“The harpoon will do,” said Bevis. “Spit him on it.”
“No,” said Mark; “the bone will burn and get spoiled—spit him on your arrow.”
“The nail will burn out and spoil my arrow, and I’ve lost one in the elms. Go and cut a long stick.”
“You ought to go and do it,” said Mark; “I’ve done everything this morning.”
“So you have; I’ll go,” said Bevis and away; he went to the nut-tree hedge. He soon brought back a straight hazel-rod to which he cut a point, the bird was spitted, and they held it by turns at the fire, sitting on the sward.
It was very warm in the round, bowl-like hollow, the fire at the bottom and the sun overhead, but they were too busy to heed it. Mark crept on hands and knees up the side of the hollow while Bevis was cooking, and cautiously peered over the edge to see if any savages were near. There were none in sight; the fetich kept them at a distance.
“We must remember to take the burning-glass with us when we go on our voyage,” said Bevis.
“Perhaps the sun won’t shine.”
“No. Mind you tell me, we will take some matches, too; and if the sun shines use the glass, and if he doesn’t, strike a match.”
“We shall want a camp-fire when we go to war,” said Mark.