She fired into the face of the lull, to wake up the cowardly wind, and heard a grunt from behind a thorn in the pasture. ‘Oh, my Winkie!’ she said aloud, and that was something she had picked up from Dan. ‘I believe I’ve tickled up a Gleason cow.’ ‘You little painted beast!’ a voice cried. ‘I’ll teach you to sling your masters!’ She looked down most cautiously, and saw a young man covered with hoopy bronze armour all glowing among the late broom. But what Una admired beyond all was his great bronze helmet with its red horse-tail that flicked in the wind. She could hear the long hairs rasp on his shimmery shoulder-plates. ‘What does the Faun mean,’ he said, half aloud to himself, ‘by telling me the Painted People have changed?’ He caught sight of Una’s yellow head. ‘Have you seen a painted lead-slinger?’ he called. ‘No-o,’ said Una. ‘But if you’ve seen a bullet——’ ‘Seen?’ cried the man. ‘It passed within a hair’s breadth of my ear.’ ‘Well, that was me. I’m most awfully sorry.’ ‘Didn’t the Faun tell you I was coming?’ He smiled. ‘Not if you mean Puck. I thought you were a Gleason cow. I—I didn’t know you were a—a——What are you?’ He laughed outright, showing a set of splendid teeth. His face and eyes were dark, and his eyebrows met above his big nose in one bushy black bar. ‘They call me Parnesius. I have been an officer of the Seventh Cohort of the Thirtieth Legion—the Ulpia Victrix. Did you sling that bullet?’ ‘I did. I was using Dan’s catapult,’ said Una. ‘Catapults!’ said he. ‘I ought to know something about them. Show me!’ He leaped the rough fence with a rattle of spear, shield, and armour, and hoisted himself into ‘Volaterrae’ as quickly as a shadow. ‘A sling on a forked stick. _I_ understand!’ he cried, and pulled at the elastic. ‘But what wonderful beast yields this stretching leather?’ ‘It’s laccy—elastic. You put the bullet into that loop, and then you pull hard.’ The man pulled, and hit himself square on his thumb-nail. ‘Each to his own weapon,’ he said, gravely, handing it back. ‘I am better with the bigger machine, little maiden. But it’s a pretty toy. A wolf would laugh at it. Aren’t you afraid of wolves?’ ‘There aren’t any,’ said Una. ‘Never believe it! A wolf is like a Winged Hat. He comes when he isn’t expected. Don’t they hunt wolves here?’ ‘We don’t hunt,’ said Una, remembering what she had heard from grown-ups. ‘We preserve—pheasants. Do you know them?’ ‘I ought to,’ said the young man, smiling again, and he imitated the cry of the cock-pheasant so perfectly that a bird answered out of the wood. ‘What a big painted clucking fool is a pheasant,’ he said. ‘Just like some Romans!’ ‘But you’re a Roman yourself, aren’t you?’ said Una. ‘Ye-es and no. I’m one of a good few thousands who have never seen Rome except in a picture. My people have lived at Vectis for generations. Vectis! That island West yonder that you can see from so far in clear weather.’