"I want to show you a shot of mine that I should use against a Spaniard if I wished to sink her," said Gil, smiling, as by means of wedges he depressed the muzzle of the piece. "But stop, man, the ball will go to the bottom of the Pool, and I want you to hit yon ragged oak." "So I shall," cried Gil, taking aim. "Give me leave, and you shall see." "There," he said, when he had adjusted the piece to his satisfaction, "that will about do. Now, Wat, ready with that linstock. What are you looking at, man?" Wat Kilby, whose eyes had been fixed on Janet staring out of the window, uttered a low growl, and lit the linstock. "Now, Master Cobbe," cried Gil, "do you feel satisfied that the piece is safe?" "My life upon it," cried the founder. "Nay," said Gil, gently; "it is thy child's life." The founder frowned, and was about to speak hastily, but he refrained. "Thou art right, friend Gil," he said; "but have no fear, the piece is made of my toughest stuff. Come, my child, be ready with the linstock." Gil's countenance betrayed his uneasiness; and, to give him confidence, Mace let her eyes meet his, with a calm, loving look, as she mastered her dread and horror, took the burning linstock, and stood ready near the breech. There was a general rush to right and left as the lighted linstock was brought forward; only the founder, Gil, and Wat Kilby, who handed the light, remaining, the latter coolly squatting down near the mouth of the piece to watch the course of the shot. The founder smiled grimly as he said to his child: "A little more to the right, my lass. I warrant she don't burst; but she'll kick like a Castilian mule. Now, captain, if you like to stand aside, there's no need for you to run a risk." Gil smiled and nodded his head as he took a final glance along the piece to satisfy himself as to the direction in which it was laid. "There," he said. "I am quite ready; raise your arm a little, Mace, and let the burning linstock fall softly on the touch-hole. Now, Master Cobbe, give the word, please; when you will." "As I cry three," cried the founder--"Ready--One, two, _three_." Gil stood by the side of the piece, opposite to Mace, watching her face as she stood firm and unflinching; and as she lowered the linstock he inwardly cried, "Brave girl! she would face a peril that would kill any of less sterling mould." For, at the word "three," she let the linstock-end, with its burning slow match, touch lightly, exactly on the point where the priming lay. Then there was a flash, a ball of white smoke, vomited from the howitzer's mouth, a deafening roar, and the great iron ball struck the water fifty yards away, rose, dipped again, and went on skipping along the surface of the water till it crossed the lake, and split the decaying oak to fragments, where it stood blasted on the further shore. A loud hurrah from the lookers-on told of their satisfaction; and the founder turned in admiration to the captain.