“The stock must be curved,” said Bevis; “not like the guns, broad and flat, but just curved, and there must be a thing to hold the match; and just remind me to buy a spring to keep the hammer up, so that it shall not fall till we pull the trigger--it’s just opposite to other guns, don’t you see? The spring is to keep the match up, and you pull against the spring. And there’s a pan and a cover to it--a bit of tin would do capital--and you push it open with your thumb. I’ve seen lots of matchlocks in glass cases, all inlaid gold and silver.” “We don’t want that.” “No all we want is the shooting. The match is the bother--” “Would tar-cord do?” “We’ll try; first let’s make the breech. Take up the anchor.” Mark picked up the anchor, and put it on board. They launched the Pinta, and set sail homewards, Mark steering. As they were running right before the wind, the ship went at a great pace. “That’s the Mozambique,” said Bevis, as they passed through the strait where they had had to make so many tacks before. “Land ho!” said Mark, as they approached the harbour. “We’ve had a capital sail.” “First-rate,” said Bevis. “But let’s make the matchlock.” Now that he had succeeded in tacking he was eager to go on to the next thing, especially the matchlock-gun. The hope of shooting made him three times as ready to carry out Mark’s plan of the cave on the island. After furling the sails, and leaving everything ship-shape, they ran home and changed their jackets, which were soaked. Volume Two, Chapter X. MAKING A GUN--THE CAVE. Talking upstairs about the barrel of the gun, they began to think it would be an awkward thing to bring home, people would look at them walking through the town with an iron pipe, and when they had got it home, other people might ask what it was for. Presently Mark remembered that John Young went to Latten that day with the horse and cart to fetch things; now if they bought the tube, Young could call for it, and bring it in the cart and leave it at his cottage. Downstairs they ran, and up to the stables, and as they came near, heard the stamp of a cart-horse, as it came over. Mark began to whistle the tune,-- “John Young went to town On a little pony, Stuck a feather in his hat, And called him Macaroni.” “Macaroni!” said he, as they looked in at the stable-door. “Macaroni” did not answer; the leather of the harness creaked as he moved it. “Macaroni!” shouted Mark. He did not choose to reply to such a nickname. “John!” said Bevis. “Eez--eez,” replied the man, looking under the horse’s neck, and meaning “Yes, yes.” “Fetch something for us,” said Mark. “Pint?” said John laconically. “Two,” said Bevis. “Ar-right,” [“all right”] said John, his little brown eyes twinkling. “Ar-right, you.” For a quart of ale there were few things he would not have done: for a gallon his soul would not have had a moment’s consideration, if it had stood in the way.