“Seven feet.” “Or very nearly.” “We could make a bed, and sleep all night.” “Wouldn’t it be splendid to stop here altogether?” “First-rate; no stupid sillinesses.” “No bother.” “Have your dinner when you like.” “Nobody to bother where you’ve been to.” “Let’s live here.” “All right. Only we must have a gun to shoot birds and things to eat,” said Bevis. “It’s no use unless we have a gun; it’s not proper, nor anything.” “No more it is,” said Mark; “we _must_ have a gun. Go and stare at Frances.” “But it takes such a time, and then you know how slow Jack is. It would take him three months to make up his mind to lend us the rifle.” “So it would,” said Mark; “Jack’s awful slow, like his old mill-wheel up there.” “Round and round,” said Bevis. “Boom and splash and rumble,”--swinging his arm--“round and round, and never get any farther.” “Not an inch,” said Mark. “Stop; there’s Tom’s gun.” He meant the bird-keeper’s. “Pooh!” said Bevis, “that’s rotten old rusty rubbish. Isn’t there anybody we could borrow one of?” “Nobody,” said Mark; “they’re all so stupid and afraid.” “Donks.” “Awful donks! Let’s sell our watches, and buy one,” said Mark. “Only they would ask what we had done with our watches.” “I know,” said Bevis, suddenly kicking up his heels, then standing on one foot and spinning round--“I know!” “What is it! Quick! Tell me!” “Make one,” said Bevis. “Make one?” “A matchlock,” said Bevis. “Make a matchlock. And a matchlock is quite proper, and just what they used to have--” “But the barrel?” “Buy an iron tube,” said Bevis. “They have lots at Latten, at the ironmonger’s; buy an iron pipe, and stop one end--” “I see,” said Mark. “Hurrah!” and up went his heels, and there was a wild capering for half a minute. “The bother is to make the breech,” said Bevis. “It ought to screw, but we can’t do that.” “Ask the blacksmith,” said Mark; “we need not let him know what it’s for.” “If he doesn’t know we’ll find out somehow,” said Bevis. “Come on, let’s do it directly. Why didn’t we think of it before.” They returned towards the boat. “Just won’t it be splendid,” said Mark. “First, we’ll get everything ready, and then get shipwrecked proper, and be as jolly as anything.” “Matchlocks are capital guns,” said Bevis; “they’re slow to shoot with, you know, but they kill better than rifles. They have long barrels, and you put them on a rest to take steady aim, and we’ll have an iron ramrod too, so as not to have the bother of making a place to put the rod in the stock, and to ram down bullets to shoot the tigers or savages.” “Jolly!”