They listened: the wood was still; so still, they could hear a moth or a chafer entangled in the leaves of the oak overhead, and trying to get out. Looking up there, the sky was blue and clear, and the sunlight fell brightly on the open space by the streamlet. There was nothing but the hum. The long, long summer days seem gradually to dispose the mind to expect something unusual. Out of such an expanse of light, when the earth is tangibly in the midst of a vast illumined space, what may not come?--perhaps something more than is common to the senses. The mind opens with the enlarging day. It is said the sandhills of the desert under the noonday sun emit strange sounds; that the rocky valleys are vocal; the primeval forest speaks in its depths; hollow ocean sends a muttering to the becalmed vessel; and up in the mountains the bound words are set loose. Of old times the huntsmen in our own woods met the noonday spirit under the leafy canopy. Bevis and Mark listened, but heard nothing, except the entangled chafer, the midsummer hum, and, presently, Pan snuffling, as he buried his nostrils in his hair to bite a flea. They laughed at him, for his eyes were staring, and his flexible nostrils turned up as if his face was not alive but stuffed. The boom did not come again, so they finished their dinner. “I feel jolly lazy,” said Mark. “You ought to put the things down on the map.” “So I did,” said Bevis, and he got out his brown paper, and Mark held it while he worked. He drew Fir-Tree Gulf and the Nile. “Write that there is a deep hole there,” said Mark, “and awful crocodiles: that’s it. Now Africa--you want a very long stroke there; write reeds and bamboos.” “No, not bamboos, papyrus,” said Bevis. “Bamboos grow in India, where we are now. There’s some,” pointing to a tall wild parsnip, or “gix,” on the verge of the streamlet. “I’m so lazy,” said Mark. “I shall go to sleep.” “No you won’t,” said Bevis. “I ought to go to sleep, and you ought to watch. Get your spear, and now take my bow.” Mark took the bow sullenly. “You ought to stand up, and walk up and down.” “I can’t,” said Mark very short. “Very well; then go farther away, where you can see more round you. There, sit down there.” Mark sat down at the edge of the shadow of the oak. “Don’t you see you can look into the channel; if there are any savages they are sure to creep up that channel. Do you see?” “Yes, I see,” said Mark. “And mind nothing comes behind that woodbine,” pointing to a mass of woodbine which hung from some ash-poles, and stretched like a curtain across the view there. “That’s a very likely place for a tiger: and keep your eye sharp on those nut-tree bushes across the brook--most likely you’ll see the barrel of a matchlock pushed through there.” “I ought to have a matchlock,” said Mark. “So you did; but we had to start with what we had, and it is all the more glory to us if we _get_ through. Now mind you keep awake.” “Yes,” said Mark.