Just then there came a whistle, first a long low call, then a quaver, then two short calls repeated. “That’s Mark,” said Bevis, and in he hastened. “Push me off,” for one edge of the raft touched the sandy shore. “Holloa!” shouted Mark, racing down the meadow from the gateway; “stop a minute! let me!--” “Push,” said Bevis. The boy shoved the raft off; it floated very well, but the moment it was free of the ground and Bevis’s weight had to be entirely supported, the water squirted in around the edges. “You’ll be drownded,” said the carter’s lad. “Pooh!” said Bevis. “I shall jump in,” said Mark, making as if he were about to leap. “If you do I’ll hit you,” said Bevis, doubling his fists; “I say!--” For the water rushed in rapidly, and was already half an inch deep. When he caulked his vessel, he stopped all the seams of the bottom, but he had overlooked the chinks round the edges, between the narrow planks that formed the gunwales or sides, and the bottom to which they were fastened. Bevis moved towards the driest side of the raft, but directly he stepped there and depressed it with his weight the water rushed after him, and he was deeper than over in it. It came even over his boots. “Let I get in,” said the boy; “mine be water-tights.” “Pull me back,” said Bevis. Mark seized the rope, and he and the boy gave such a tug that Bevis, thrown off his balance, must have fallen into the brook had he not jumped ashore and escaped with one foot wet through to the ankle. “Yaa--you!” they heard a rough voice growling, like a dog muttering a bark in his throat, and instantly the carter’s lad felt a grip on the back of his neck. It was the Bailiff who marched him up the meadow, holding the boy by the neck with one hand and leading the cart-horse with the other. Bevis and Mark were too full of the raft even to notice that their assistant had been haled off. First they pulled till they had got it ashore; then they tilted it up to let the water run out; then they examined the chinks where it had come in. “Here’s my handkerchief,” said Mark; “put that in.” The handkerchief, a very dirty one, was torn into shreds and forced into the chinks. It was not enough, so Bevis tore up his; still there were holes. Bevis roamed up and down the grass in his excitement, gazing round for something to stop these leaks. “I know,” said he suddenly, “moss will do. Come on.”