“The harpoon will do,” said Bevis. “Spit him on it.” “No,” said Mark; “the bone will burn and get spoiled--spit him on your arrow.” “The nail will burn out and spoil my arrow, and I’ve lost one in the elms. Go and cut a long stick.” “You ought to go and do it,” said Mark; “I’ve done everything this morning.” “So you have; I’ll go,” said Bevis and away; he went to the nut-tree hedge. He soon brought back a straight hazel-rod to which he cut a point, the bird was spitted, and they held it by turns at the fire, sitting on the sward. It was very warm in the round, bowl-like hollow, the fire at the bottom and the sun overhead, but they were too busy to heed it. Mark crept on hands and knees up the side of the hollow while Bevis was cooking, and cautiously peered over the edge to see if any savages were near. There were none in sight; the fetich kept them at a distance. “We must remember to take the burning-glass with us when we go on our voyage,” said Bevis. “Perhaps the sun won’t shine.” “No. Mind you tell me, we will take some matches, too; and if the sun shines use the glass, and if he doesn’t, strike a match.” “We shall want a camp-fire when we go to war,” said Mark. “Of course we shall.” “Everybody keeps on about the war,” said Mark. “They’re always at me.” “I found these buttons,” said Bevis; “I had forgotten them.” He put the little mushrooms, stems upwards, on some embers which had fallen apart from the main fire. The branches as they burned became white directly, coated over with a film of ash, so that except just in the centre they did not look red, though glowing with heat under the white layer. Even the flames were but just visible in the brilliant sunshine, and were paler in colour than those of the hearth. Now and then the thin column of grey smoke, rising straight up out of the hollow, was puffed aside at its summit by the light air wandering over the field. As the butterflies came over the edge of the hollow into the heated atmosphere, they fluttered up high to escape it. “I’m sure it’s done,” said Mark, drawing the stick away from the fire. The bird was brown and burnt in one place, so they determined to eat it and not spoil it by over-roasting. When Bevis began to carve it with his pocket-knife he found one leg quite raw, the wings were burnt, but there was a part of the breast and the other leg fairly well cooked. These they ate, little pieces at a time, slowly, and in silence, for it was proper to like it. But they did not pick the bones clean. “No salt,” said Mark, putting down the piece he had in his hand. “No bread,” said Bevis, flinging the leg away. “We don’t do it right somehow,” said Mark. “It takes such a long time to learn to be savages.”