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Dick o' the Fens: A Tale of the Great East Swamp

by George Manville Fenn · English · Gutenberg #21306 · 663,375 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Dick o' the Fens: A Tale of the Great East Swamp

Author: George Manville Fenn


        
Release date: May 4, 2007 [eBook #21306]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21306

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DICK O' THE FENS: A TALE OF THE GREAT EAST SWAMP ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England





Dick o' the Fens; A Tale of the Great Eastern Swamp, by George Manville
Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________

A number of the actors in this tale speak in a broad Lincolnshire
Fenland dialect, which may make it a little hard for some readers. Some
of the more unusual words are annotated in square brackets.

The Squire sees the gradually encroaching bog and marsh in his land, and
realises that with drainage he could reclaim this as good farm land.  On
the other hand some of the locals would rather see the fen remain, along
with their various occupations, and the wonderful and fragile wet-land
natural history.  When digging begins there are a number of nasty
incidents--torching of houses, malicious woundings of horses and cows,
gunshot wounds to humans, and even murders.

A constable is called in, and takes a dislike to Dick, the Squire's son,
and to his friend Tom.  He tries to pin the blame on them.  At times
even Dick's father is inclined to think that way, too.  But eventually
the culprit is found.  There are the tense moments typical of this
author, and you will perhaps learn a lot about fenland natural history.
A good read, and better still to listen to it.  NH

________________________________________________________________________

DICK O' THE FENS; A TALE OF THE GREAT EASTERN SWAMP, BY GEORGE MANVILLE
FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

IN THE FEN.

Dick Winthorpe--christened Richard by order of his father at the Hall--
sat on the top of the big post by the wheelwright's door.

It was not a comfortable seat, and he could only keep his place by
twisting his legs round and holding on; but as there was a spice of
difficulty in the task, Dick chose it, and sat there opposite Tom
Tallington--christened Thomas at the wish of his mother, Farmer
Tallington's wife, of Grimsey, the fen island under the old dyke.

Tom Tallington was seated upon one side of a rough punt, turned up to
keep the rain from filling it, and as he was not obliged to hold on with
his legs he kept swinging them to and fro.

It was not a pleasant place for either of the lads, for in front of them
was a ring of fire where, upon the ground, burned and crackled and fumed
a quantity of short wood, which was replenished from time to time by
Mark Hickathrift, the wheelwright, and his lad Jacob.

At the first glance it seemed as if the wheelwright was amusing himself
by making a round bonfire of scraps, whose blue reek rose in the country
air, and was driven every now and then by the wind over the boys, who
coughed and sneezed and grumbled, but did not attempt to move, for there
was, to them, an interesting feat about to be performed by the
wheelwright--to wit, the fitting of the red-hot roughly-made iron tire
in the wood fire upon the still more roughly-made wheel, which had been
fitted with a few new spokes and a fresh felloe, while Farmer
Tallington's heavy tumbril-cart stood close by, like a cripple supported
on a crutch, waiting for its iron-shod circular limb.

"Come, I say, Mark, stick it on," cried Dick Winthorpe; "we want to go."

"'Tarn't hot enough, my lad," said the great burly wheelwright, rolling
his shirt sleeves a little higher up his brown arms.

"Yes, it is," said Tom Tallington.  "You can see it all red.  Why don't
you put it on cold, instead of burning the wood?"

"'Cause he can't make one fit, and has to burn it on," said Dick.

The wheelwright chuckled and put on some more wood, which crackled and
roared as the wind came with a rush off the great fen, making the
scattered patches of dry reeds bend and whisper and rustle, and rise and
fall, looking in the distance of the grey, black, solemn expanse like
the waves of the sea on a breezy day.

"Oh!  I say, isn't it choky!" cried Tom.

"Thou shouldstna sit that side then," said the wheelwright.

"Hoy, Dave!" shouted Dick Winthorpe.  "Hi, there: Chip, Chip, Chip!" he
cried, trying to pat his leg with one hand, the consequence being that
he overbalanced himself and dropped off the post, but only to stay down
and caress a little black-and-white dog, which trotted up wagging its
stump of a tail, and then beginning to growl and snarl, twitching its
ears, as another dog appeared on the scene--a long, lank, rough-haired,
steely-grey fellow, with a pointed nose, which, with his lean flanks,
gave him the aspect of an animal of a vain disposition, who had tried to
look like a greyhound, and failed.

This dog trotted out of the wheelwright's workshop, with his coat full
of shavings and sawdust, and lay down a short distance from the fire,
while the little black-and-white fellow rushed at him, leaped up, and
laid hold of his ear.

"Ha, ha! look at old Grip!" cried Tom Tallington, kicking his heels
together as the big dog gave his ears a shake, and lay down with his
head between his paws, blinking at the fire, while his little assailant
uttered a snarl, which seemed to mean "Oh you coward!" and trotted away
to meet a tall rugged-looking man, who came slouching up, with long
strides, his head bent, his shoulders up, a long heavy gun over his
shoulder, and a bundle of wild-fowl in his left hand, the birds banging
against his leather legging as he walked, and covering it with feathers.

He was a curious, furtive-looking man, with quick, small eyes, a smooth
brown face, and crisp, grizzly hair, surmounted by a roughly-made cap of
fox-skin.

He came straight up to the fire on the windy side, nodded and scowled at
the wheelwright as the latter gave him a friendly smile, and then turned
slowly to the two boys, when his visage relaxed a little, and there was
the dawning of a smile for each.

"What have you got, Dave?" cried Dick, laying hold of the bunch of
birds, and turning them over, so as to examine their heads and feet;
and, without waiting for an answer, he went on--"Three curlews, two
pie-wipes, and a--and a--I say, Tom, what's this?"

Tom Tallington looked eagerly at the straight-billed, long-legged,
black-and-white bird, but shook his head, while Chip, the dog, who had
seated himself with his nose close to the bunch, uttered one short sharp
bark.

"I say, Dave, what's this bird?" said Dick.

The man did not turn his head, but stood staring at the fire, and said,
in a husky voice, what sounded like "Scatcher!"

"Oh!" said Dick; and there was a pause, during which the fire roared,
and the smoke flew over the wheelwright's long, low house at the edge of
the fen.  "I say," cried Dick, "you don't set oyster-catchers in the
'coy."

"Yow don't know what you're talking about," growled the man addressed.

"Why, of course he didn't," cried Tom Tallington, a stoutly-built lad of
sixteen or seventeen, very much like his companion Dick, only a little
fairer and plumper in the face.  "They ain't swimmers."

"No, of course, not," said Dick.  "Kill 'em all at one shot, Dave?"

The man made no answer, but his little dog uttered another short bark as
if in assent.

"Wish I'd been there," said Dick, and the dog barked once more, after
which the new-comer seemed to go off like a piece of machinery, for he
made a sound like the word "kitch," threw the bunch of birds to the
wheelwright, who caught them, and dropped them in through the open
window of the workshop on to his bench, while Dave jerked his gun off
his shoulder, and let the butt fall between his feet.

Just then the wheelwright roared out, with one hand to his cheek:

"Sair--_rah_!  Ale.  Here you, Jake, go and fetch it."

The short thickset lad of nineteen, who now came from behind the house
with a fagot of wood, threw it down, and went in, to come back in a few
moments with a large brown jug, at the top of which was some froth,
which the wind blew off as the vessel was handed to the wheelwright.

