n, and to think about shooting the
weasel with it, he soon found that it would not do very well, because he
could not hold it in his hand and point it straight, and when it went
off it would most likely burn his fingers. But looking at his papa's gun
he saw that the barrel, where the powder is put in, was fixed in a
wooden handle called the stock, so he set to work with his pocket-knife
to make a handle for his cannon. He cut a long thick willow stick,
choosing the willow because it was soft and easiest to cut, and chipped
away till he had made a groove in it at one end in which he put the
cannon, fastening it in with a piece of thin copper wire twisted round.
Next he cut a ramrod, and then he loaded his gun, and fired it off with
a match to see how it went.

This he did at the bottom of the orchard, a long way from the house,
for he was afraid that if they saw what he was doing they might take it
from him, so he kept it hidden in the summer-house under an old sack.
The cannon went off with a good bang, and the shot he had put in it
stuck in the bark of an apple tree. Bevis jumped about with delight, and
thought he could now kill the weasel. It was too late to start that day,
but the next morning off he marched with his gun into the Home Field,
and having charged it behind the shelter of a tree out of sight, began
his chase for the weasel.

All round the field he went, looking carefully into the ditch and the
hedge, and asking at all the rabbits'-holes if they knew where the
scoundrel was. The rabbits knew very well, but they were afraid to
answer, lest the weasel should hear about it, and come and kill the one
that had betrayed him. Twice he searched up and down without success,
and was just going to call to the hare to come and show him, when
suddenly he discovered a thrush sitting on her nest in a bush. He put
down his gun, and was going to see how many eggs she had got, when the
weasel (who had no idea he was there) peeped over the bank, having a
fancy for the eggs, but afraid that the nest was too high for him to
reach.

"Ho! Ho!" cried Bevis, "there you are. Now I have you. Just stand still
a minute, while I get my gun and strike a match."

"Whatever for?" asked the weasel, very innocently.

"I am going to shoot you," said Bevis, busy getting his gun ready.

"Shoot _me_!" said the weasel, in a tone of the utmost astonishment;
"why ever do you want to shoot me, Sir Bevis? Did I not tell you that I
spent all