“Better leave off now, sir,” said the man, grinning.
“But I don’t want to,” cried Roy; and picking up the sword which he had handled with a feeling of pride, he took the other stick, and, crying “Ready!” attacked in his turn, striking hard and as swiftly as he could, but crack, crack, crack, wherever he struck, there was the defensive sapling; and at last, with his arm and shoulder aching, the boy lowered his point and stood panting, with his brow moist with beads of perspiration.
“Well done!” cried Ben. “Now that’s something like a first lesson. Why, those last were twice as good as any you gave before.”
“Yes,” said Roy, proudly; “I thought I could make you feel. Some of those went home.”
“Not one of them, my lad,” said Ben, smiling; “you didn’t touch me once.”
“Not once?”
“No, sir; not once.”
“Is that the truth, Ben?”
“Every word of it, sir. But never you mind that; you did fine; and if you’ll come to me every morning, I’ll make you so that in three months I shall have to look out for myself.”
“I don’t seem to have done any good at all,” said Roy, pettishly.