"She's about ready now," said the latter.  "You may as well lend a hand,
Dave."

As he spoke, he held out the jug to the donor of the birds, who only
nodded, and said, as if he had gone off again, "Drink;" and propping the
gun up against the crippled cart, he took off his rough jacket and hung
it over the muzzle.

In kindly obedience to the uttered command, the big wheelwright raised
the brown vessel, and took a long draught, while Dave, after hanging up
his jacket, stood and looked on, deeply interested apparently, watching
the action of the drinker's throat as the ale went down.

Jacob, the wheelwright's 'prentice, looked at the ale-jug with one eye
and went on placing a piece of wood here and another there to keep up
the blaze, while Dick went and leaned up against the cart by the gun.

Then the jug was passed, after a deep sigh, to Dave, who also took a
long draught, which made Jacob sigh as he turned to go for some more
wood, when he was checked by a hollow growl from Dave, which came out of
the pot.

But Jacob knew what it meant, and stopped, waiting patiently till Dave
took the brown jug from his lips, and passed it to the apprentice,
letting off the words now:

"Finish it."

Jacob was a most obedient apprentice, so he proceeded to "finish it,"
while the wheelwright and Dave went to the workshop, and as he was
raising the vessel high Tom Tallington stooped, picked up a chip of wood
from a heap, gave Dick a sharp look, and pitched it with so good an aim
that it hit the jug, and before the drinker could lower it, Tom had
hopped back against the cart, striking against the gun, and nearly
knocking it down.

"I see yow, Masr' Dick," said Jacob, grinning; "but yow don't get none.
Ale arn't good for boys."

"Get out!" cried Dick; "why, you're only a boy yourself.  'Prentice,
'prentice!"

"Not good for boys," said Jacob again as he finished the last drop
perseveringly, so that there should be none left; and then went indoors
with the jug.

"Dick--I say," whispered Tom as, after slipping one band into the big
open pocket of the hanging coat, he drew out a well scraped and polished
cow-horn with a cork in the thin end.

Chip, the dog, who was watching, uttered a remonstrant bark, but the
boys paid no heed, being too intent upon the plan that now occurred to
one, and was flashed instantaneously to the other.

"Yes, do," whispered Dick.  "How much is there in it?"

"Don't know; can't see."

"Never mind, pitch it in and let's go, only don't run."

"It would be too bad," said Tom, laughing.

"Never mind--we'll buy him some more powder.  In with it."

"No," said Tom, hesitating, though the trick was his suggestion.

Dick snatched the powder-horn from his companion, gave a hasty glance at
the workshop, from which came the clink of pincers, and pitched the horn
right into the middle of the blaze.

Chip gave a sharp bark, and dashed after it, but stopped short, growling
as he felt the heat, and then went on barking furiously, while the two
boys walked off toward the rough road as fast as they could, soon to be
beyond the reach of the wheelwright's explosion of anger, for they
regretted not being able to stop and see the blow-up.

"What's your Chip barking at?" said the wheelwright, as the two men
walked out, armed with great iron pincers, the wheelwright holding a
pair in each hand.  "What is it, Chip?"

The dog kept on barking furiously, and making little charges at the
fire.

"There's summat there," said Dave in a low harsh voice.  "Where's they
boys?"

"Yonder they go," said the wheelwright.

"Then there's summat wrong," said Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and
scratching his head.

An idea occurred to him, and he ran to his coat.

"Hah!" he ejaculated in a voice that sounded like a saw cutting wood and
coming upon a nail; "keep back, Chip!  Here, Chip, boy; Chip!  They've
throwed in my powder-horn."

"Eh!" cried the wheelwright.

Pop! went the horn with a feeble report, consequent upon there being
only about a couple of charges of powder left; but it was enough to
scatter the embers in all directions, and for a few moments all stood
staring at the smoking wood in the midst of which lay the great iron
tire, rapidly turning black.

Dave was the first to recover himself.

"Come on," he shouted, and, pincers in hand, he seized the heated ring,
the wheelwright followed suit, the apprentice joined, and lifting the
glowing iron it was soon being hammered into its place round the smoking
wheel, the soft metal bending and yielding, and burning its way till,
amidst the blinding smoke, it was well home and cooling and shrinking,
this part of the business being rapidly concluded by means of buckets of
water brought by Jacob, and passed along the edge of the wheel.

"I say, Tom, it wasn't half a bang," said Dick as the two lads ran
towards home with the wind whistling by their ears.

"No," was the panted-out reply; "but I say, what will old Dave say?"

"I don't care what he says.  I shall give him a shilling to buy some
more powder, and he can soon make himself another horn."



CHAPTER TWO.

THE GREAT FEN DRAIN.

"Yes, it's all right, Master Winthorpe," said Farmer Tallington; "but
what will the folks say?"

"Say!  What have they got to do with it?" cried Squire Winthorpe.  "You
boys don't make so much noise.  I can't hear myself speak."

"Do you hear, Tom, howd thy row, or I'll send thee home," said the
farmer; "recollect where you be."

"Yes, father," said, the lad.

"It wasn't Tom; it was me," said Dick quietly.

"Then hold your tongue, sir," cried the squire.  "Now look here, Master
Tallington.  If a big drain is cut right through the low fen, it will
carry off all the water; and where now there's nothing but peat, we can
get acres and acres of good dry land that will graze beasts or grow
corn."

"Yes, that's fine enough, squire," said Tom's father; "but what will the
fen-men say?"

"I don't care what they say," cried the squire hotly.  "There are about
fifty of us, and we're going to do it.  Will you join?"

"Hum!" said Tom Tallington's father, taking his long clay-pipe from his
lips and scratching his head with the end.  "What about the money?"

"You'll have to be answerable for a hundred pounds, and it means your
own farm worth twice as much, and perhaps a score of acres of good land
for yourself."

"But it can't be good land, squire.  There be twenty foot right down o'
black peat, and nowt under that but clay."

"I tell you that when the water's out of it, James Tallington, all that
will be good valuable land.  Now, then, will you join the adventurers?"

"Look here, squire, we've known each other twenty year, and I ask thee
as a man, will it be all right?"

"And I tell you, man, that I'm putting all I've got into it.  If it were
not right, I wouldn't ask you to join."

"Nay, that you wouldn't, squire," said Farmer Tallington, taking a good
draught from his ale.  "I'm saaving a few pounds for that young dog, and
I believe in you.  I'll be two hundred, and that means--"

"Twice as much land," said the squire, holding out his hand.  "Spoken
like a man, Master Tallington; and if the draining fails, which it can't
do, I'll pay you two hundred myself."

"Nay, thou weant," said Farmer Tallington stoutly.  "Nay, squire, I'll
tak' my risk of it, and if it turns out bad, Tom will have to tak' his
chance like his father before him.  I had no two hundred or five hundred
pounds to start me."

"Nor I," said the squire.

"May we talk now, father?" said Dick.

"Yes, if you like."

"Then," cried Dick, "I wish you wouldn't do it.  Why, it'll spoil all
the fishing and the 'coy, and we shall get no ice for our pattens, and
there'll be no water for the punt, and no wild swans or geese or duck,
and no peat to cut or reeds to slash.  Oh, I say, father, don't drain
the fen."

"Why, you ignorant young cub," cried the squire, "do you suppose you are
always to be running over the ice in pattens, and fishing and shooting?"

"Well, no, not always," said Dick, "but--"

"But--get out with your buts, sir.  Won't it be better to have solid
land about us instead of marsh, and beef and mutton instead of birds,
and wheat instead of fish?"

