Part 75 (1/2)

”Pan!” said Mark; the lazy spaniel wagged his tail, but did not come.

”I shall go and finish the sun-dial while you get the breakfast,” said Bevis. It was Mark's turn to-day, and as he went out at the gate he stooped and patted Pan, who looked up with speaking affection in his eyes, and stretched himself to his full length in utter la.s.situde.

Bevis drew the line from the gnomon to the mark he had made the night before, this was the noon or meridian. Then he drew another from the mark where the shadow had fallen at four o'clock in the afternoon. The s.p.a.ce between the two he divided into four equal divisions and drew lines for one, two, and three o'clock. They were nearly two inches apart, and having measured them exactly he added four more beyond, up to eight o'clock, as he thought the sun set about eight; and then seven more on the other side where the shadow would fall in the morning, as he supposed the sun rose about five.

His hours, therefore, ranged from five till eight, and he added half lines to show the half-hours. When it was done the shadow of the gnomon touched the nine, so he shouted to Mark that it was nine o'clock. He knew that his dial was not correct, because the hour lines ought to be drawn so as to show the time every day of the year, and his would only show it for a short while.

How often he had drawn a pencil-mark along the edge of the shadow on the window-frame in the south window of the parlour! In the early spring, while the bitter east wind raged, he used to sit in the old oak chair at the south window, where every now and then the warm suns.h.i.+ne fell from a break in the ranks of the marching clouds. Out of the wind the March sun was warm and pleasant, and while it lasted he dreamed over his books, his Odyssey, his Faust, his Quixote, his Shakespeare's poems.

About eleven the suns.h.i.+ne generally came, and he drew a line on the frame to mark the hour. But in two days the verge of the shadow had gone on, and at eleven left the pencil-mark behind. He marked it again and again, it went on as the sun, coming up higher and higher, described a larger ring. So with his pencil-lines on the window-frame he measured the spring and graduated the coming of summer, till the eggs in the goldfinch's nest in the apple-tree were hard set. From this he knew that his sun-dial was not correct, for as the sun now each day described a circle slightly less than before, the shadow too would change and the error increase. Still the dial would divide the day for them, and they could work and arrange their plans by it.

Had they had the best chronometer ever made it would have been of no further use. All time is artificial, and their time was correct to them.

Mark shouted that breakfast was ready, so he went down, and they sat at the table under the awning.

”Pan's been thieving,” said Mark. ”There was half a damper on the table last night, and it was gone this morning, and two potatoes which we left, and I put the skin of the kangaroo on the fence, and that's gone--”

”He couldn't eat the skin, could he?” said Bevis. ”Pan, come here, sir.”

”Look at him,” said Mark, ”he's stuffed so full he can hardly crawl--if he was hungry he would come quick.”

”So he would. Pan, you old rascal! What have you done with the kangaroo skin, sir?”

Pan wagged his tail and looked from one to the other; the sound of their voices was stern, but he detected the goodwill in it, and that they were not really angry.

”And the damper?”

”And the potatoes? And just as if you could eat leather and fur, sir!”

Pan put his fore-paws on Bevis's knee, and looked up as if he had done something very clever.

”Pooh! Get away,” said Bevis, ”you're a false old rascal. Mark, cut him some of that piece of bacon presently.”

”So I will--and I'll put the things higher up,” said Mark. ”I'll drive some nails into the posts and make a shelf, then you'll be done, sir.”

Pan, finding there was nothing more for him to eat, walked slowly back to the fence and let himself fall down.

”Too lazy to lie down properly,” said Bevis.

After breakfast they put up the shelf, and placed the eatables on it out of Pan's reach, and then taking their towels started for their bath.

”It might have been a rat,” said Mark; ”that looks gnawn.” He kicked the jack's head which had been cut off, being shattered with the shot, and thrown down outside the gate. ”But Pan's very full, else he would come,” for the spaniel did not follow as usual. So soon as they had gone the robin returned to the table, took what he liked, ventured into the hut for a minute, and then perched on the fence above Pan before returning to the wood.

Bevis and Mark swam and waded to Serendib again. There was a light ripple this morning from the south-east, and a gentle breeze which cooled the day. They said they would hasten to construct the raft, so as to be able to shoot the water-fowl, but Bevis wanted first to try the matchlock with ball now he had fitted it with a sight. He fired three times at the teak-tree, to which Mark pinned a small piece of paper as a bull's-eye, and at thirty yards he hit the tree very well, but not the paper. The bullets were all below, the nearest about four inches from the bull's-eye. Still it was much better shooting.

He then loaded the gun with shot, and took it and a hatchet--the two were a good load--intending to look in the wood for suitable timber, and keep the gun by him for a possible shot at something. But just as he had got ready, and Pan shaking himself together began to drag his idle body after him, he thought Mark looked dull. It was Mark's turn to cook, and he had already got the fire alight under the teak.

”I won't go,” he said; ”I'll stop and help you. Things are stupid by yourself.”

”Fis.h.i.+ng is very stupid, by yourself,” said Mark.