e leathern bag.

"How is Adrian, mother?" asked Foy, as she stooped down to kiss him.

"He sleeps, and the doctor, who is still with him, says that he does
well," she answered. "But see here, Foy, you are about to start upon
your first adventure, and this is my present to you--this and my
blessing." Then she untied the neck of the bag and poured from it
something that lay upon the table in a shining heap no larger than
Martin's fist. Foy took hold of the thing and held it up, whereon the
little heap stretched itself out marvellously, till it was as large
indeed as the body garment of a man.

"Steel shirt!" exclaimed Martin, nodding his head in approval, and
adding, "good wear for those who mix with Spaniards."

"Yes," said Lysbeth, "my father brought this from the East on one of his
voyages. I remember he told me that he paid for it its weight in gold
and silver, and that even then it was sold to him only by the special
favour of the king of that country. The shirt, they said, was ancient,
and of such work as cannot now be made. It had been worn from father to
son in one family for three hundred years, but no man that wore it ever
died by body-cut or thrust, since sword or dagger cannot pierce that
steel. At least, son, this is the story, and, strangely enough, when I
lost all the rest of my heritage--" and she sighed, "this shirt was left
to me, for it lay in its bag in the old oak chest, and none noticed it
or thought it worth the taking. So make the most of it, Foy; it is all
that remains of your grandfather's fortune, since this house is now your
father's."

Beyond kissing his mother in thanks, Foy made no answer; he was too
much engaged in examining the wonders of the shirt, which as a worker in
metals he could well appreciate. But Martin said again:

"Better than money, much better than money. God knew that and made them
leave the mail."

"I never saw the like of it," broke in Foy; "look, it runs together like
quicksilver and is light as leather. See, too, it has stood sword and
dagger stroke before to-day," and holding it in a sunbeam they perceived
in many directions faint lines and spots upon the links caused in past
years by the cutting edge of swords and the points of daggers. Yet never
a one of those links was severed or broken.

"I pray that it may stand them again if your body be inside of it," said
Lysbeth. "Yet, son, remember always that there is One who can guard you
better than any human mail