“I hadn’t, my lad. There you are. Buckle on that cutlash.”
“No; you had better have that, Jem. I should never use it.”
“Oh, yes, you would, my lad, if it was wanted. On with it.”
Don reluctantly buckled on the weapon, and Jem solemnly charged the pistols, giving Don one, and taking the other to stick in his own waistbelt.
“There,” he said, retaking the spear given to him. “Don’t you feel like fighting now?”
“No, Jem; not a bit.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Do you?”
“Well, if you put it in that way,” said Jem, rubbing his ear, “I can’t say as I do. You can’t feel to want to do much in that way till some one hurts you. Then it’s different.”
“It’s horrible, Jem!”