Bevis looked at him as if he could have smashed him, and then went up into the bench-room without a word. “You’re a bear,” shouted Mark from the bottom of the staircase. “I shan’t come;” and he went to the parlour and found a book. For the remainder of the day, whenever they met, in a minute they were off at a tangent, and bounded apart. Bevis was as cross as a bear, and Mark would not conciliate him, not seeing that he had given him the least reason. At night they quarrelled in their bedroom, Bevis grumbling at Mark for throwing his jacket on the chair he generally used, and Mark pitching Bevis’s waistcoat into a corner. About ten minutes after the candle was out, Bevis got up, slipped on his trousers and jacket, and went downstairs barefoot in the dark. “Glad you’re gone,” said Mark. Bevis opened the door of the sitting-room where his mother was reading, walked up to her, kissed her, and whispered, “I’m sorry; tell the governor,” and was off before she could answer. Next morning he was as bright as a lark, and every thing went smoothly again. The governor smiled once more, and asked where they intended to sail to first. “Serendib,” said Mark. “A long voyage,” said the governor. “Thousands of miles,” said Bevis. “Come on, Mark; what a lot you do eat.” Mark came, but as they went up the meadow he said that there ought to be an anchor. “So there ought,” said Bevis. “We’ll make one like that in the picture--you know, with a wooden shaft, and a stone let through it.” “Like they used to have when they first had ships,” said Mark. “And went cruising along the shore--” “We’ve forgotten the compass.” “Of course, that’s right; they had no compass when we lived.” “No; they steered by the sun. Look, there’s a jolly wind.” The water was rippling under a light but steady and pleasant summer breeze from the north-west. They pushed out, and while the boat slowly drifted, set the sails. Directly the foresail was up she turned and moved bow first, like a horse led by the bridle. When the mainsail was hoisted she began to turn again towards the wind, so that Bevis, who steered, had to pull the tiller towards him, or in another minute they would have run into the weeds. He kept her straight before the wind till they had got out of the bay where the boats were kept, and into the open water where the wind came stronger. Then he steered up the New Sea, so that the wind blew right across the boat, coming from the right-hand side. It was a beautiful breeze, just the one they wanted, not too strong, and from the best direction, so that they could sail all the way there and back without trouble, a soldier’s wind, out and home again.