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 ship to—a ship 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.”