he creeps--with his black face and white
eyes and all. You won't _encourage_ the child at it, will you, Sir?
And his poor Mother the gentlest soul that ever stepped. Swords! Where
he gets his notions _I_ can't think (though I know where he gets his
language, poor lamb!). Look at _that_ thing, Sir! For all the world
like the dressed-up folk have on the stage or in pictures."

"You haven't let him see any books, I suppose, Nurse?" asked the
Major.

"No, Sir. Never a book has the poor lamb seen, except those you've
brought. I've always been in terror of his seeing a picture of a
you-know-what, ever since you told me what the effect _might_ be. Nor
he hasn't so much as heard the name of it, so far as I know."

"Well, he'll see one to-day. I've brought it with me--must see it
sooner or later. Might see a live one anywhere--in spite of all your
care.... But about this sword--where _could_ he have got the idea?
It's unlike any sword he ever set eyes on. Besides if he ever _did_
see an Italian rapier--and there's scarcely such a thing in
India--he'd not get the chance to use it as a copy. Fancy his having
the desire and the power to, anyhow!"

"I give it up, Sir," said Nurse Beaton.

"I give it upper," added the Major, taking the object of their wonder
from the child.

And there was cause for wonder indeed.

A hole had been punched through the centre of the lid of a tobacco tin
and a number of others round the edge. Through the centre hole the
steel rod had been passed so that the tin made a "guard". To the other
holes wires had been fastened by bending, and their ends gathered,
twisted, and bound with string to the top of the handle (of bored
corks) to form an ornamental basket-hilt.

But the most remarkable thing of all was that, before doing this, the
juvenile designer had passed the rod through a piece of bored stick so
that the latter formed a _cross-piece_ (neatly bound) within the tin
guard--the distinctive feature of the ancient and modern Italian
rapiers!

Round this cross-piece the first two fingers of the boy's right hand
were crooked as he held the sword--and this is the one and only
correct way of holding the Italian weapon, as the Major was well
aware!

"I give it most utterly-uppermost," he murmured. "It's positively
uncanny. No _uninitiated_ adult of the utmost intelligence ever held
an Italian-pattern foil correctly yet--nor until he had been pretty
carefully shown. Who the devil put him up to the