er says
anything to me."

"He does say a great deal to me, but he didn't tell me about the box."

"There, then!" cried Bigley, taking out the last screw and seating
himself suddenly upon the chest. "We've only got to lift the lid and
there we are. Who has first peep?"

"Oh, I don't care," I said laughing. "You can."

"Here goes, then!" cried Bigley. "Take care of the screws."

I swept them into a heap and placed them on the table as Bigley threw
open the lid, which worked upon two great hinges, and then removing some
coarse paper he drew back.

"You'd better unpack," he said. "Don't make a litter with the
shavings."

For as the paper was removed the box seemed to be full of very fine
brown shavings mixed with fine saw-dust.

I swept the shavings away and felt my hands touch a row of long parcels,
carefully wrapped in a peculiar-looking paper; and as I took them out,
and shook them free of the saw-dust, handing them one by one to Bigley
to place upon the table, my heart began to beat, and the blood flushed
into my cheeks.

"Why, they're not mining tools!" cried Bigley excitedly. "Whatever are
you going to do? They're swords."

"Yes," I said huskily; "they're swords--cutlasses."

"Why, you knew all the time!" cried Bigley.

"No; I did not," I said. "I had no idea."

"But how comical!" he cried. "What are you going to do with them?"

I did not answer, for all my thoughts of half an hour before seemed to
have rushed back, and I felt that I had been wondering why my father had
not done that which he really had; and, though Bigley evidently could
not realise the object of the weapons being there, it certainly seemed
to me that my father felt that there was danger in the air, and that he
meant to be prepared.

"What are you thinking about?" cried my companion. "Why don't you
speak?"

"I was thinking about the cutlasses," I said.

"Well, it is a surprise!" cried Bigley. "Oh, I know. Your father's an
old sea captain, and they say the French are coming. He's going to arm
some men as volunteers."

All this time I was handing out the wrapped-up weapons, as we supposed
them to be--as we felt they must be--and Bigley was arranging them upon
the table side by side.

"That's the end of those," I said, and Bigley counted them. Twelve.

"Twelve swords," he said. "I say, Sep, let's ask him to make us
volunteers too."

But I was unpacking the next things, and felt in no wise surprised by
their we