“That would be bow and arrow time. Bows and arrows don’t make any banging.” “No more they do. It wants lots of banging and smoke--else its nothing.” “No; only chopping and sticking.” “And smashing and yelling.” “No--and that’s nothing.” “Only if we have rifles,” said Mark thoughtfully; “you see, people don’t see one another; they are so far off, and nobody stands on a bridge and keeps back all the enemy all by himself.” “And nobody has a triumph afterwards with elephants and chariots, and paints his face vermilion.” “Let’s have bow and arrow time,” said Mark; “it’s much nicer--and you sell the prisoners for slaves and get heaps of money, and do just as you like, and plough up the cities that don’t please you.” “Much nicer,” said Bevis; “you very often kill all the lot and there’s nothing silly. I shall be King Richard and have a battle-axe--no, let’s be the Normans.” “Wouldn’t King Arthur do?” “No; he was killed, that would be stupid. I’ve a great mind to be Charlemagne.” “Then I shall be Roland.” “No; you must be a traitor.” “But I want to fight your side,” said Mark. “How many are there we can get to make the war?” They consulted, and soon reckoned up fourteen or fifteen. “It will be jolly awful,” said Mark; “there will be heaps of slain.” “Let’s have Troy,” said Bevis. “That’s too slow,” said Mark; “it lasted ten years.” “Alexander the Great--let’s see; whom did he fight?” “I don’t know; people nobody ever heard of--nobody particular, Indians and Persians and all that sort.” “I know,” said Bevis; “of course! I know. Of course I shall be Julius Caesar!” “And I shall be Mark Antony.” “And we will fight Pompey.” “But who shall be Pompey?” said Mark. “Pooh! there’s Bill, and Wat, and Ted; anybody will do for Pompey.” Volume One, Chapter IX. SWIMMING. “Put your hands on the rail. Hold it as far off as you can. There--now let the water lift your feet up behind you.” Bevis took hold of the rail, which was on a level with the surface, and then leaning his chest forward upon the water, felt his legs and feet gradually lifted up, till he floated. At first he grasped the rail as tight as he could, but in a minute he found that he need not do so. Just to touch the rail lightly was enough, for his extended body was as buoyant as a piece of wood. It was like taking a stick and pressing it down to the bottom, and then letting it go, when it would shoot up directly. The water felt deliciously soft under him, bearing him up far more gently than the grass, on which he was so fond of lying. “Mark!” he shouted. “Do like this. Catch hold of the rail--it’s capital!”