ing pupil
who came up into the tower to read with him and listen patiently while
he played on his violoncello, but one who had suddenly been transformed.

"Ah, you mean the tidings of those people who object to some of the
king's orders? But really that has nothing to do with us out here in
this quiet, retired place. And you are making it an excuse for all this
folly? For shame, Roy! Dressing up the servants, and putting on a
sword! Go and take it off, boy, and do not make yourself ridiculous."

Ben glanced at his young master, whose face was redder than ever, and
waited impatiently for him to speak, while Master Pawson turned towards
his pupil smilingly, extending one hand to lay upon his shoulder, the
other to lay hold of his sword.

"There is nothing absurd or nonsensical about it, Master Pawson," he
said, firmly. "As I have told you, the castle will be put in a state of
defence."

"You mean repair, my dear boy," said the secretary, mockingly.

"Yes, repair if you will, as to the weak parts, sir. And as to playing
at soldiers, we may look a little awkward at first, as we are not used
to our weapons and arms; but that will soon pass off, and you will have
to join us, and do your best."

"That's so!" growled Ben, whose face began to lighten up a little as Roy
spoke out so firmly.

Master Pawson turned upon the old soldier with his eyebrows raised in a
look of surprise.

"My good man," he said, "will you please to recollect your position
here."

Ben saluted, and drew himself up as stiff as a pike.

"Nonsense, my dear boy!" continued Master Pawson; "this is all foolish
vanity, and I am sure that, when you have thought it over coolly, you
will see that it is childish for you, a boy, to imagine that you can do
any good by making this silly display. Why, you must have been reading
some old book of chivalry and warlike adventure. If you only knew how
ridiculous you look with that long sword buckled on, you would soon take
it off. You look almost as absurd as Rogers here; I thought some
scarecrow had been stuck up by the gate."

"Yes, sir; that's right," growled Ben. "Scarecrows who were going to
scare off all the crows as try to peck at his majesty the king."

"Silence, Martlet!" cried Roy, sharply. "It is not your place to speak
to Master Pawson like that."

"I should think not," said the secretary, with his face flushing
slightly.

"Beg pardon, sir, a slip: not mutiny," said Ben.

"No, but i