“Now we are quite savages,” said Bevis, one evening, as they sat up in the bench-room, and the sun went down red and fiery, opposite the little window, filling the room with a red glow and gleaming on their faces. It put a touch of colour on the pears, which were growing large, just outside the window, as if they were ripe towards the sunset. The boomerang on the wall was lit up with the light; so was a parcel of canvas, on the floor, which they had bought at Latten town, for the sails of their ship. There was an oyster barrel under the bench, which was to contain the fresh water for their voyage, and there had been much discussion as to how they were to put a new head to it. “We ought to see ourselves on the shore with spears and things when we are sailing round,” said Mark. “So as not to be able to land for fear.” “Poisoned arrows,” said Mark. “I say, how stupid! we have not got any poison.” “No more we have. We must get a lot of poison.” “Curious plants nobody knows anything about but us.” “Nobody ever heard of them.” “And dip our arrows and spear’s in the juice.” “No one ever gets well after being shot with them.” “If the wind blows hard ashore and there are no harbours it will be awful with the savages all along waiting for us.” “We shall see them dancing and shouting with bows and throw-sticks, and yelling.” “That’s you and me.” “Of course. And very likely if the wind is very hard we shall have to let down the sails, and fling out an anchor and stay till the gale goes down.” “The anchor may drag.” “Then we shall crash on the rocks.” “And swim ashore.” “You can’t. There’s the breakers and the savages behind them. I shall stop on the wreck, and the sun will go down.” “Red like that,” pointing out of window. “And it will blow harder still.” “Black as pitch.” “Horrible.” “No help.” “Fire a gun.” “Pooh!” “Make a raft.” “The clouds are sure to break, or something.” “I say,” said Bevis, “won’t all these things,”--pointing to the weapons--“do first-rate for our war?” “Capital. There will be arrows sticking up everywhere all over the battle-field.” “Broken lances and horses without riders.” “Dints in the ground.” “Knights with their backs against trees and heaps of soldiers chopping at them.” “Flashing swords! the ground will shake when we charge.” “Trumpets!” “Groans!” “Grass all red!” “Blood-red sun like that!” The disc growing larger as it neared the horizon, shone vast through some distant elms. “Flocks of crows.” “Heaps of white bones.” “And we will take the shovels and make a tumulus by the shore.” The red glow on the wall slowly dimmed, the colour left the pear, and the song of a thrush came from the orchard. “I want to make some magic,” said Bevis, after a pause. “The thing is to make a wand.” “Genii are best,” said Mark. “They do anything you tell them.”