"No, I don't think so, father."

"Well, then, sir, I do," said the squire.  "I suppose you wouldn't like
the ague driven away?"

"I don't mind, father," said Dick laughing.  "I never get it."

"No, but others do, and pains in their joints, and rheumatics.  I say,
Tallington, when they get as old as we are, eh?"

"Yes, they'll find out the difference, squire; but do you know, that's
how all the fen-men'll talk."

"Let 'em," said the squire; "we've got leave from the king's magistrates
to do it; and as for the fen-men, because they want to live like frogs
all their lives, is that any reason why honest men shouldn't live like
honest men should.  There, fill up your pipe again; and as for the
fen-men, I'll talk to them."

There was a bonny fire in the great open fireplace, for winter was fast
coming on, and the wind that had been rushing across the fen-land and
making the reeds rustle, now howled round the great ivy-clad chimney of
the Hall, and made the flame and smoke eddy in the wide opening, and
threaten every now and then to rush out into the low-ceiled homely room,
whose well-polished oak furniture reflected the light.

The two lads sat listening to the talk of their elders, and after a time
took up the work that had been lying beside them--to wit, some netting;
but before Dick had formed many meshes he stopped to replenish the fire,
taking some awkward-looking pieces of split root which were as red as
mahogany, and placing them upon the top, where they began to blaze with
a brilliant light which told tales of how they were the roots of
turpentine-filled pines, which had been growing in the ancient forest
that existed before the fen; and then taking from a basket half a dozen
dark thick squares of dried peat and placing them round the flaming
embers to keep up the heat.

"I say, Tom," said Dick in a low voice, "I don't think I should care to
live here if the fen was drained."

"No," replied Tom in the same tone, "it would be a miserable place."

"Now, Tom, lad, home!" said the farmer, getting up.  "Good-night,
squire!"

"Nay, I won't say good-night yet," cried the squire.  "Hats and sticks,
Dick, and we'll walk part of the way home with them."

As they left the glowing room with its cosy fire, and opened the hall
door to gaze out upon the night, the wind swept over the house and
plunged into the clump of pines, which nourished and waved upon the
Toft, as if it would root them up.  The house was built upon a rounded
knoll by the side of the embanked winding river, which ran sluggishly
along the edge of the fen; and as the party looked out over the garden
and across the fen upon that November night, they seemed to be ashore in
the midst of a sea of desolation, which spread beneath the night sky
away and away into the gloom.

From the sea, four miles distant, came a low angry roar, which seemed to
rouse the wind to shout and shriek back defiance, as it plunged into the
pines again, and shook and worried them till it passed on with an angry
hiss.

"High-tide, and a big sea yonder," said the squire.  "River must be full
up.  Hope she won't come over and wash us away."

"Wesh me away, you mean," said Farmer Tallington.  "You're all right up
on the Toft.  'Member the big flood, squire?"

"Ay, fifteen years ago, Tallington, when I came down to you in
Hickathrift's duck-punt, and we fetched you and Tom's mother out of the
top window."

"Ay, but it weer a bad time, and it's a good job we don't hev such
floods o' watter now."

"Ay 'tis," said the squire.  "My word, but the sea must bite to-night.
Dick here wanted to be a sailor.  Better be a farmer a night like this,
eh, Tallington?"

"Deal better at home," was the reply, as the door was closed behind
them, shutting out the warmth and light; and the little party went down
a path leading through the clump of firs which formed a landmark for
miles in the great level fen, and then down the slope on the far side,
and on to the rough road which ran past Farmer Tallington's little
homestead.

The two elder friends went on first, and the lads, who had been together
at Lincoln Grammar-School, hung behind.

To some people a walk of two miles through the fen in the stormy
darkness of the wintry night would have seemed fraught with danger, the
more so that it was along no high-road, but merely a rugged track made
by the horses and tumbrils in use at the Toft and at Tallington's Fen
farm, Grimsey, a track often quite impassable after heavy rains.  There
was neither hedge nor ditch to act as guide, no hard white or drab road;
nothing but old usage and instinctive habit kept those who traversed the
way from going off it to right or left into the oozy fen with its black
soft peat, amber-coloured bog water, and patches of bog-moss, green in
summer, creamy white and pink in winter; while here and there amongst
the harder portions, where heath and broom and furze, whose roots were
matted with green and grey coral moss, found congenial soil, were long
holes full of deep clear water--some a few yards across, others long
zigzag channels like water-filled cracks in the earth, and others
forming lanes and ponds and lakes that were of sizes varying from a
quarter of a mile to two or three in circumference.

Woe betide the stranger who attempted the journey in the dark, the track
once missed there was death threatening him on every hand; while his
cries for help would have been unheard as he struggled in the deep black
mire, or swam for life in the clear water to find no hold at the side
but the whispering reeds, from which, with splashings and whistling of
wings, the wild-fowl would rise up, to speed quacking and shrieking
away.

But no thoughts of danger troubled the lads as they trudged on slowly
and moodily, the deep murmur of their elders' voices being heard from
the darkness far ahead.

"Wonder what old Dave said about his powder-flask?" said Tom, suddenly
breaking the silence.

"Don't know and don't care," said Dick gruffly.

There was a pause.

"I should like to have been there and heard Old Hicky," said Tom, again
breaking the silence.

"Yah!  He'd only laugh," said Dick.  "He likes a bit of fun as well as
we do."

"I should have liked to see the fire fly about."

"So should I, if he'd thought it was Jacob, and given him what he calls
a blob," said Dick; "but it wasn't half a bang."

"Well, I wish now we hadn't done it," said Tom.

"Why?"

"Because Dave will be so savage.  Next time we go over to his place
he'll send us back, and then there'll be no more fun at the duck 'coy,
and no netting and shooting."

"Oh, I say, Tom, what a fellow you are!  Now is Dave Gittan the man to
look sour at anybody who takes him half a pound of powder?  Why, he'll
smile till his mouth's open and his eyes shut, and take us anywhere."

"Well, half a pound of powder will make a difference," said Tom
thoughtfully.

"I'll take him a pound," said Dick magnificently.

"How are you going to get it?"

"How am I going to get it!" said Dick.  "Why, let Sam Farles bring it
from Spalding; and I tell you what, I won't give him the pound.  I'll
give him half a pound, and you shall give him the other."

"Ah!" cried Tom eagerly; "and I tell you what, Dick--you know that old
lead?"

"What! that they dug up when they made the new cow-house?"

"Yes, give him a lump of that, and we'll help him melt it down some
night, and cast bullets and slugs."

"Seems so nasty.  Father said it was part of an old lead coffin that one
of the monks was buried in."

"Well, what does that matter?  It was hundreds of years ago.  Dave
wouldn't know."

"And if he did he wouldn't mind," said Dick.  "All right! we'll take him
the lead to-morrow."

"But you haven't got the powder."

"No, but Hicky goes to Ealand to-morrow, and he can take the money to
the carrier, and we can tell Dave we've sent for it, and he knows he can
believe us, and that'll be all right."

There was another pause, during which the wind shrieked, and far
overhead there came a confused gabbling noise, accompanied by the
whistling of wings, a strange eerie sound in the darkness that would
have startled a stranger.  But the boys only stood still and listened.

"There they go, a regular flight!" said Dick.  "If Dave hears them won't
he wish he'd got plenty of powder and lead!"

