away, and I don’t allow any one to fish there without my leave.”

“I’ll remember, sir,” said the man, beginning to whistle softly.

“I don’t grudge you a few eels, Ben, and you shall have plenty; but next time you want to fish, you ask.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“And what you say is all nonsense: the place is beautiful as it is. Why, I believe if you could do as you liked, you’d turn my mother’s pleasaunce and the kitchen-garden into drill-grounds.”

“That I would, sir,” said the man, flushing up. “The idea of a beautiful square of ground, where the men might be drilled, and practise with sword and gun, being used to grow cabbages in. Er! it’s horrid!”

Roy laughed.

“You’re a rum fellow, Ben,” he cried. “I believe you think that people were meant to do nothing else but fight and kill one another.”

“Deal better than spending all their time over books, sir,” said the man; “and you take my advice. You said something to me about being a statesman some day, and serving the king that way. Now, I s’pose I don’t know exactly what a statesman is, but I expect it’s something o’ the same sort o’ thing as Master Pawson is, and—You won’t go and tell him what I says, sir?”

“Do you want me to kick you, Ben?” said the boy, indignantly.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said the man, with a good-humoured smile lighting up his rugged features; “can, if you like. Wouldn’t be the first time by many a hundred.”

“What! When did I kick you?”

“Lots o’ times when you was a little un, and I wouldn’t let you drown yourself in the moat, or break your neck walking along the worsest parts o’ the ramparts, or get yourself trod upon by the horses. Why, I’ve known you kick, and squeal, and fight, and punch me as hard as ever you could.”

“And did it hurt you, Ben?”

“Hurt me, sir? Not it. I liked it. Showed you was made o’ good stuff, same good breed as your father; and I used to say to myself, ‘That young cub’ll turn out as fine a soldier as his father some day, and I shall have the job o’ training him.’ But deary me, deary me, old England’s a-wasting all away! You aren’t got the sperrit you had, my lad; and instead o’ coming to me cheery-like, and saying, ‘Now, Ben, get out the swords and let’s have a good fence, or a bit o’ back-sword or broad-sword-play, or a turn with the singlestick or staves,’ you’re always a-sticking your nose into musty old parchments, or dusty books, along o’ Master Palgrave Pawson. Brrr!”

The latter was a low growl, following a loud smack given to the side of the helmet, after which, as the lad stood fretting and fuming, the old servant scrubbed away at the steel furiously.

“It isn’t true, Ben,” the boy cried at last, indignantly; “and perhaps I’m going to be a soldier after all, especially if this trouble goes on.”

“Tchaw! trouble goes on!” said the man, changing the steel headpiece for a cuirass. “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 very horrid to have to die, but I know better now, and I shan’t be sorry when my turn comes.”

“Will—you—listen to—what—I have—to say?” cried the boy.

“Oh, ay, sir, I’ll listen. You’re my master, now Sir Granby’s away, and nobody shan’t say as Ben Martlet didn’t do his dooty as a soldier to the end, even if he is set to dig in a garden as was once a castle court-yard.”

“Oh, you obstinate old mule!” cried Roy, gripping the man’s shoulders, as he stood behind him, sawing him to and fro, and driving his knee softly into the broad strong back. “Will you listen?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll listen; but that’s only your knee. Kick the old worn-out mule with your boot-toe, and—”

“I’ve a good mind to,” cried Roy. “Now listen: my mother begged of father to leave you here.”

“Oh, ay, of course.”

“Quiet!” roared Roy, “or I will really kick—hard; because she said she would feel safer, and that, if any trouble did arise with some of the men, Martlet would put it down at once, and everything would go right.”

The cuirass went down on the dark oaken boards with a loud clang, and the old soldier sprang to his feet panting heavily.

“Her ladyship said that?” he cried.

“Yes.”

“Say it again, sir; say it again!” he cried, in a husky voice.

Roy repeated the words.

“Yes, yes, sir; and what—what did Sir Granby say to that?”

“Said he was very sorry and very glad.”

“What?”

“Sorry to leave you, because it didn’t seem natural to go back to the regiment without his right-hand man.”

“Right-hand man?”

“Yes; but he was glad my mother felt so about you, for he could go away more contented now, and satisfied that all would be right. For though—ahem!—he had the fullest confidence in me, I was too young to have the management of men.”

“Wrong, wrong, sir—wrong. On’y want a bit o’ training, and you’d make as good a captain as ever stepped.—Then it was her ladyship’s doing, and she said all that?”

“Yes.”

“God bless her! my dear mistress. Here, don’t you take no notice o’ this here,” cried the rough fellow, changing his tone, and undisguisedly wiping the salt tears from his face. “I don’t work so much as I ought, sir, and this here’s only what you calls presperashum, sir, as collects, and will come out