“Yes, sir. Why not?”
“Heaven forbid, man! Heaven forbid!”
“And I say ‘Amen,’ sir. But come back to camp, and let’s get you a bit of something to eat; and, I say, sir, you did give my hand a deep cut. Think that new sword you’ve got’s as sharp as the one I whetted for you?”
“I don’t know, Samson,” said Fred, drearily. “I hate the very name of sword.”
“And so do I, sir, proud as I was the first day I buckled mine on. I aren’t much of a smith, but I can blow the bellows like hooray, and when the time comes, as it says in the Bible, I’ll make the fire roar while some one hammers all the swords and spears into plough-shares and pruning-hooks, and cuts all the gun-barrels up into pipes. That’s right, sir; come along.”
Fred said no more, but, with their shadows darkly shown upon the trampled grass, the pair walked back to camp.