The explosion had extinguished the match, so shutting the pan-lid they loaded the gun again. Before Mark shot, Bevis went to the tree, and fastened a small piece of paper to the bark with a pin. Mark fired and put three shots through the paper. Pan raced and circled round to find the game, and returned with his back covered with cleavers which stuck to his coat. After shooting three times each they thought they would try bullets, but with ball they could do nothing. Four times they each fired at the beech and missed it, though every time they took a more careful aim. “The staff’s too high,” said Mark, “I’m sure that’s it. We ought to kneel, then it would be steadier.” Bevis cut the staff shorter, not without some difficulty, for the old black oak was hard like iron. The next was Mark’s turn. He knelt on one knee, aimed deliberately, and the ball scored the trunk, making a groove along the bark. Bevis tried but missed, so did Mark next time; then again Bevis fired, and missed. “That’s enough,” said Bevis; “I shan’t have any more shooting with bullets.” “But I hit it once.” “But you didn’t hit it twice.” “You never hit it once.” “It wants a top-sight,” said Bevis, not very well pleased. “Nobody can shoot ball without a sight.” “You can’t put one,” said Mark. “I don’t know.” The sight was the only defect of the weapon; how to fasten that on they did not know. “I hit it without a sight,” said Mark. “Chance.” “That it wasn’t.” “It’s time to have dinner, I’m sure,” said Bevis. “The gun is to be put away now. I’ll take it in; you get some sticks for the fire.” “O! very well,” said Mark shortly. “But there’s plenty of sticks inside the stockade!” He followed Bevis and began to make a pile in their enclosed courtyard. Bevis having left the gun in the hut came out and helped him silently. “It’s very hot here.” “Awful!” “Tropics.” “The sun’s overhead.” “Sun-stroke.” “The fire ought to be made in the shadow.” “There’s no shadow here.” “Let us go into the wood then.” “Very well--under the beech.” They went out, and collected a heap of sticks in the shade of the beech at which they had been shooting. Mark lit the fire; Bevis sat down by the beech and watched the flame rise. “Pot,” he said. “Pot--what?” said Mark, still sulky. “Fetch the water.” “What?” “Fetch the water.” “O! I’m not Polly.” “But I’m captain.” “Hum!” However, Mark fetched the pot, filled it at the shore, and presently came back with it, and put it on. Then he sat down too in the shade. “You’ve not finished,” said Bevis. “What else?” “What else; why the bacon.” “Get it yourself.” “Aren’t you going?” “No.” Bevis went to the hut, cut off a slice of bacon, and put it on. Mark went to the hut, fetched a handful of biscuits and two apples, and began to eat them. “You never brought me any,” said Bevis. “You never ordered me, captain.” “Why can’t you be agreeable?” “Why can’t you ask anybody, and do something yourself, too.”