"Think the old monks'll mind?" said Tom.

"What! that flock of wild-geese going over?"

"No-o-o!  Our taking the lead."

"Oh!  I say, Tom, you are a chap," cried his companion.  "I know you
believe in ghosts."

"No, I don't," said Tom stoutly; "but I shouldn't like to live in your
old place all the same."

"What! because it's part of the old monastery?"

"Yes.  The old fellows were all killed when the Danes came up the river
in their boats and burned the place."

"Well, father and I aren't Danes, and we didn't kill them.  What stuff!"

"No, but it's not nice all the same to live in a place where lots of
people were murdered."

"Tchah! who cares!  I don't.  It's a capital old place, and you never
dig anywhere without finding something."

"Yes," said Tom solemnly, "something that isn't always nice."

"Well, you do sometimes," said Dick, "but not often.  But I wouldn't
leave the old place for thousands of pounds.  Why, where would you get
another like it with its old walls, and vaults, and cellars, and thick
walls, and the monks' fish-ponds, and all right up on a high toft with
the river on one side, and the fen for miles on the other.  Look at the
fish."

"Yes; it's all capital," said Tom.  "I like it ever so; but it is
precious monky."

"Well, so are you!  Who cares about its being monky!  The old monks were
jolly old chaps, I know."

"How do you know?  Sh! what's that?"

"Fox.  Listen."

There was a rush, a splash, a loud cackling noise, and then silence save
for the wind.

"He's got him," cried Tom.  "I wish we had Hicky's Grip here; he'd make
him scuffle and run."

"Think it was a fox?" said Tom.

"Sure of it; and it was one of those old mallards he has got.  Come on.
Why shouldn't the fox have duck for supper as well as other people?"

"Ah, why not?" said Tom.  "But how do you know the monks were jolly old
chaps?"

"How do I know! why, weren't they fond of fishing, and didn't they make
my ponds?  I say, let's have a try for the big pike to-morrow.  I saw
him fly right out of the water day before yesterday, when it rained.
Oh, I say, it is a shame!"

"What's a shame?" said Tom.

"Why, to do all this draining.  What's the good of it?"

"To make dry fields."

"But I don't want any more dry fields.  Here have I been thinking for
years how nice it would be, when we'd done school to have all the run of
the fen, and do what we liked, netting, and fishing and shooting, and
helping Dave at the 'coy, and John Warren among the rabbits."

"And getting a hare sometimes with Hicky's Grip," put in, Tom.

"Yes; and now all the place is going to be spoiled.  I say, are we going
right home with you?"

"I suppose so," said Tom.  "There's the light.  Old Boggy'll hear us
directly.  I thought so.  Here he comes."

There was a deep angry bark at a distance, and this sounded nearer, and
was followed by the rustling of feet, ending in a joyous whining and
panting as a great sheep-dog raced up to the boys, and began to leap and
fawn upon them, but only to stop suddenly, stand sniffing the air in the
direction of the old priory, and utter an uneasy whine.

"Hey, boy! what's the matter?" said Tom.

"He smells that fox," said Dick triumphantly.  "I say, I wish we'd had
him with us.  There! he's got wind of him.  I wish it wasn't so dark,
and we'd go back and have a run."

"Have a run! have a swim, you mean," said Tom.  "Why, that was in one of
the wettest places between here and your house.  I say, how plainly you
can hear the sea!"

"Of course you can, when the wind blows off it," said Dick, as he
listened for a moment to the dull low rushing sound.  "Your mother has
put two candles in the window."

"She always does when father's out.  She's afraid he might get lost in
the bog."

"So did my mother once; but it made father cross, and he said, next time
he went out she was to tie a bit of thread to his arm, and hold the end,
and then he would be sure to get home all right.  Why, there's a
jack-o'-lantern on the road."

"That isn't a jacky-lantern," replied Tom, looking steadfastly first at
the two lights shining out in the distance, and then at a dim kind of
star which seemed to be jerking up and down.

"Tell you it is," said Dick shortly.

"Tell you it isn't," cried Tom.  "Jacky-lanterns are never lame.  They
never hop up and down like that, but seem to glide here and there like a
honey-bee.  It's our Joe come to meet us with the horn lantern.  It's
his game leg makes it go up and down."

"Dick!" came from ahead.

"Yes, father," shouted the lad; and they ran on to where the squire and
Farmer Tallington were awaiting them.

"We'll say `good-night' now," said the squire.  "Here, Dick, Farmer's
Joe is coming on with the lantern.  Shall we let him light us home?"

"Why, we should have to see him home afterwards, father," said Dick
merrily.

"Right, my lad!  Good-night, Tallington!  You are in for your two
hundred, mind."

"Yes, and may it bring good luck to us!" said the fanner.  "Good-night
to both of you!"

"Good-night!"

Dick supplemented his "good-night" with a pat on the head of the great
sheep-dog, which stood staring along the track, and snuffing the wind;
and then he and his father started homeward.

"I shall come over directly after breakfast, Dick," shouted Tom.

"All right!" replied Dick as he looked back, to see that the lantern had
now become stationary, and then it once more began to dance up and down,
while the two lights shone out like tiny stars a few hundred yards away.

"They've got the best of it, Dick," said the squire.  "Why, we were
nearly there.  Let's make haste or your mother will be uneasy.  Phew!
the wind's getting high!"



CHAPTER THREE.

A STORMY NIGHT.

It was a tremendous blast which came sweeping over the sea, and quite
checked the progress of the travellers for the moment, but they pressed
on, seeming to go right through the squall, and trudging along sturdily
towards home.

"I begin to wish someone had put a light in the window for us, Dick,"
said the squire at the end of a few minutes' walking.  "It's getting
terribly dark."

Dick said, "Yes," and thought of the thread, but he made no allusion to
it, only laughed to himself and tramped on.

"By the way, how uneasy that dog seemed!" said the squire as they
trudged on with heads bent, for they were facing the blast now.

"Yes, father; we passed a fox."

"Passed a fox!  Why, you couldn't see a fox a dark night like this."

"No, but I could smell him, father, and we heard him catch a duck."

"Ah!  I see.  And did the dog scent out the fox?"

"Yes, I think so, and that made him whine."

"Come along, my lad.  Let's get on as fast as we can.  It's growing
blacker, and I'm afraid we shall have some rain."

No rain fell, but the sky was completely clouded over and the darkness
seemed to grow more and more intense.  The wind kept increasing in
violence and then dying out, as if it came in huge waves which swept
over them and had a great interval between, while as the rush and roar
of the gusts passed there came the deep hoarse murmur of the distant
sea.

"Dick," said the squire suddenly, "you are so young that you can hardly
feel with me, but I want someone to talk to now, and I may as well tell
you that I am going to risk a great deal of money over the draining of
the fen."

"Are you, father?"

"Yes, my lad, and I have been feeling a natural shrinking from the risk.
To-night sweeps all that away, for in spite of having lived here so
many years as I have, I never before felt how needful it all was."

"Do you think so, father?"

"Indeed I do, my lad, for anything more risky than our walk to-night I
hardly know.  What's that?"

The squire stopped short and grasped his son's arm, as, after a furious
gust of wind, the distant murmur of the sea seemed to have been
overborne by something different--a confused lapping, trickling, and
rushing noise that seemed to come from all parts at once.

"I don't know, father," said Dick, who was slightly startled by his
father's manner.  "Shall we go on?"

