Words like these, and a hint or two again and again from the sick men in the hospital, could not fail to set ideas growing in Roy's brain; but everything was confused and misty yet, and the time went on. Poor old Jenk crept up to the four men, and always had the sunniest spot in the corner given to him, and here he would settle himself, nursing his sword in his lap, and go fast asleep. "Yes, sir," said Ben, one day; "you see he's so very old. I believe after all he's a hundred, and it's a honour to him, I say. Mean to live to a hundred myself if I can. But see how he sleeps; I don't believe he's quite awake more than three hours a day, and I dessay he'll just come to an end some time in his sleep." "Poor old fellow," said Roy, softly, as he laid his fresh young hand upon the gnarled and withered fingers that rested upon the sword across the old man's knees. "Ah, he has been a good soldier in his day, Master Roy, but it's rum how he can't see that he's not a fine strong man now! Why, you might really nigh blow him over, and all the time he keeps on talking about what he's going to do to Master Fiddler as soon as he gets a chance." "What! he doesn't threaten to attack him?" "Don't threaten, sir?" said Ben with a chuckle. "But he just do; and then he's going to retake the castle singlehanded." "But he mustn't have a sword; he'll be making some trouble." "Well, if he makes an end to Master Pawson, sir, I think he may just lie down and die at once like a regular hero, for he'll have done the finest thing he ever did in his life." "Oh, nonsense, Ben! You and all of you must mind the poor old fellow does nothing foolish." Ben growled and shook his head, for his ideas were not at all in accordance with his young master's. "You need not look so sour, Ben," Roy hastened to say. "Master Pawson will get his deserts some day." "Yes, sir," said the old soldier, sourly; "his sort generally seem to in this precious world. His deserts seem to be your father's fine old property to wallow in, and get fatter and rounder-faced every day. He'd better not go and sit and read big books belonging to your father atop of either of the towers when I'm nigh, sir, for I'll pitch him off as sure as he plays the fiddle." The men laughed. "Oh, you may grin," said Ben, "but I mean it. You know, I s'pose, Master Roy, as they've emptied his room and carried everything into your father's library,--fiddle and all. Oh, how I should like to smash that caterwaulin' thing!" "I did not know it, Ben," said Roy, thoughtfully. "I keep away from there as much as I can. But I say, Ben," he continued, smiling, as he laid his hand upon the old soldier's knee, "your wound is hurting you a good deal to-day." "Awful, my lad, awful; it's getting better, but it feels as if a hungry dog was gnawing the bone." "I thought so." "Why, how did you know, my lad?" said Ben, innocently.