Ronald came up to her, to exhibit a particularly fine pie, and she said to him:
"Do you remember the man—that gave you your stick, you know?"
"Yes," said Ronald thoughtfully. "Is he here?"
"No—he's far away, across the big ocean and the desert. And he's in a fort, with cannon, and there are a lot of soldiers who want to shoot him and take the fort."
Ronald brought his two bare heels together and his hand to his forehead, in the military salute that Crayven had taught him.
"Salute, sir!" he said. "If he has cannons, why doesn't he shoot the soldiers?"
"Perhaps he will, but there are such a lot of them."
Ronald looked very solemn, and dug his thumb into the mud-pie, destroying its symmetry.
"How many are there?" he asked after a pause.
"Oh, I don't know—thousands, perhaps—heaps of them."
"Will he fight with a sword, like granpa, or will he shoot their heads off with the cannons?"
"I don't know, dearest. Go and make another pie, will you? That one's quite spoilt."
"No, make me a fort, with cannons."
"No, I can't now, dearest, I'm going to write a letter."