"Yes," said the squire hoarsely.  "Let's get home quick."

They started on again, walking fast, but at the end of a minute Dick
uttered a cry.

"We're off the road, father.  Water!"

As he spoke he was ankle-deep, and in taking a step to catch his son's
arm, Squire Winthorpe felt the water splash up around him.

"Can you see the lights at the Priory, Dick?" he said sharply.

"No, father."

"We can't be off the path," said the squire.  "Is it boggy and soft
under you?"

"No, father--hard; but I'm in the water."

"It's hard here too," said the squire, trying the ground with his feet;
"and yet we must be off the road.  Stand fast, my boy; don't move."

"Are you going away, father?" said Dick.

"No, only a few yards, boy.  I want to see where we got off the track,
whether it's to the right or left."

"It's so dark," said Dick, "I can hardly see my hand.  Mind how you go,
father; there are some deep bog-holes about here."

"Then you stand fast, my boy."

"Hadn't you better stand fast too, father?"

"And both perish in the wet and cold, my boy!  No.  I'll soon find the
road.  It must be close by."

Not a tree or post to guide him, nothing but the thick darkness on all
sides, as Squire Winthorpe cautiously moved one foot before the other,
keeping one upon solid ground while he searched about with the other,
and as he moved _splash_--_splish_--_splash_, the water flew, striking
cold to his legs, and sending a chill of dread to his very heart.

"It's very strange," he cried; "but don't be frightened, Dick.  We shall
be all right directly."

"I'm not frightened, father," replied the boy.  "I'm puzzled."

"And so am I, my lad, for I did not know we could find such solid bottom
off the road.  Ah!"

"What's the matter, father?"

"I told you not to move, sir," roared the squire, for he had heard a
slight splash on his right.

"I couldn't help it, father; my foot seemed to slip, and--why, here's
the road!"

"There?" cried the squire eagerly.

"Yes, father, and my foot's slipped down into a big rut."

"Are you sure, boy?"

"Sure!  Yes, father, it _is_ the road.  I say, what does it mean?"

The answer was a quick splashing sound, as Squire Winthorpe hurried to
his son's side and gripped his arm, to stand there for a few moments
listening and thinking as he realised the meaning of the strange
rushing, plashing noise that came from all round.

"I know," cried Dick suddenly; "the sea-bank's broke, and we're going to
have a flood."

"Yes," said the squire hoarsely; "the bank has gone, my boy."

"Hadn't we better push on, father, before it gets any deeper?"

"Stop a moment, Dick," said the squire, "and let me try to think.
Home's safe, because the Priory's on the Toft; but there's Tallington
and his wife and boy.  We must try and help them."

"Come on, then, father!" cried Dick excitedly.

"No, Dick, that will not do; we shall only be shutting ourselves up too
and frightening your mother to death.  We must get home and then on to
Hickathrift's.  He has a big punt there."

"Yes, father, but it hasn't been mended.  I saw it this afternoon."

"Then he has wood, and we must make a raft.  Come on.  Here: your hand."

For a few minutes there was nothing heard but the rushing of the wind
and the _splash, splash_ of the water, as they pressed on, the squire
cautiously trying to keep one foot by the rut which had guided his son,
and, when it became intangible, seeking for some other means to keep
them from straying from the submerged road in the darkness, and going
off to right or left into the bog.

It was a terrible walk, for they had a full mile to go; and to the
squire's horror, he found that it was not only against the wind but also
against the sharply running water, which was flowing in from the sea and
growing deeper inch by inch.

As if to comfort each other father and son kept on making cheery remarks
apropos of their rough journey.  Now it was Dick, who declared that the
water felt warmer than the air; now it was the squire, who laughingly
said that he should believe now in blind men being able to find their
way by the touch.

"For I'm feeling my way along here famously, Dick."

"Yes, father, only it seems such a long way--ugh!"

"What is it, boy?"

"One foot went down deep.  Yes, I know where we are."

"Yes, close home, my boy," cried the squire.

"No, no; half a mile away by the sharp turn, father; and I nearly went
right down.  We must keep more this way."

The squire drew his breath hard, for he knew his son was right, as the
road proved when they turned almost at right angles and plashed on
through the water.

Half a mile farther to go and the current rushing on!  It had been only
over their ankles, now it was above their knees, and both knew that at
this rate it would be waist-deep, if not deeper, before they could reach
the high ground at home.

"It is very horrible, Dick, my lad," cried the squire at last as they
kept on, with the water steadily and surely growing deeper.

"Oh, I don't mind, father!  We shall get on so far before it's over our
heads that we shall be able to swim the rest of the way.  You can swim,
father?"

"I used to, my lad; perhaps I have not forgotten how.  But I am thinking
of the people about.  I wonder whether Hickathrift has found it out."

"I dare say he's in bed, father," said Dick.

"That's what I fear, my boy; and then there's John Warren."

"He'll get up the sand-hills, father."

"If he knows in time, my boy; but Dave Gittan has no place to flee to."

"He has his little boat, father; and Chip would warn him if he has gone
to bed.  I know what he'd do then."

"What, my lad?"

"Pole himself along to John Warren and fetch him off, and come on to the
Toft."

"Mind, take care, we're going wrong," cried the squire excitedly, as he
slipped and went in right up to his waist, but Dick clung to his hand,
threw himself back, and with a heavy splash the squire managed to regain
the hard road off whose edge he had slipped.

"We must go slower, father," said Dick coolly.  "You pull me back if I
go wrong this way and I'll pull you.  I say, isn't it getting dark!"

The squire made no answer, but feeling that their case was growing
desperate, and if they did not progress more rapidly they would be in
such deep water before they could reach the Priory that it would be
impossible to keep the track, and they would be swept away, he pushed
on, with the result that in a few minutes Dick had a narrow escape,
slipping right in and coming up panting, to be dragged back, and stand
still quite confused by his total immersion.

"We must get on, Dick, my boy," said his father; "the water's growing
terribly deep, and it presses against us like a torrent.  Forward!"

They recommenced their journey, wading on slowly over what seemed to be
an interminable distance; but no sign of the dark village or of the
island-farm in the fen appeared, and at last the water deepened so that
a chilly feeling of despair began slowly to unnerve the squire and set
him thinking that theirs was a hopeless case.

"Be ready, Dick," he whispered, as, after a tremendous puff of wind
which stopped them for the moment, he once more pressed on.

"Ready, father?" panted Dick.  "What for?"

"We may have to swim directly.  If it gets much deeper we cannot force
our way."

"Oh, we shall do it!" cried the boy; "we must be close there now."

"I fear not," said the squire to himself.  "Hold on, boy!" he cried
aloud.  "What is it?"

"Water's--up to my--chest," panted Dick; "and it comes so fast here--
it's--it's too strong for me."

"Dick!" cried the squire in agony.

"I must swim, father," cried Dick.

"And be swept away!" cried the squire hoarsely.  "Heaven help me! what
shall I do?"

He had gripped his son tightly in his agony, and they stood together for
a few moments, nearly swept off their feet by the swirling current, when
a bright idea flashed across the squire's mind.

"Quick, Dick! don't speak.  Climb on my back."

"But, father--"

"Do as I bid you," roared the squire, stooping a little, and bending
down he made of one hand a stirrup for his son's foot, who, the next
moment, was well up on his back.

"That's better, boy," panted the squire.  "You are safe, and your weight
steadies me.  I can get on now; it can't be far."

