till
you've finished. But just now we hardly looked at them. For who with a
spark of manly spirit would think twice about a book with a new
free-wheel champing the oil like a charger in a ballad?

Dicky and I had a three-mile spin before dinner, and only fell off five
times between us. Three spills were Dicky's, one was Oswald's, and one
was when we ran into each other. The bikes were totally uninjured.

As time ran its appointed course we got a bit used to the bikes, and,
finding that you cannot ride all day and all night, we began to look at
the books. Only one of them comes into this story. It was called 'The
Youth's Manual of Scientific and Mechanical Recreation,' and, of course,
we none of us read it till we'd read everything else, and then we found
it wasn't half bad. It taught you how to make all sorts of
things--galvanic batteries, and kites, and mouse-traps, and how to
electroplate things, and how to do wood-carving and leather-work. We
tried as many of the things as we had money for, and some of them
succeeded. Then we made a fire-balloon.

It took a long time to make, and then it caught fire and blazed away
before we could get it launched.

So we made another, and Noel dropped it near the water-butt, where there
was a puddle, and, being tissue-paper, it was unable to stand the
strain.

So we made another. But the paste was bad, and it did not stick.

So we made another.

Then, at last, when all was ready, Oswald climbed on to the pigsty at
Mrs. Beales', and held the balloon very steady while Dicky lighted the
cotton-wool, soaked in spirits of wine, which hangs from the end (where
cars are in larger sizes), and causes it to be called a fire-balloon. A
taper is burned inside the balloon, and then, according to the book, 'it
readily ascends, and is carried away by the wind, sometimes to a
considerable distance.'

Well, this time everything happened just as the book said, which is not
always the case.

It was a clear, dark night, bright stars only. And, to our relief and
agreeable surprise, our balloon rose up and sailed away, dragging its
lighted tail like a home-made comet.

It sailed away over the marshes, getting smaller and smaller, and at
last it was, though lost to sight, to memory dear. Some of us thought it
wasn't worth doing, but Oswald was glad he had persevered. He does hate
to be beaten. However, we none of us cared to make another, so we went
to bed.

Dicky always goes to sleep direct