worn by
a Roman man-at-arms if he had joined the army when a mere youth.

There lay the curved, brazen helmet with its comb arching over and edged
with its plume, the scaled cheek-straps that held it in its place, the
leathern breast and back-piece moulded and hammered into the shape of
the human form, brazen shoulder-pieces, ornamentations and
strengthening, the curved, oblong shield and short sword with lion's
head to its hilt and heavy sheath.

There were two more helmets and suits of armour hanging from the walls,
the one rich and ornamental, such as an officer would have worn, the
other plain, and every indication visible of the old soldier having had
a general clean up, the result of his polishing being that every piece
of metal glistened and was as bright as hands could make it.

"Come in time?" said Serge. "What for? I didn't want you here."

"No, but I wanted to come. How beautiful it all looks!"

These words softened the old soldier's next remarks. He uttered a
satisfied grunt as he said:

"Yes, I have had a good turn at them; but it seems a pity, don't it?"

"What seems a pity?"

"To wrap all that tackle up and put it away so as it shan't be seen,
till I think it wants cleaning again."

"Yes, of course. But you are not going to put mine away."

"Oh, yes, I am," said the old man. "I didn't sleep all last night for
thinking about it. I don't mean for us to get into any trouble with the
master, so remember that."

"Look here, Serge!" cried the boy, angrily, "you can put your armour and
father's away, of course, but this is mine, and I didn't save up the
money father gave me and let you buy what was wanted and pay those old
workmen, the smith and armourer, to cut down and alter and make all
these things to fit me, to have them all wrapped up and put away where I
can't see them."

"But you must, boy. You are not going to fight."

"Never mind that. I am not going to have them put away."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to put them on sometimes."

"Bah! To go and strut about like a full-plumaged young cockerel in the
spring, and look at yourself in a bit of glass!"

"No; I'm not so vain," said the boy; "but I've got that armour and those
weapons, and you have been teaching me how to use a sword and spear, and
a lot more besides, and I mean to go on learning--so mind that."

"Ho!" cried the old man. "And who's going to teach you?"

"You are, till I'm perfect."

"Can't ever get perfect