gave it to me, and I polished it. There it is, hanging up with that Lochaber axe upon the wall.
"Turned up a rusty old claymore."
Colonel Ossington moved his chair to look round at the old sword. His glance travelled to other parts of the dimly lighted room, surveying the few family portraits in their tarnished frames, the dusty antlered heads of stags, the old Highland targets, crossbows, and battle-axes that decorated the dark oak panels of the walls.
"There used to be a rack of muskets in that farther