So Rollo went in, and told his father that they were all ready. He found his father at the library looking at a large book.
“Come, father,” said Rollo.
“Seventy-five parts of saltpetre,” said his father, reading out of his great book, and appearing not to pay any attention to what Rollo said,—“seventy-five parts of saltpetre, eleven and a half of sulphur, and thirteen and a half of charcoal. Seventy-five to eleven, that is, about seven to one. Say, six times as much saltpetre as of each of the other two. That will be near enough.”
“Come, father,” said Rollo again; “we’re all ready.”
“Yes,” said his father, “I’ll come.”
Rollo returned into the kitchen, and his father followed him. His mother came, too, for she wanted to see them make the gunpowder. Jonas asked Mr. Holiday if he should want a pair of scales.
“No,” said he, “we can guess at the proportions near enough. We can’t expect to make very good gunpowder.”
“Why not, sir?” said Rollo; “the things are all good that we are going to make it of.”
“Very likely,” said his father; “but we cannot make them fine enough,—nor mix them intimately.”
“Why, father,” said Rollo, “Jonas has made them very fine indeed.”