They tried hard to get Jack to let them take the rifle with them, unsuccessfully, for he thought the authorities would not like it. At last Bevis deigned to get up, and they were driven home, for in his sullen mood Bevis would not even touch the reins, nor let Mark. He was very much offended. The idea of resentment against Ted had never entered his mind. Ted was his equal for one thing, in age. But he hated to be looked at with a severe countenance as if he had been a rogue and stolen sixpence by the authorities against whom he did not feel that he had done anything. He burned against them as the conspirators abroad burn with rage against the government which rules them. They were not Ted, and equal; they had power and used it over him. Bevis was wrong and very unjust, for they were the tenderest and kindest of home authorities. At home there was a dessert waiting on the table for them, and some Burgundy. The Burgundy, a wine not much drunk in the country, had been got a long time ago to please Bevis, who had read that Charles the Bold was fond of and took deep draughts of it. Bevis fancied he should like it, and that it would make him bold like Charles. Mamma poured him out a glassful, Mark took his, and said “Thank you.” Bevis drank in silence. “Aren’t you glad to come home?” said mamma. “No, _that_ I’m not,” said Bevis, and marched off up into the bench-room. Mamma saw that Mark wanted to follow, so she kissed him, recollecting that he had ventured through the storm after Bevis, and told him to do as he liked. “The sails ought to be finished by now,” said Bevis, as Mark came up. “Yes,” said Mark, “they’re sure to be. But you know I can’t go.” “You ought to fetch them,” said Bevis, “you’re lieutenant; captains don’t fetch sails.” He was ready for any important exertion, but he had a great idea of getting other people to do these inferior things for him. “I can’t go,” said Mark, “Frances hates me.” “O! very well,” said Bevis savagely, and ready to quarrel with anybody on the least pretext. The fact was, though resentful, he did not feel quite certain that he approved of his own conduct to his mother. He could have knocked any one down just to recover confidence. He pushed by Mark, slammed the door, and started to get the sails. Frances laughed when she saw him. “Ah!” she said, “Mark did not care to come, did he?” She brought out the sails nicely hemmed--they had been ready some days--and made them into a parcel for him. “So you ran away from the battle,” she said. “I didn’t,” said Bevis rudely. “You sailed away--floated away.” “Not to run away.” “Yes, you did. And you were called Caesar.”