As he spoke a light suddenly flashed up a couple of hundred yards ahead,
and gleamed strangely over the water like a blood-red stain.

Then it died out, but flashed up again and increased till there was a
ruddy path of light before them, and behind the glow stood up the trees,
the long, low Priory and the out-buildings, while figures could be seen
moving here and there.

"I know," cried Dick.  "I see, father.  They've lit a bonfire to show us
which way to go.  Ahoy!"

"Ahoy!" came back in a stentorian shout, and something was thrown upon
the fire which dulled it for the moment, but only for it to flash up in
a tremendous blaze, with the sparks and flames of fire rushing towards
them.

"Ahoy!" came the shout again.

"Ahoy!" answered Dick.

"That will do, my boy," panted the squire.  "The water's getting
horribly deep, but I can manage now, for I can tell which way to go."

"Little more to the left, father," cried Dick.

"Right, boy!"

"No, no, father," shrieked Dick; "left!"

"I meant you are right, my lad," said the squire, moving on, with the
water growing deeper still, while the stentorian voice kept uttering
cheering shouts to them, which they answered till they were only about
fifty yards away, when it became plain that someone was coming to meet
them, splash, splash, through the water, with a pole in his hand.

The figure, though only head and half his body were visible above the
plashing water, looked large, and for a few moments in his confusion
Dick was puzzled; but he realised who it was at last, and cried:

"Why, it's old Hicky!"

He was right; and just in the veriest time of need the great blacksmith
reached the fainting squire, and grasping his arm breasted the water
with him; and in another minute they were ascending the slope, with the
water shallowing, till they reached a blazing fire, where Mrs Winthorpe
clasped husband and son to her breast!

"All right, wife!" cried the squire.  "Glad you are here, Hickathrift!
All your people too?"

"Yes, squire, all safe here; but we're uneasy like about Dave o' the
'Coy and John Warren."

"But they've got the boat," cried Dick.

"Yes; I hope they're safe," said the squire.  "Hickathrift, my lad, that
was a brave thought of yours to light that fire.  It saved our lives."

"Nay, squire," said the big fellow; "it was no thowt o' mine--it was thy
missus put it into my yead."

The squire gave his wife a look as she stood there in the midst of a
group of shivering farm-servants, and then turned to the wheelwright.

"The boat," he said--"did you come in the boat?"

"Ay, squire.  She leaks a deal, but I thrust an owd pillow in the hole.
But I nigh upon lost her.  My Grip woke me howling, for we were abed.  I
jumped out and ran down, thinking it was the foxes after the chickens,
and walked right into the water.  I knowed what it meant, and got over
to the saw-pit, and just caught hold of the boat in the dark as it was
floating away.  Then I got my leaping-pole and run her under the window,
and made my missus give me a pillow to stop the leak 'fore I could bale
her out.  Then Jacob come, and we got the missus down and poled her
along here, but was nearly swept by."

"You're a good fellow, Hickathrift," cried the squire.  "Wife, get out
some hollands; we're perished.  Have a glass, my man; and then we must
go in the punt to Grimsey and get the Tallingtons out.  We're all right
here, but Grimsey Farm will soon be flooded to the bed-room windows.
Light a lanthorn, some one, and put in a spare candle.  You'll go with
me, Hickathrift?"

"Ay, squire, to the end of the world, if thou bids me; but I tell ye--"

He stopped short.

"Well, what, man?  Here, drink!"

"Efter yow, squire," said the big fellow sturdily.  "I tell ye that no
mortal man, nor no two men, couldn't take that punt across to Grimsey in
the dark to-night.  We should be swept no one knows wheer, and do no
good to them as wants the help."

"But we can't leave them to drown, man!" cried the squire.

"No; we can't do that, and we wean't," cried Hickathrift.  "They'll get
right on the roof if the bed-rooms gets full; and while we're waiting
for day we'll have the punt hauled up.  Jacob'll howd the light, and
I'll see if I can't mend the hole.  You've got a hammer and some nails
in the big barn?"

"Yes," said the squire; "yes, you are right, my man--you are right.
Come, Dick: dry clothes."

There was nothing else to be done; and as the bonfire was kept blazing
the punt was hauled up, and in the midst of the howling wind and the
rush of the water Dick stood looking on, his heart full as he thought of
Tom Tallington asking his help away there in the darkness; while tap,
tap, tap went the wheelwright's hammer, after his saw had rasped off a
thin piece of board.

"That'll do it," he cried at last; and the punt was placed ready for
launching when the day showed.

Meanwhile the squire gave orders for the fire to be kept well alight;
and fagots of wood and straw trusses were piled on, with the odds and
ends of broken farming implements and worn-out wooden shedding that had
been the accumulation of years.

The result was that the flames rose high over the wild weird scene,
gilding the wind-tossed pines and staining the flood for far, while
there was so much excitement in thus sitting up and keeping the fire
blazing that it would have been real enjoyment to Dick had he not been
in a constant state of fret and anxiety about his friends.

For, living as he did in that island of good elevated land in the great
wild fen where inhabitants were scarce, everybody was looked upon as an
intimate friend, and half the lad's time was spent at the bottom of the
slope beyond the ruinous walls of the old Priory, watching the water to
see how much higher it had risen, and to gaze out afar and watch for the
coming of boat or punt.

In truth, though, there was only one vessel likely to come, and that was
the flat-bottomed punt belonging to Dave, who worked the duck-decoy far
out in the fen.  The people on the sea-bank had a boat; but they were
five miles away at least, and would not venture on such a night.

"What should I do?" thought Dick as he walked down to the edge of the
water again and again.  "If Tom is drowned, and Dave, and John Warren,
they may drain the fen as soon as they like, for the place will not be
the same."

The night wore on; and Mrs Winthorpe made the people in turn partake of
a meal, half supper, half breakfast, and, beyond obeying his father's
orders regarding dry clothes, Dick could go no further.  He revolted
against food, and, feeling heartsick and enraged against the wheelwright
for eating a tremendous meal, he once more ran down to the water's edge,
to find his father watching a stick or two he had thrust in.

"Tide has turned, Dick," he said quietly; "the water will not rise any
higher."

"And will it all run off now, father?"

The squire shook his head.

"Some will," he replied; "but the fen will be a regular lake till the
sea-bank has been mended.  It must have been rough and the tide very
high to beat that down."

"Will it come in again, then?" asked Dick.

"Perhaps: perhaps not.  It's a lucky thing that I had no stock down at
the corner field by the fish-stews.  If they had not been up here in the
home close, every head must have been drowned."

"Do you think the fish-ponds are covered, father?"

"Five or six feet deep, my boy."

"Then the fish will get out."

"Very likely Dick; but we've something more important to think about
than fish.  Hark! what's that?" and he listened.

"Ahoy!" roared Hickathrift from just behind them.  "Hear that, squire?"

"Yes, my lad, I heard a cry from off the water."

Just then came another faint hail from a distance.

"That's Dave," said Hickathrift, smiling all over his broad face; "any
one could tell his hail: it's something between a wild-goose cry and the
squeak of a cart-wheel that wants some grease."

The hailing brought out everybody from the house, Mrs Winthorpe's first
inquiry being whether it was the Tallingtons.

"Pitch on a bit more straw, Dick," cried the squire; and the lad seized
a fork and tossed a quantity on the fire, while the wheelwright stirred
up the embers with a pole, the result being that the flames roared up
tremendously, sending out a golden shower of sparks which were swept
away before the wind, fortunately in the opposite direction to the
house, towards which the squire darted one uneasy glance.

