“No,” said Billy, “I don’t.”
“That is the piece of armor that protected the throat. Here is the cuirass or breast-plate, and the tassets that covered the thighs. They’re hooked to the cuirass. And here are the greaves for the shins. There are names for all the arm pieces, too, but we’ll let those go just now.
“This shield, you see, is wood covered with iron, and part of the handle inside is wood. A man must have weighed a great deal when he had a full suit of armor on, and he must have been splendid to look at and rather hard to kill.
“Those old smiths certainly made a fine art of their work in iron. They got plenty of credit for it, too. In the Anglo-Saxon times they were really treated as officers of rank.
“When a man was depending on his sword to protect his family, he naturally respected a man who could make good swords. The smiths sort of held society together.”
Billy, looking around the room, saw that one side had spears and shields and helmets hung all over it; and on the wall at the end were pistols, bows and arrows, and some dreadful knives.
“Did all those,” he asked, pointing at the end of the room, “kill somebody?”
“Ask it the other way,” said Mr. Prescott; “did they all protect somebody? Then I can safely say that they did, for any foe would think twice before he attacked a man in mail. These things were all made because they were needed.”
“What do you suppose put the armorers out of business?”
“I don’t know,” answered Billy.