“He was so quiet and thoughtful yesterday evening, and again this morning, that he hardly looked at me at breakfast time; and when we went into the study he took up the new volume he is reading, and hardly raised his head again.”
“Then you haven’t been scolded for fighting?”
“Not in the least.”
“So much the better for you.”
“But I say, what in the world is the meaning of all this?” cried the boy, as he stepped to the rough table, upon which, bright with polishing, was a complete suit of armour such as would have been worn by a Roman man-at-arms if he had joined the army when a mere youth.
There lay the curved, brazen helmet with its comb arching over and edged with its plume, the scaled cheek-straps that held it in its place, the leathern breast and back-piece moulded and hammered into the shape of the human form, brazen shoulder-pieces, ornamentations and strengthening, the curved, oblong shield and short sword with lion’s head to its hilt and heavy sheath.
There were two more helmets and suits of armour hanging from the walls, the one rich and ornamental, such as an officer would have worn, the other plain, and every indication visible of the old soldier having had a general clean up, the result of his polishing being that every piece of metal glistened and was as bright as hands could make it.
“Come in time?” said Serge. “What for? I didn’t want you here.”
“No, but I wanted to come. How beautiful it all looks!”
These words softened the old soldier’s next remarks. He uttered a satisfied grunt as he said: