"Don't cry," said the hare, much pleased at the eagerness with which he took up the quarrel against the weasel; "don't cry, darling, I will show you the way home and where to find your arrow. It is not very far, though you cannot see it because of the ground rising between you and it. But will you really kill the weasel next time?"
"Yes, indeed I will," said Bevis, "I will shoot my arrow and kill him quite dead in a minute."
"But I am not sure you can hit him with your arrow; don't you remember that you could not hit the greenfinches nor the rook?"
"Well then," said Bevis, "if you will wait till I am a man, papa will lend me his gun, and then I can certainly kill him."
"But that will be such a long time, Sir Bevis; did not your papa tell you you would have to eat another peck of salt before you could have a gun?"
"Then I know what I will do," said Bevis, "I will shoot the weasel with my brass cannon. Ah, that is the way! And I know where papa keeps his gunpowder; it is in a tin canister on the topmost shelf, and I will tell you how I climb up there. First, I bring the big arm-chair, and then I put the stool on that, and then I stand on the lowest shelf, and I can just reach the canister."
"Take care, Sir Bevis," said the hare, "take care, and do not open the canister where there is a fire in the room, or a candle, because a spark may blow you up just when you are not thinking."
"Oh! I know all about that; I'll take care," said Bevis, "and I will shoot the wretch of a weasel in no time. Now please show me the way home."
"So I will; you stay there till I come to you, I will run round by the gateway."
"Why not come straight through the hedge?" said Bevis, "you could easily creep through, I'm sure."