birthday?" he begged. "I won't hurt it."

And the sword was taken down from the oak-panelled wall, cleaned, and
laid on the bed in his room.

"Promise you will not try to take it out of the sheath, sonny
darling," said the gentle, sad-eyed lady as she kissed him "Good
night".

"I promise, Dearest," replied the boy, and she knew that she need have
no fear.

He fell asleep fondling and cuddling the sword that had pierced the
hearts of many men and defended the honour of many ancestors, and
dreamed, with far greater vividness and understanding, the dream he
had so often dreamt before.

Frequently as he dreamed it during his chequered career, it was
henceforth always most vivid and real. It never never varied in the
slightest detail, and he generally dreamed it on the night before some
eventful, dangerful day on which he risked his life or fought for it.

Of the early dreamings, of course, he understood little, but while he
was still almost a boy he most fully understood the significance of
every word, act, and detail of the marvellous, realistic dream.

It began with a view of a camp of curious little bell-tents about
which strode remarkable, big-booted, long-haired, bedizened
men--looking strangely effeminate and strangely fierce, with their
feathered hats, curls, silk sashes, velvet coats, and with their long