"Oh, I can cut quicker than that, sir. You see I got in before you did every time. I'd cut, and was on my way to give another before you were ready for the first. Come, they don't tingle now, do they?" "Tingle? Yes. Here, I want a stick. I'm not going to leave off without showing you how it does hurt." "Better leave off now, sir," said the man, grinning. "But I don't want to," cried Roy; and picking up the sword which he had handled with a feeling of pride, he took the other stick, and, crying "Ready!" attacked in his turn, striking hard and as swiftly as he could, but _crack, crack, crack_, wherever he struck, there was the defensive sapling; and at last, with his arm and shoulder aching, the boy lowered his point and stood panting, with his brow moist with beads of perspiration. "Well done!" cried Ben. "Now that's something like a first lesson. Why, those last were twice as good as any you gave before." "Yes," said Roy, proudly; "I thought I could make you feel. Some of those went home." "Not one of them, my lad," said Ben, smiling; "you didn't touch me once." "Not once?" "No, sir; not once." "Is that the truth, Ben?" "Every word of it, sir. But never you mind that; you did fine; and if you'll come to me every morning, I'll make you so that in three months I shall have to look out for myself." "I don't seem to have done any good at all," said Roy, pettishly. "Not done no good, sir? Why, you've done wonders; you've taken all the conceit out of yourself, and learned in one lesson that you don't know anything whatever about a sword, except that it has a blade and a hilt and a scabbard. And all the time you'd been thinking that all you had to do was to chop and stab with it as easy as could be, and that there was nothing more to learn. Now didn't you?" "Something like it," said Roy, who was now cooling down; "but, of course, I knew that you had to parry." "But you didn't know how to, my lad; and look here, you haven't tried to thrust yet. Here, give me a sharp one now." "No, I can't do any more," said Roy, sulkily. "I don't know how." "That's a true word, sir; but you're going to try?" "No, I'm not," said Roy, whom a sharp sting in one leg from the worst cut made a little vicious again. "Come, come, come," said the old soldier, reproachfully. "That aren't like my master's son talking; that's like a foolish boy without anything in his head." "Look here, Ben; don't you be insolent." "Not I, Master Roy. I wouldn't be to you. Only I speak out because I'm proud of you, my lad, and I want to see you grow up into a man like your father. I tried hard not to hurt you, sir, but I suppose I did. But I can't say I'm sorry." "Then you ought to be, for you cut at me like a brute." The old soldier shook his head sadly. "You don't mean that, Master Roy," he said; "and it's only because you're tingling a bit; that's all." The man's words disarmed Roy, and the angry frown passed away, as he said, frankly--