"Ahoy!" shouted the wheelwright, and there was a fresh response which
sounded weird and strange, coming as it did from out of the black wall
of darkness seen beyond the ring of ruddy light which gleamed upon the
water.

"They'll get here easily now," said the squire from the very edge of the
flood, as he tossed out a piece of wood, and saw that it was floated
steadily away.  "The current is slack."

He could not avoid shuddering as he thought of the way in which it had
pressed upon him as he waded toward the island with Dick upon his back;
but the memory passed away directly as a fresh hail came from off the
water; and as the group looked out anxiously and listened for the splash
of the pole, they at last saw the fire-light shining upon a figure which
gradually came gliding out of the darkness.  At first it seemed strange,
and almost ghastly; but in a few more moments those who watched could
see that it was Dave o' the 'Coy in his fox-skin cap standing up in his
little white punt and thrusting it along by means of a long pole, while
a man sat in the stern.

"Yon's John Warren along wi' him," cried Hickathrift.  "I thowt they'd
be all right.  Come on, lads, clost in here," he shouted; and without
making any reply, the strange-looking man in the bows of the boat pulled
her along till the prow struck upon the flooded grass, and he threw a
rope to the wheelwright.

"Got your gun, Dave?" cried Dick eagerly.

The man turned his head slowly to the speaker, laid the pole across the
boat, which was aground a dozen feet from the dry land, stooped, picked
up his long gun, and uttered a harsh--

"Kitch!"

As he spoke he threw the gun to the wheelwright, who caught it and
passed it to Dick, while the second man handed Dave another gun, which
was sent ashore in the same way.  Then, taking up the pole, Dave placed
it a little way before him, and leaped ashore as actively as a boy,
while the second man now advanced to the front, caught the pole as it
was thrown back, and in turn cleared the water and landed upon the dry
ground.

"Glad to see you safe, Dave," said the squire, holding out his hand.
"Glad to see you, too, John Warren.  You are heartily welcome."

The two men took the squire's hand in a limp, shrinking manner; and
instead of giving it a hearty grip, lifted it up once, looking at it all
the time as if it were something curious, and then let it fall, and
shuffled aside, giving a furtive kind of nod to every one in turn who
offered a congratulation.

They were the actions of men who led a solitary life among the birds and
four-footed animals of the great wild fen, and to be made the heroes of
an escape seemed to be irksome.

Just then there was a diversion which took off people's attention, and
seemed to place them more at ease.  A sharp quick yelp came from the
boat, followed by a bark, and, plainly seen in the fire-light, a couple
of dogs placed their paws on the edge of the little vessel, raised their
heads to the full stretch of their necks, and with cocked-up ears seemed
to ask, "What's to be done with us?"

"Hi!  Chip, Chip!  Snig, Snig!  Come, boys," shouted Dick, patting his
leg; and the dogs barked loudly, but did not stir.

"Come on, you cowards!" cried Dick.  "You won't get any wetter than I
did."

"Here!" said Dave; and Chip leaped over and swam ashore, gave himself a
shake, and then performed a joy dance about Dick's legs.

This time there was a dismal howl from the punt, where the second dog
was waiting for permission to land.

"Come on!" said the second man, a frowning, thoughtful-looking fellow of
about fifty, the lower part of whose face was hidden by a thick beard--a
great rarity a hundred years ago--and the other dog leaped into the
water with a tremendous splash, swam ashore, rushed at Chip, and there
was a general worry, half angry, half playful, for a few moments before
the pair settled down close to the fire, as if enjoying its warmth.

"This is a terrible misfortune, Dave," said the squire.

"Ay; the water's out, mester," said the man in a low husky way.

"How did you escape?"

"Escape?" said Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and rubbing his head.

"Seed the watter coming, and poonted ower to the Warren," said the
second man, thrusting something in his mouth which he took out of a
brass box, and then handing the latter to Dave, who helped himself to a
piece of dark-brown clayey-looking stuff which seemed like a thick paste
made of brown flour and treacle.

"I wish you men would break yourselves of this habit," said the squire.
"You'll be worse for it some day."

"Keeps out the cold and ager, mester," said the second man, thrusting
the box back in his pocket.

"Then you've been waiting at the Warren?"

"Ay, mester.  Me an' him waited till we see the fire, and thowt the
house hed kitched, and then we come."

"It was very good of you, my lads," said the squire warmly.  "There, get
in, and the mistress will give you some bread and cheese and ale."

"Arn't hungry," growled the second man.  "Can'st ta yeat, Dave, man?"

"Ah!" growled Dave, and he slouched round, looking at the ground, and
turned to go.  "Gimme mai goon," he added.

"The guns are all right, Dave," cried Dick.  "I've got 'em.  I say, John
Warren, will the rabbits be all drowned?"

"Drowned, young mester!  Nay, not they.  Plenty o' room for em up in the
runs where the watter won't come."

"But the foxes, and hares, and things?" cried Dick.

"Them as has got wings is flied awayer," growled the second man; "them
as has got paddles is swimmed; and them as can't find the dry patches is
gone down."

After this oracular utterance John o' the Warren, who took his popular
name from the rabbit homes, to the exclusion of his proper surname of
Searby, tramped heavily after his companion to the Priory kitchen, where
they both worried a certain amount of bread and cheese, and muttered to
one another over some ale, save when Dick spoke to them and told them of
his anxieties, when each man gave him a cheery smile.

"Don't yow fret, lad," said Dave.  "Bahds is all reight.  They wean't
hoort.  Wait till watter goos down a bit and you an' me'll have rare
sport."

"Ay, and rabbuds is all reight too, young mester," added John Warren.
"They knows the gainest way to get up stairs.  They're all happed up
warm in their roons, ready to come out as soon as the watter goos down."

"But how did it happen?"

"Happen, lad!" said the two men in a breath.

"Yes; what caused the flood?"

"Oh, I d'n'know," growled Dave slowly.  "Happen sea-bank broke to show
folk as fen warn't niver meant to be drained, eh, John Warren?"

"Ay, that's it, lad.  Folk talks o' draaning fen, and such blather.
Can't be done."

"I say, John, I don't want the fen drained," whispered Dick.

"Good lad!" growled John Warren; and then Dave shook his head at the
ale-mug, sighed, and drank.

"But don't let father hear what you say, because he won't like it."

"Nay, I sha'n't say nowt," said Dave.

"Nay, nor me neither, only natur's natur, and floods is floods," added
John Warren; and he too shook his head at the ale-mug, and drank.

"Now, then," cried the squire, coming quickly to the door, "Hickathrift
and I are going in the big punt to see if we can help the Tallingtons;
the stream isn't so strong now.  Are you men going to try to help us?"

"Get Farmer Tallington out?" said Dave.  "Ay, we are coming."

"Let me come too, father," cried Dick.

"No, my lad, I'm afraid I--"

"Don't say that, father; let me go."

"No no, Dick," cried Mrs Winthorpe, entering the kitchen, for she had
been upon the alert.  "You have run risks enough to-night."

"Yes; stay and take care of the women, Dick," said his father.

Dick gave an angry stamp on the floor.

"Mother wants me to grow up a coward," he cried.  "Oh, mother, it's too
bad!"

"But, Dick, my boy," faltered the poor woman.

