CHAPTER VI AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL Deventer and I came upon Rhoda Polly while we were getting our breath after the rush upstairs. We were old friends, and Rhoda Polly did not even put aside her rifle to greet us. "Come from school without leave--run away--good!" she exclaimed. "Have you made it all right with father?" "Not yet--that is--the fact is---we thought you might as well come along with us, Rhoda Polly." "You think there will be a storm, Hugh?" "Sure of it, but at least you can tell the Pater that Cawdor here is no prodigal. He comes with his father's blessing and a whole pile of paper money." "Father is among his entrenchments on the roof," said the girl; "better wait till he comes down. He is never quite himself when he is up there and the wind is blowing. Now tell me what made you run away?" "We are going to enlist among Garibaldi's volunteers, and fight for France--at least that's what Cawdor says. But I mean to stay here till all is safe for mother and you." At this moment Rhoda Polly nudged us. There was a sound of heavy decided footsteps grating on the steel ladder which led to the roof, then a thump and the noise of feet stamping on the floor above us. "He has been lying behind the chimney till he is stiff," whispered Rhoda Polly. "Give him time to limber himself." For a minute all was quiet along the Potomac, and then a mighty voice was heard demanding "those two young rascals." Deventer's smile was somewhat forced, and it might only have been the moonlight, but he certainly looked both sick and white about the gills. I was not greatly affected, but then I had not had his discipline. My case and credit were clear. All the same, it was obvious that the Dennis Deventer who captained his forces against the insurgents within the walls of Chateau Schneider, and the seeker after knowledge who prowled about my father's library or listened modestly to his interminable expositions, were very different persons. "Better not keep him waiting," said Rhoda Polly. "I will take you. He has a room for himself fitted up on the third floor." At the opening of the door we saw a long table covered with guns and revolvers, each ready to the hand, while behind the centre ran a continuous mountain range of ammunition in packets of gay-coloured green, red, and yellow. "What's all this, boys?" said Dennis Deventer gruffly, as soon as he caught sight of us. "Now, you Rhoda Polly, hold your tongue! You are not put up to tell their story. Come--out with it. What is it?" He thrust his hands through his crisping mane of hair with quick, nervous movements. "Come, get it into word, Master Hugh Deventer. You were put to do your duty at school. Why didn't you stay put?"