“And under every shield a knight was named,
     For such was Arthur’s custom in his hall. 
     When some good knight had done one noble deed
     His arms were carven only, but if twain
     His arms were blazoned also, but if none
     The shield was blank and bare, without a sign,
     Saving the name beneath.”

Keith had been greatly interested in watching the carpenters fix the stage so that it could be made to look like the Hall of the Shields in a very few moments, when the time for that tableau should come.  He knew where every glittering shield was to hang, and every banner and battle-axe.

“How do you suppose those knights felt,” he said to Jonesy, “who saw their shields hanging there year after year, blank and bare, because they had never done even one noble deed?  They must have been dreadfully ashamed when the king walked by and read their names underneath, and then looked up at the shields and saw nothing emblazoned on them or even carved.  Seems to me that I would have done something to have made me worthy of that honour if I had died for it!”

Something,—­it may have been the soft, rich colour of the jewel-broidered velvet the boy wore, or maybe the flush that rose to his cheeks at the thrill of such noble thoughts,—­something had brought an unusual beauty into his face.  As he stood there, with head held high, his dark eyes flashing, his face glowing, and in that princely dress of a bygone day, he looked every inch a nobleman.  There was something so pure and sweet, too, in the expression of his upturned face that the light upon it seemed to touch it into an almost unearthly fairness.

The professor, who had been watching him with a tender smile on his rugged old face, drew the child toward him, and brushed the hair back on his forehead.

“Ach, liebchen,” he said, in his queer broken speech, “thy shield will never be blank and bare.  Already thou hast blazoned it with the beauty of a noble purpose, and like Galahad, thou too shalt find the Grail.”

It was Keith’s turn to be puzzled, but he did not like to ask for an explanation; there was something so solemn in the way the old man put his hand on his head as he spoke, almost as if he were bestowing a blessing.  Besides, it was time to go to the rehearsal at the college.  One of the servants had come to stay with Jonesy while the professor went over to practise on his violin.  He was to play behind the scenes, a soft, low accompaniment to Miss Bond’s reading.

By eight o’clock, the night of the Benefit, every seat in the house was full.  “That’s jolly for Jonesy,” exclaimed Malcolm, peeping out from behind the curtain.  “We counted up that ten cents a ticket would make enough, if they were all sold, to pay his board till papa comes home, and buy him all the new clothes he needs, too.  Now every ticket is sold.”

“Hurry up, Malcolm,” called Keith.  “We are first on the programme, and it is time to begin.”