would there be in that? It is enough for us to fight with those who can defend themselves."

Lucillus thereupon turned red and was silent.

The soldiers approached the children. The children ceased their game and stood at the side of the road and gazed at the soldiers, wondering at their fine horses, at their shining armour, their sunburnt faces. They wondered, lisped, stared—stared with widely-opened eyes.

Suddenly one of the children, the beautiful