Peter stood up in his stirrups, and turned back. “We go to victory,” he cried.
When he looked at the prince, he was smiling.
“How am I to beat these Turks with an army of two?” he asked.
“We’ll gather them. We’ll tell them that they dare not come home defeated,” cried Peter.
So in the forest the two paused, and the prince planned the campaign. Then he rode one way and Peter another. Some new spirit of faith made the men respond. Before night they had gathered a company that was growing hourly. They took up a position in a mountain pass, and when the Turks, flushed with victory, came upon them, the men fought with a strength that was invincible. The Turks rolled back. The Roumanians, heartened by victory, pursued, and pressed them to the very borders of the country.
From every hamlet of Roumania, the men poured forth. In a campaign of a month, the Turks were driven out, and retreated sullenly to gather strength for a fresh invasion.
When the last Turk was driven out, Stephen rode home. His staff was with him this time, but his faithful little attendant rode nearest.
“There was a time, sirs,” he said whimsically, “when this lad was all my army.”
And no one grudged Peter his place.
This time the drawbridge was down, and greens from the forest decked it. The gate was open, and Elizabeth
