Mark shouted presently that Jack was coming home; so he ran down, and they went to meet him. Jack put up the target after tea. It was a square of rusty sheet-iron, on which he drew a circle with chalk six inches in diameter, and outside that another about two feet. This he placed against the steep hill--the very best of butts--keeping it upright with two stakes, which he drove in the sward. He measured a hundred yards by stepping, and put three flints in a row to mark the spot. The rifle was loaded and the bullet rammed home with the iron ramrod, which had a round smooth handle at the end, so that you might force the lead into the grooves. Jack fired, and missed; fired again, and missed; shot a third time after longer aim, and still there was no ringing sound and no jagged hole in the sheet-iron. Bevis tried, and Mark tried, and Jack again, but they could not hit it. More powder was used, and then less powder; the bullet was jammed home hard by knocking the ramrod with a fragment of post (the first thing that came handy), and then it was only just pushed down to the powder. All in vain. The noise of the reports had now brought together a number of labourers and cottage boys, who sat on the summit of the hill in a row. They fired standing up, kneeling down, lying at full length. A chair was fetched, and the barrel was placed on the rung at the back as a rest, but not a single hole was made in the target. Mark wanted to go nearer and try at fifty yards, but Jack would not; the rifle was made to kill deer at a hundred yards, and at a hundred yards he intended to use it. He was getting very angry, for he prided himself on his shooting, and was in fact a good shot with the double-barrel; but this little rifle--a mere toy--defied him; he could not manage it. They fired between thirty and forty shots, till every bullet they had ready cast was gone. The earth was scored by the target, cut up in front of it, ploughed to the right and left, drilled over it high up, but the broad sheet-iron was untouched. Jack threatened to pitch the rifle into the mill-pool, and so disgusted was he that very likely he would have done it had not Bevis and Mark begged him earnestly not to do so. He put it up on the rack, and went off, and they did not see him till supper-time. He was as much out of temper as it was possible for him to be. When they went to their bedroom that night, Bevis and Mark talked it over, and fully agreed that if they only had the rifle all to themselves they could do it. “I’m sure we could,” said Bevis. “Of course we could,” said Mark. “There’s only something you have to find out.” “As easy as nothing,” said Bevis. Volume Two, Chapter VI. SAILING.