"And you're there, Markie," said the major.
"Yes, that's all right! Next there's my bed for me, and your easy-chair for you, and the fire for us both! And the sight of your chair is better to me than the feel of my bed! And the fire is beautiful, and though I can't feel that, because they're not my legs, I know it is making your legs so nice and warm! And then there are the shines of it all about the room!
"What a beautiful thing a shine is, majie! I wish you would put on your grand uniform, and let me see the fire shining on the gold lace and the buttons and the epaulettes and the hilt of your sword!"
"I will, Markie."
"I've seen your sword, you know, majie! and I think it is the beautifullest thing in the world. I wonder why a thing for killing should be so beautiful! Can you tell me, majie?"
The major had to think in order to answer that question, but thinking he hit upon something like the truth of the thing.
"It must be that it is not made for the sake of the killing, but for the sake of the right that would else be trodden down!" he said, "Whatever is on the side of the right ought to be beautiful."
"But ain't a pirate's sword beautiful? I've read of precious stones in the hilt of a pirate's sword! That's not for the right—is it now, majie?"
The boy was gradually educating the man without either of them knowing it—for the major had to think in order to give reasonable answers to not a few of Mark's questions. The boy was an unconscious Socrates to the soldier; for there is a Teacher who, by fitting them right together, can use two ignorances for two teachings. Here the ostensible master, who was really the principal pupil, had to think hard.
"Anything," he said at last, "may be turned from its right use, and then it goes all wrong."