"There won't be no trouble. First time your father gets a
sight of the mob of tailors, and shoemakers, and tinkers, with an old
patch-work counterpane atop of a clothes-prop for their flag, he'll ride
along the front of his ridgement of cavaliers, and he'll shout to 'em in
that big voice of his as I've followed many's the time; and `Don't draw,
gentlemen,' he'll say; `ride the scum down, and make the rest run;' and
then they'll all roar with laughing loud enough to drown the trumpet
charge. My word, I'd a gi'n something to ha' been there to see the
rebels fly like dead leaves before a wind in November. But it were a
mean and a cruel thing, Master Roy. Look at that arm, look at these
legs! I'm a better and a stronger man than ever I was, and could sit
any horse they'd put me on. But to leave an old soldier, as had
followed him as I have, at home here to rust like the rest o' things,
when there was a chance for a bit o' fun, it went right to my 'art, sir,
and it seemed to me as if it warn't the master as I used to sit with in
the ranks."

The old fellow was bending now over the breastplate and rubbing hard,
while as Roy listened to his excited words, wondering at the way in
which he seemed to resent what he looked upon as a slight, something
dropped upon the polished steel with a pat, and spread out; and Roy
thought to himself that if that drop of hot salt water stayed there, it
would make a deeper rust spot than anything.

But it did not stay, for the man hastily rubbed it away, and began with
a rough show of indifference to hum over an old Devon song, something
about "A morn in May, to hear birds whistle and see lambkins play."

But he ceased as the boy laid a hand upon his shoulder, and bent over
the breastplate and rubbed at it very slowly, listening intently the
while.

"Don't you get thinking that, Ben Martlet," said the boy, gently;
"father wanted to take you, and he said you were not too old."

"Nay, nay, nay, sir; don't you get trying to ile me over. I know."

"But you don't know," said the boy, hotly; "he said he should take you,
but my mother asked him not to."

"Ay, she would, sir. She won't let you be a soldier, and she comes over
your father as I was too old and helpless to be any good."

"You're a stupid, pig-headed, old chump," cried Roy, angrily.

"Yes, sir; that's it; now you're at me too. Rusty, and worn-out, and
good for nothing; but it'll soon be over. I used to think it must be
ve