While we were thinking on these things, and examining into everything
about the room, we were attracted by an exclamation from Peterkin.
"I say, Jack," said he, "here is something that will be of use to us."
"What is it?" said Jack, hastening across the room.
"An old pistol," replied Peterkin, holding up the weapon, which he had
just pulled from under a heap of broken wood and rubbish that lay in a
corner.
"That, indeed, might have been useful," said Jack, examining it, "if we
had any powder; but I suspect the bow and the sling will prove more
serviceable."
"True, I forgot that," said Peterkin; "but we may as well take it with
us, for the flint will serve to strike fire with when the sun does not
shine."
After having spent more than an hour at this place without discovering
anything of further interest, Peterkin took up the old cat, which had
lain very contentedly asleep on the stool whereon he had placed it, and
we prepared to take our departure. In leaving the hut, Jack stumbled
heavily against the doorpost, which was so much decayed as to break
across, and the whole fabric of the hut seemed ready to tumble about
our ears. This put into our heads that we might as well pull it down,
and so form a mound over the skeleton. Jack, therefore, with his axe,
cut down the other doorpost, which, when it was done, brought the whole
hut in ruins to the ground, and thus formed a grave to the bones of the
poor recluse and his dog.
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