It was not so easy as might be supposed to find proper flints. The best
time to look for them was after a heavy storm of rain had washed a
shallow channel beside the road, when you might select some hardy
splinters which had lain hidden under the dust. How we were found out is
not quite clear: perhaps the powder left a smell of sulphur for any one
who chanced to go up in the garret.

But, however that may be, one day, as we came in unexpectedly from a
voyage in the punt, something was discovered burning among the logs on
the kitchen hearth; and, though a desperate rescue was attempted,
nothing was left but the barrel of our precious gun and some crooked
iron representing the remains of the lock. There are things that are
never entirely forgotten, though the impression may become fainter as
years go by. The sense of the cruel injustice of that act will never
quite depart.

But they could not burn the barrel, and we almost succeeded in fitting
it to a stock of elder. Elder has a thick pith running down the centre:
by removing that the gouge and chisel had not much work to do to make a
groove for the old bell-mouthed barrel to lie in. The matchlock, for as
such it was intended, was nearly finished when our hopes were dashed to
the ground by a piece of unnatural cunning. One morning the breechpiece
that screwed in was missing. This was fatal. A barrel without a
breechpiece is like a cup without a bottom. It was all over.

There are days in spring when the white clouds go swiftly past, with
occasional breaks of bright sunshine lighting up a spot in the
landscape. That is like the memory of one's youth. There is a long dull
blank, and then a brilliant streak of recollection. Doubtless it was a
year or two afterwards when, seeing that the natural instinct could not