s, one day, when Ben was
busy, as usual, in the armoury.

"Not heard lately from the master, sir? Pish, that's nothing; soldiers
have got their swords and pistols to think about, not their pens. Best
soldiers I ever knew couldn't write at all. Enough for them to do to
fight. You'll hear from him some day, and when you do, you'll know as
he has been pretty busy putting the people straight,--more straight than
some on 'em'll like to be, I know. Sarve 'em right; nobody's a right to
fight agen the king.--Looks right, don't it?"

He held up an old sword which he had rubbed and polished till it flashed
in the light.

"Splendid!" said Roy. "Is it sharp?"

"Sharp enough to take your head off at one sweep."

"Nonsense!" said the boy, laughing.

"Oh, it's true enough, Master Roy. Here, you stand all quite stiff and
straight, and I'll show you."

"No, thank you, Ben. Suppose I try it on you."

"There you are, then," said the man; "but I must have one, too, for a
guard."

He handed the boy the sword, and took up another waiting to be cleaned
from galling rust, and, throwing himself on guard, he cried--

"Now then, cut!"

"No; too dangerous," said Roy.

"Not a bit, my lad, because you couldn't touch me."

"I could," said Roy, "where I liked."

"Try, then."

"Not with this sharp sword."

"Very well, then, take one of those; they've no more edge than a wooden
one. It's time you did know how to use a sword, sir."

Ben exchanged his glittering blade, too, and once more stood on guard.

"I won't bother you now about how you ought to stand, sir," he said;
"that'll come when I begin to give you some lessons. You go just as you
like, and hit where you can."

"No, no," said the boy. "I don't want to hurt you, Ben."

"Won't hurt me, sir; more likely to hurt yourself. But do you know
you're standing just as badly as you possibly could? and if I was your
enemy, I could take off your head, either of your ears, or your legs, as
easily as look at you."

Roy laughed, but he did not seem to believe the old soldier's assertion,
and, giving his blunt sword a whirl through the air, he cried--

"Now, then, Ben; which leg shall I cut off?"

"Which you like, sir."

Roy made a feint at the right leg, and, quickly changing the direction
of his weapon, struck with it softly at the old soldier's left.

"Tchah!" cried the old man, as blade met blade, his sword, in the most
effortless way, being edge outward exactly