“Half a dozen if you’d range ’em, sir,” replied Ben.
“Then I’ll fasten the doors after us; and, mind this, the magazine must always be most carefully locked up.”
“You trust me for that, sir!” replied Ben. “I know too well what powder can do to try any tricks or trust anybody with it but myself. Why, do you know, sir, what would happen if I gave a fellow like Tom Rogers a keg to carry?”
“No; how can I tell?” said Roy, shortly.
“Well, I can, sir: he’d set it up on end, sit upon it, and take out a flint and steel to light his pipe as like as not.”
“Don’t talk any more, please, Ben,” said the boy as he proceeded to lock one of the doors.
“No, sir; I only did it so as to keep you from thinking about what we’ve been doing. I suppose one would get used to it, but it does seem to me rather ugly work even to an old soldier.”
“Where are we to put these two kegs?” said Roy.
“In the big closet in the armoury, sir,” replied Ben. “Don’t you fidget about them; they shall be all right, for that’s my part of the place, and nobody goes in there without my leave.”
“It’s impossible to help feeling a little uncomfortable about them, Ben, but I know you’ll take care.”