A Muramasa Blade by Louis Wertheimber — Read

In this place for some years to come the three strangers continued to live a quiet, uneventful life. Mutto scrupulously attended to his court duties as one of the chamberlains at the palace; but every moment of the time which he could call his own was devoted to the education of his son. Sennoske, as the boy was called, was already at the age of fifteen a man inferior to none, and almost the equal of his father in all manly accomplishments. Nor had his mind been forgotten. Mutto himself was a fair scholar, and where he thought himself deficient, or was unable through lack of time to devote the necessary attention, he had taken care to secure the best teachers. The latter gladly undertook the charge of instructing the boy, whose aptitude for acquiring knowledge was as marked as his ways and manners were winning. His father strictly supervised and regulated his studies, and showed himself somewhat a hard taskmaster, who never allowed Sennoske leisure for any amusements except such as would either strengthen his body or improve his mind, and the boy grew up having no desire for other recreation. Although passionately fond of books and of indoor studies, the tendency of the times and the examples set before him by his father, as well as by others, roused his ambition and prevented anything like neglect of physical training. This severe bodily and mental work had become easy to him, and to pass from one to the other was all that his system needed, and all the enjoyment he cared for. His intense love and admiration for his father, and the pleasure which he derived from the gratification the latter showed at his quick and steady progress, was another reason, if one had been needed, to impel him to diligence.

To Sennoske his father was everything that was good and great and noble. He knew and felt how much kindness and sympathy were hidden under that austere taciturnity which in all these years had never relaxed into the faintest semblance of a smile. He remembered a sunny childhood in a beautiful home, where his father had laughed and played with him, always showing a gay, cheerful face; and he felt what a terrible shock must have been given to that nature by some fearful calamity, thus to freeze up all apparent sympathy and feeling for the outside world. He had no knowledge of what could have been the catastrophe that wrought this change; and any allusion to their former life, although not forbidden in so many words, was yet discouraged by his father in a way that prevented his ever referring to it.