Bevis Part 66

"Of course: the feathers are very pretty."

"He kicks still."

"Kill him. There; now we must pluck him this evening. Some of the feathers will do for Frances."

"O! Frances! She's no use," said Mark, carrying his bird by the legs.

The head hung down, and Pan licked it. Plucking they found a tedious business. Each tried in turn till they were tired, and still there seemed no end to the feathers.

"There are thousands of them," said Bevis.

"Just as if they could not have a skin."

"But the feathers are prettier."

"Well, you try now."

Bevis plucked awhile. Then Mark tried again. This was in the courtyard of the hut. The moonlight had now quite succeeded to the day. By the watch it was past nine. Out of doors it was light, but in the hut Bevis had to strike a match to see the time.

"It's supper-time," he said.

"Now they are having breakfast at home, I suppose."

"I dare say we're quite forgotten," said Bevis. "People always are.

Seven thousand miles away they're sure to forget us."

"Altogether," said Mark. "Of course they will. Then some day they'll see two strange men with very long beards and bronzed faces."

"Broad-brimmed Panama bats."

"And odd digger-looking dresses."

"And revolvers in their pockets out of sight, come strolling up to the door and ask for--"

"Gla.s.ses of milk, as they're thirsty, and while they're sipping--as they don't really like such stuff--just ask quietly if the governor's alive and kicking--"

"And the Jolly Old Moke asleep in his armchair--"

"And if mamma's put up the new red curtains."

"Then they'll stare--and shriek--"

"Recognise and rumpus."

"Huge jollification!"

"Everybody tipsy and happy."

"John Young tumbling in the pond."

"Bells ringing."

"I say, ought we to forgive the Bailiff and Polly?"

"Hum! I suppose so. But that's a very long time yet?"

"O! a very long time. This duck will never be done."

"We forgot to have tea," said Mark.

"So we did; and tea would be very nice. With dampers like the diggers,"

said Bevis. "Let's have tea now."

"Finish the horrid duck to-morrow," said Mark. "I'll hang him up."

"Fire's gone out," said Bevis, looking from the gateway. "Can't see any sparks."

"Gone out long ago," said Mark. "Pot put it out."

They had left the pot on the ashes.

"It would be a good plan to light a fire inside the stockade now," said Bevis. "It will do to make the tea, and keep things away in the night."

"Lions and tigers," said Mark. "If they want to jump the fence they won't dare face the fire. But it's very warm; we must not make it by the hut."

"Put it on one side," said Bevis, "in the corner under the cliff. Bring the sticks."

They had plenty of wood in the stockade, piled up, from the chips and branches and ends of the poles with which they had made the roof and fence. The fire was soon lit. Bevis got out the iron rod to swing the kettle. Mark went down and dipped the zinc bucket full of water.

"Are there any things about over the New Sea?" he said when he came back. "It's dark as you go through the wood, and the water looks all strange by moonlight."

"Very curious things are about I dare say," said Bevis, who had lit the lantern, and was shaking tea into the tin teapot in the hut. "Curious magic things."

"Floating round; all misty, and you can't see them."

"But you know they're there."

"Genii."

"Ghouls."

"Vampires. Look, there's a big bat--and another; they're coming back again."

"That's nothing; everything's magic. Mice are magic, especially if they're red. I'll show you in Faust. If they're only dun they're not half so much magic."

"More mousey."

"Yes. Besides, if you were in the wood you would see things behind the trees; you might think they were shadows, but they're not: and lights moving about--sparks--"