“Yes,” said Uncle John, “I don’t suppose the people thought much of pig-nuts, which probably were not very plentiful in times when there were fewer meadows; and not easy to get, besides being rather poor things when you get them, as Joe says. But the wild fruit that they gathered in the autumn--we have read of acorns, nuts and blackberries--what other kinds can you think of?” “Wild strawberries,” said Dick. “And raspberries,” said Joe. “Cranberries,” said David, “and blaeberries.” “What are they?” Dick asked. “You say bilberries, or perhaps ‘whorts’--go on.” “Hips and haws.” “Very likely.” “Rowanberries?” David asked. “Yes, very likely: but think of something else--not berries at all.” “Not crab apples?” said Joe, “they didn’t eat crabs surely?” “I expect they did. Not that we need guess about it, for to a certain extent we know. A good many years ago, the remains of several villages of about the period of this story were found beside the shores of some of the lakes in Switzerland. There was hardly anything of the huts to be seen, because they had been burned down. But the fire which had destroyed the huts had preserved some of the things inside. For instance, jars were dug out of the silt containing what had once been food, all charred by the fire but whole and perfect in shape. There were nuts and acorns and corn of different kinds, but also crabs or wild apples that had evidently been split and dried. Some of these things are in the British Museum now; and if we could go and see them, I daresay you would think them very interesting.” [Illustration: PICKAXE] _Chapter the Eleventh_ _THE STORY OF TIG: How Tig got his First Bow and Arrows_ WHEN first Tig and his friends played at hunting, they mostly had bows and arrows of their own making. Tig had made his own bow, but it was not a good one. He made it of a hazel sapling which was not a very tough piece of wood, and not well balanced, as one end was thicker than the other. His bowstring was one that his father had thrown away, and it was old and frayed. But one day Garff was sitting outside the hut shaping a shaft for a spear with his flint knife, and he saw Tig trying to shoot with his weak little bow. So he called him, and said: “Bring it hither to me, little son. It is a poor thing, this bow of thine. One of these days we must make thee a better.” And Tig said: “Make it now, Dad.”