CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
DRILLING OUR MEN.
My father's armoury was a good deal talked about, but when regular drilling was commenced at the Gap it excited no surprise.

The grey-beards of Ripplemouth talked it over, and said they were glad that Captain Duncan had woke up and was ready to defend the Gap when the French came to our part of the coast, and they said they expected great things of him.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bob Chowne one day, as he came over; "heard the news ?" "No," I said; "have the French come ?" "No, not yet; but the Ripplemouth people are going to ask your father to help them make a fort on the cliff over the harbour, and they're going to get some guns from Bristol." "What nonsense!" I said.

"Here, I'm going over to the Gap; will you come ?" "No, I don't want to come to the old lead pump and see your father's people make the water muddy.

What are you going to do ?" "Sword drill." "Oh! I don't care for sword drill." "Bigley's coming too," I said; "and we're going through it all." "It's stupid work standing all in a row swinging your arms about like windmills, chopping nothing, and poking at the air, and pretending that someone's trying to stab you.

I wouldn't mind if it was real fighting, but yours is all sham." "Then we're going to do some pistol-shooting at a mark with ball-cartridge." "Pooh! It's all fudge!" said Bob yawning.