“Not done no good, sir? Why, you’ve done wonders; you’ve taken all the conceit out of yourself, and learned in one lesson that you don’t know anything whatever about a sword, except that it has a blade and a hilt and a scabbard. And all the time you’d been thinking that all you had to do was to chop and stab with it as easy as could be, and that there was nothing more to learn. Now didn’t you?”
“Something like it,” said Roy, who was now cooling down; “but, of course, I knew that you had to parry.”
“But you didn’t know how to, my lad; and look here, you haven’t tried to thrust yet. Here, give me a sharp one now.”
“No, I can’t do any more,” said Roy, sulkily. “I don’t know how.”
“That’s a true word, sir; but you’re going to try?”
“No, I’m not,” said Roy, whom a sharp sting in one leg from the worst cut made a little vicious again.
“Come, come, come,” said the old soldier, reproachfully. “That aren’t like my master’s son talking; that’s like a foolish boy without anything in his head.”
“Look here, Ben; don’t you be insolent.”
“Not I, Master Roy. I wouldn’t be to you. Only I speak out because I’m proud of you, my lad, and I want to see you grow up into a man like your father. I tried hard not to hurt you, sir, but I suppose I did. But I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“Then you ought to be, for you cut at me like a brute.”