“Boy,” said he, “are you at your books?”
“No, but—but I ken a short way with the badgers,” the lad made answer.
“Did you have a lesson this morning?”
“Never a lesson,” said the lad; “I was too busy living.”
“Living, said ye?”
“Living. I was at the swimming at the Creags, and beaking in the sun on the braes above the Garron beside the march wall where the hedgehogs creep, and I am new from the shinty,” and he shook the shinty-stick in his hand.
The captain took to pondering, his chin on his hand and his elbows on the table, where a bottle and glass lay beside him.
After a bit he said, “Look ye, my son, what are ye meaning to be?”
“I'm for the sword-work,” the lad said, in a flash, his face twitching.
“I would sooner see you in hell first!” cried the captain, thumping the board till the glass rang. He had seen foreign wars himself and had a hack on the groin.