up, of course; but I don't
know that I ever felt like that."

"Perhaps not," said his companion, busily helping him with his garments;
"but then you see you're not at Court where there are a lot of fellows
who have been there for a bit, ready to look down upon you just because
you're new, and glare at you and seem ready to pick a quarrel and to
fight if ever the King gives you a friendly nod or a smile.--No, no:
I'll tie those points. Don't hurt your arm--but wait a bit.--I am young
and inexperienced yet, and they're too much for me, but I am hard at
it."

He ceased speaking, but stood with his mouth pursed up, frowning, as he
tied the points in question.

"I see you are," said Denis, "playing servant to me; and it's very good
of you, for my arm does feel very bad."

"Good! Nonsense!" cried the lad merrily. "You'd do the same for me if
I were visiting at your father's house, and crippled."

"That couldn't be," said Denis sadly. "I have no father's house--he's
dead."

"Oh, I am sorry!"

"He was a soldier, and died fighting for the King."

"Hah!" said the other softly. "That's very pitiful; but," he added,
with more animation, "it is very grand as well.--No, no, no: be quiet!
I'm here, and what's the good of making your arm worse? You're a
visitor; and you wouldn't like me to go away and send one of our
fellows. I shall be a knight some day, I hope; and it's a knight's duty
to fight, of course, but he ought to be able to help a wounded man. Now
you're a wounded man and I'm going to help you, wash you and all, and I
say, you want it too. You look as if you had been down in the dust.
And what's this? Why, there's clay matted in the back of your neck!"

"Well," said Denis, smiling, "I am such a cripple I can't help myself,
and so I must submit."

"Of course you must. I'll feed you too, if you like, by-and-by."

"But what did you mean," said Denis, to change the conversation, as he
smilingly yielded himself to the busy helpful hands of his new friend.

"What did I mean? Why, to help you."

"No, no; I meant about those fellows riding roughshod over you and
wanting to pick quarrels."

"Oh, I see. I meant, I'm waiting my time. Can you fence--use a sword
well?"

"Not very, but I'm practising hard."

"Are you? So am I. We've got a French _maitre d'armes_ at Court, and
he's helping me and teaching me all he knows. He's splendid! He likes
me because I work so hand, and pats me on the back, and