had to be ready at any moment to leap from the tree and join
issue with the enemy on the leat. In the fields there was also a
mighty ocean, called by dull grown-ups 'the pond,' and here Scott's
battleship lay moored. It seems for some time to have been an English
vessel, but by and by he was impelled, as all boys are, to blow
something up, and he could think of nothing more splendid for his
purpose than the battleship. Thus did it become promptly a ship
of the enemy doing serious damage to the trade of those parts,
and the valiant Con took to walking about with lips pursed, brows
frowning as he cogitated how to remove the
[Page 4]
Terror of Devon. You may picture the sisters and brother trotting
by his side and looking anxiously into his set face. At last he
decided to blow the accursed thing up with gunpowder. His crew
cheered, and then waited to be sent to the local shop for a pennyworth
of gunpowder. But Con made his own gunpowder, none of the faithful
were ever told how, and on a great day the train was laid. Con applied
the match and ordered all to stand back. A deafening explosion was
expected, but a mere puff of flame was all that came; the Terror
of Devon, which to the unimaginative was only a painted plank,
still rode the waters. With many boys this would be the end of
the story, but not with Con. He again retired to the making of
gunpowder, and did not desist from his endeavors until he had blown
that plank sky-high.

His first knife is a great event in the life of a boy: it is probably
the first memory of many of them, and they are nearly always given
it on condition that they keep it shut. So it was with Con, and a
few minutes after he had sworn that he would not open it he was
begging for permission to use it on a tempting sapling. 'Very well,'
his father said grimly, 'but remember, if you hurt yourself, don't
expect any sympathy from me.' The knife was opened, and to cut
himself rather badly proved as easy as falling into the leat. The
father, however, had not noticed, and the boy put his bleeding
hand into his pocket and walked on unconcernedly. He was really
considerably damaged; and this is a good story of a child of seven
who all his life suffered extreme nausea from
[Page 5]
the sight of blood; even in the _Discovery_ days, to get accustomed
to 'seeing red,' he had to force himself to watch Dr. Wilson skinning
his specimens.

When he was about eight Con passed out of the hands of a governess,
a