Bevis Part 42

"No, _that_ I'm not," said Bevis, and marched off up into the bench-room. Mamma saw that Mark wanted to follow, so she kissed him, recollecting that he had ventured through the storm after Bevis, and told him to do as he liked.

"The sails ought to be finished by now," said Bevis, as Mark came up.

"Yes," said Mark, "they're sure to be. But you know I can't go."

"You ought to fetch them," said Bevis, "you're lieutenant; captains don't fetch sails." He was ready for any important exertion, but he had a great idea of getting other people to do these inferior things for him.

"I can't go," said Mark, "Frances hates me."

"O! very well," said Bevis savagely, and ready to quarrel with anybody on the least pretext. The fact was, though resentful, he did not feel quite certain that he approved of his own conduct to his mother. He could have knocked any one down just to recover confidence. He pushed by Mark, slammed the door, and started to get the sails.

Frances laughed when she saw him. "Ah!" she said, "Mark did not care to come, did he?" She brought out the sails nicely hemmed--they had been ready some days--and made them into a parcel for him.

"So you ran away from the battle," she said.

"I didn't," said Bevis rudely.

"You sailed away--floated away."

"Not to run away."

"Yes, you did. And you were called Caesar."

She liked to tease him, being fond of him; she stroked his short golden curls, pinched his arm, kissed him, taunted him, and praised him; walked with him as he went homewards, asked him why he did not offer her his arm, and when he did, said she did not take boys' arms--_boys_ with emphasis--till he grew scarlet with irritation. Then she petted him, asked him about the battle, and said it was wonderful, and he must show her over the battlefield. She made him promise to take her for a sail, and looked so delicious Bevis could not choose but smile.

She had her hat in her hand, such a little hand and so white, like a speck of suns.h.i.+ne among shadows. Her little feet peeped out among the gra.s.s and the blue veronica flowers. Her rounded figure, not too tiny at the waist, looked instinct with restless life, buoyant as if she floated. The bright light made her golden brown hair gleam. She lifted her long eyelashes, and looked him through and through with her grey eyes. Delicate arched eyebrows, small regular features, pouting lips, and impudent chin.

"You're very little," said Bevis, able to speak again. "I believe I could lift you over the stile."

She was little--little and delicious, like a wild strawberry, daintily tinted, sweet, piquant, with just enough acid to make you want some more, rare, and seldom found.

"As you are so impertinent," said she, "I shall not come any farther."

Bevis got over the stile first to be safe, then he turned, and said,--

"Jack will have you some day, and he's big, and he'll manage you."

"O!" said Frances, dropping her hat, "O!" Her little foot was put forward, she stood bolt upright with open lips. Scorn, utter, complete, perfect scorn was expressed from head to foot. Jack manage her! The idea! Before she could recover her breath, Bevis, who had immediately started running, was half across the next field.

Next morning they set to work to fix up the blue boat for sailing, and first stepped the mast and wedged it tight with a chip. A cord came down each side aslant to the gunwale, and was fastened there--these were the backstays to strengthen the mast when the wind blew rough. The bowsprit was lashed firmly at the bow, and the sheets or cords to work the foresail put through the staples, after which the tiller was fixed on instead of the lines. They had two sails--mainsail (without a boom) and foresail. Bevis once thought of having a topsail, but found it very awkward to contrive it without the ropes (they always called their cords ropes) becoming entangled.

The rigging and sails were now up, and Mark wanted to unfurl them and see how they answered, but Bevis, who was in a sullen mood, would not let him, till everything was completed. They had to put in the ballast, first bricks placed close together on the bottom, then two small bags of sand, and a large flat stone, which they thought would be enough. All this occupied a great deal of time, what with having to go backwards and forwards to the house for things and tools that had been forgotten, and the many little difficulties that always arise when anything new is being done.

Nothing fits the first time, and it all has to be done twice. So that when the last thing of all, the oyster-barrel with the tin canister inside, was put on board, it was about four in the afternoon. When they began to push the boat off the ground and get her afloat, they found that the wind had sunk. In the morning it had blown steadily from the westward, and busy at their work they had not noticed that after noon it gently declined. They pushed off, and rowed a hundred yards, so as to be out of the shelter of the trees on the sh.o.r.e, but there was no more breeze there than in the corner which they called the harbour.

The surface was smooth, and all the trees were reflected in it. Bevis had been sullen and cross all day, and this did not improve his temper.

It was very rare for him to continue angry like this, and Mark resented it, so that they did not talk much. Bevis unfurled the sails and hoisted them up. The foresail worked perfectly, but the mainsail would not go up nor come down quickly. It was fastened to the mast by ten or twelve bra.s.s rings for travellers, and these would not slip, though they looked plenty large enough. They stuck, and had to be pushed by hand before the sail could be hoisted.

This was not at all proper, sails ought to go up and down easily and without a moment's delay, which might indeed be dangerous in a squall.

Bevis pulled out his knife, and cut a number of them off, leaving only three or four, and the sail then worked much better. Next they tried reefing, they had put in two rows, but when the second was taken in the sail looked rather shapeless, and Bevis angrily cut off the second row.

He told Mark to row back while he furled, and Mark did so. After they had fastened the boat by the painter to the willow root, and picked up their tools, they went homewards, leaving the rigging standing ready for use on the morrow.

"There's two things now," said Mark, "that ought to be done."

"What's that?" crossly.

"There ought to be an iron ring and staple to tie the s.h.i.+p to--a s.h.i.+p ought not to be tied to a root."

"Get a ring, then."

"And another thing--two more things."

"That there are not."

"That there are. You want a bowl to bale the water out, the waves are sure to splash over."

"That's nothing."

"Well, then," said Mark savagely, "you've forgotten the anchor."

Bevis looked at him as if he could have smashed him, and then went up into the bench-room without a word.

"You're a bear," shouted Mark from the bottom of the staircase. "I shan't come;" and he went to the parlour and found a book. For the remainder of the day, whenever they met, in a minute they were off at a tangent, and bounded apart. Bevis was as cross as a bear, and Mark would not conciliate him, not seeing that he had given him the least reason. At night they quarrelled in their bedroom, Bevis grumbling at Mark for throwing his jacket on the chair he generally used, and Mark pitching Bevis's waistcoat into a corner.

About ten minutes after the candle was out, Bevis got up, slipped on his trousers and jacket, and went downstairs barefoot in the dark.

"Glad you're gone," said Mark.

Bevis opened the door of the sitting-room where his mother was reading, walked up to her, kissed her, and whispered, "I'm sorry; tell the governor," and was off before she could answer. Next morning he was as bright as a lark, and every thing went smoothly again. The governor smiled once more, and asked where they intended to sail to first.

"Serendib," said Mark.

"A long voyage," said the governor.

"Thousands of miles," said Bevis. "Come on, Mark; what a lot you do eat."

Mark came, but as they went up the meadow he said that there ought to be an anchor.

"So there ought," said Bevis. "We'll make one like that in the picture--you know, with a wooden shaft, and a stone let through it."

"Like they used to have when they first had s.h.i.+ps," said Mark.

"And went cruising along the sh.o.r.e--"

"We've forgotten the compa.s.s."

"Of course, that's right; they had no compa.s.s when we lived."

"No; they steered by the sun. Look, there's a jolly wind."