"Dead also," answered Grigosie.
"Well, you knew them, and understand whether their loss was a big one or not," said Stefan. "Parents haven't counted for much in my case, so I'm not qualified to speak of their usefulness. You've managed to grow into a likely sort of lad. Who's had the training of you?"
"I'm my own manufacture for the most part," answered Grigosie, "but
I'm not too proud to learn from an old campaigner like you, Stefan."
The soldier drew himself up in his saddle, and looked knowingly at his young comrade.
"There's sense in you. Maybe I can teach you a few things. My experience has been wide and peculiar, and if you listen to my advice and model your fighting on mine, you'll make a soldier, not of my girth, perhaps, for that's a gift of nature and not to be had for the asking."
"No; I shall always be of the lean sort, I fear," said Grigosie.
"Don't you be discouraged, lad. There's often good stuff in the lean ones. It's deep potations that give a man breadth sometimes, and his habit of growling strange oaths that gets him credit for valor."
Grigosie plied him with questions, and heard many a strange tale of fighting in which Stefan had done marvellous things.
"Is there no reward for bravery in Wallaria?" said Grigosie at last. "How is it that no great distinction has come to you?" Stefan turned toward him and shut one eye.
"Dodge the distinctions, lad, as you would the devil. They lead to
Court and the society of women, two things to be avoided."