We pulled up our horses and watched them awhile, very statuesque figures, with their great bows pulled taut waiting the word to loose. Then the snapped order from the N.C.O. and the bowstrings sang home as the long yellow arrows changed to flickers of yellow light in the sunshine ere they stood quivering half-buried in the wood backing of the targets. At fifty yards one would want stout mail to stand up to the shock of the steel-shod war arrows loosed from a six-foot treble-sprung bow with a big man behind it. “Does every man in Sakaeland use a bow?” I asked. “Yes, every one, and some of the women, too.” “Do you?” The idea of Aryenis’s slim arms pulling an arrow to the point seemed incongruous. “Yes. A light one, of course. But with that I can beat Stephnos at fifty paces, and he’s good--though not as good as Andros.” “I should like to see you do it.” “You shall one day--that is, if you don’t want to go back to your own country directly the war’s over.” “Why do you think I want to go back quickly?” “Well, your sister’s waiting, isn’t she?--and then you will get tired not having all the wonderful things you’ve told me about. Carriages that go without horses, and things that fly, and glass that you can see through.” “Toys, in fact; not things that matter, as you put it.” “Yes; certainly toys--compared to some things. But men always want toys, don’t they? That’s the worst of them. They never can be content with the things that really make up life. They’re all just the same: you and Stephnos, Wrexham and father; even Andros wants playthings instead of seeking what would turn life into something much bigger and finer than mere toys can ever do.” “What? Even Andros?” said I as we rode back. “Now I should have thought that he was the proper understanding kind of person who would be clever enough to realize the things that do matter. I’m sure that he always reads thoughts properly, and doesn’t lose bets by guessing wrong.” “You’re not much better at reading characters than you are at reading thoughts, Harilek. If you want to know, Andros is just as bad as you are at thought-reading. In fact--impossible as it may seem--he’s even worse. He’s been wrong twice in the last fortnight.” “I thought so; so I wasn’t quite beside the mark yesterday.” “You thought that he was wrong, did you?” She looked a little puzzled, then suddenly smiled. “Oh, Harilek, I’d really like to shake you. You’re _so_ slow-witted sometimes. See if you can ride faster than you can think.” Whereat she put her horse into a canter that was practically a gallop, leaving me to follow her through the dust, and not till we reached the big gate did she condescend to let me catch her up and ride reasonably by her side. I was still pondering the reasons for her last remark, and doubtless, seeing me silent, she felt she must shake my wits up for fear I might strain them thinking. “Is Forsyth always anxious to have some one to squire--some one nice like Ziné, I mean?”