A mounted officer, followed by two orderlies, was proceeding at a brisk trot from Paris to St. Denis, in October, 1639, when he came upon a large party of boys, who, armed with sticks, were advancing in something like military order against a wall on the top of a low hill. "What are you doing?" he asked the lad who appeared to be the leader. "We are playing at war, sir. We are advancing against the fortress of La Motte. This is the regiment of Turenne." "And who are you at other times?" the officer asked with a smile. "My name is Hector Campbell, sir." "Then you are not French?" "No, sir; my father was an officer in the Scotch regiment. He was killed at the siege of La Rochelle." "And who is taking care of you?"