"Let the boy come, wife," said the squire quietly; "I'll take care of
him."

"Yes, and I'll take care of father," cried Dick, rushing at his mother
to give her a sounding kiss, and with a sigh she gave way, and followed
the party down to the water's edge.



CHAPTER FOUR.

A JOURNEY BY PUNT.

There was still a furious current running on the far side of the Toft,
as, well provided with lanterns, the two punts pushed off.  On the side
where the two last comers landed it had seemed sluggish, for an eddy had
helped them in; but as soon as they were all well out beyond the pines
the stream caught them, the wind helped it, and their task was not to
get towards Grimsey, but to retard their vessels, and mind that they
were not capsized by running upon a pollard willow, whose thin bare
boughs rose up out of the water now and then, like the horrent hair of
some marine monster which had come in with the flood from the sea.

"We've done wrong, Hickathrift," said the squire after they had been
borne along by the current for some distance; "and I don't understand
all this.  I thought that when the tide had turned, the water would have
flowed back again through the gap it must have broken, instead of still
sweeping on."

"Ay," said the great wheelwright, who was standing in the bows with his
long leaping-pole in his hand; "I do puzzle, squire.  I've been looking
out for a light to show where Grimsey lies, for here, in the dark, it's
watter, watter, watter, and I can't see the big poplar by Tallington's.
Hi!  Dave, where's Grimsey, thinks ta?" he shouted.

"Nay, I don't know."

"Can you make it out, John Warren?"

"Nay, lad, I'm 'bout bet."

"Then, squire, if they can't say, I can't.  What shall we do?"

"We must wait for daylight," said the squire, after peering into the
darkness ahead for some time.  "We shall be swept far past it if we go
on.  Can you hold the punt with your pole?"

"Nay, no more'n you could a bull with a bit o' tar band, mester.  We mun
keep a sharp look-out for the next tree, and lay hold of the branches
and stop there.  D'ye hear, lads?"

"Aye, what is it?" came from the other boat.

"Look out for the next tree, and hing on till daylight."

Dave uttered a grunt, and they floated on and on for nearly a quarter of
an hour before Dick uttered a loud "Look out!"

"I see her, my lad," cried Hickathrift; and he tried to give the boat a
good thrust by means of his pole; but though he touched bottom it was
soft peat, and his pole went down, and the next moment they were
crashing through the top of a willow, with the boat tilting up on one
side and threatening to fill; but just as the water began to pour in,
there was a whishing and crackling noise as it passed over the obstacle
and swung clear, with Hickathrift holding on to a branch with all his
might.

"Look out!  Can you tek howd, lad?" came from the other boat, which came
gliding out of the darkness, just clear of the tree.

As it came on, Dick caught the pole Dave held out to him and checked the
progress of the little punt; but he had miscalculated his strength as
opposed to the force of the current, and after a jerk, which seemed to
be tearing his arms out of their sockets, he was being dragged out of
the boat, and half over, when his father seized him round the hips.

"Can you hold on, Dick?" cried the squire.

"A--a little while," panted the lad.

"Get howd o' the pole, mester," shouted Warren from the other boat.

"I can't, man, without loosing the boy.  We shall have to let you go."

"Let go, then," growled Dave; "we can find our way somehow."

"Nay," shouted Hickathrift.  "Howd hard a minute till I've made fast
here.  I'm coming."

As he spoke he was busy holding on to the elastic willow branch with one
hand, while with the other he drew the rope out of the boat's head, and,
with a good deal of labour, managed to pass it round the bough and make
it fast.

"There, she's all right," he cried, stepping aft carefully, the boat
swaying beneath his huge weight.  "Now, squire, I mun lean ower thee to
get howd o' the pole.  Eh! but it's a long way to reach, and--"

"Mind, man, mind!" cried the squire, "or we shall fill with water; we're
within an inch now."

"Nay, we sha'n't go down," cried Hickathrift, straining right over the
squire and Dick, and sinking the stern of the boat so far that his face
kept touching the water, and he had to wrench his head round to speak.
"There, I've got howd o' the pole, and one leg hooked under the thwart.
Let go, Mester Dick; and you haul him aboard, squire, and get to the
other end."

It needed cautious movement, for the boat was now so low that the water
rushed over; but by exerting his strength the squire dragged Dick away,
and together they relieved the stern of the pressure and crept forward.

"Now Dave, lad, haul alongside, and make your rope fast to the
ring-bolt," cried Hickathrift; and this was done, the punt swung behind,
and the great Saxon-like fellow sat up laughing.

"Is it all safe?" cried the squire.

"Ay, mester, so long as that bough don't part; but I've got my owd ear
full o' watter, and it's a-roonning down my neck.  But say, mester, it's
a rum un."

"What is, my lad?"

"Why, it wur ony yesday I wur saying to my Jacob as we'd get the poont
mended, and come out here with the handbills and brattle [lop] all the
willows anywhere nigh, so as to hev a lot to throost down about our
plaace to grow.  Now, if we'd done that there'd ha' been no branch to
lay hold on here, and we might ha' gone on to Spalding afore we'd
stopped.  Eh, but howding on theer made me keb."

[Keb: pant for breath.]

"Are you hurt, Dick?" said the squire.

"N-no, I don't think I'm hurt, father," replied Dick, hesitatingly;
"only I feel--"

"Well, speak, my lad; don't keep anything back."

"Oh, no, I won't keep anything back, father!" said Dick, laughing; "but
I felt as if I'd been one of those poor fellows in the Tower that they
used to put on the rack--all stretchy like."

"Mak' you grow, Mester Dick," said Hickathrift, "mak' you grow into a
great long chap like me--six foot four."

"I hope not," said the squire, laughing.  "Draw the line this side of
the six feet, Dick.  There: the stiffness will soon pass off."

They sat talking for a time, but words soon grew few and far between.
The two fen-men swinging in their boat behind had recourse to the brass
box again, each partaking of a rolled-up quid of opium, and afterwards
crouched there in a half drowsy state, careless of their peril, while
the squire and his companions passed their time listening to the rush of
the water and the creaking of the willow bough as it rubbed against the
side of the boat, and wondered, as from time to time the wheelwright
examined the rope and made it more secure, whether the branch would give
way at its intersection with the trunk.

The darkness seemed as if it would never pass, whilst the cold now
became painful; and as he heard Dick's teeth begin to chatter, the
wheelwright exclaimed:

"Look here, young mester, I ain't hot, but there's a lot o' warmth comes
out o' me.  You come and sit close up, and you come t'other side,
squire.  It'll waarm him."

This was done, and with good effect, for the lad's teeth ceased their
castanet-like action as he sat waiting for the daylight.

No word was spoken by the men in the little punt, and those uttered in
the other grew fewer, as its occupants sat listening to the various
sounds that came from a distance.  For the flood had sent the
non-swimming birds wheeling round in the darkness, and every now and
then the whistling of wings was quite startling.  The ducks of all kinds
were in a high state of excitement, and passed over in nights or settled
down in the water with a tremendous outcry, while ever and again a
peculiar clanging from high overhead gave warning that the wild-geese
were on the move, either fleeing or attracted by some strange instinct
to the watery waste.

But morning seemed as if it would never come, and it was not until hours
upon hours had passed that there was a cessation of the high wind, and a
faint line of light just over the water, seaward, proclaimed that the
dawn could not be far away.

"Can you see where we are?" said the squire, as it began to grow
lighter.

"Ay, it's plain enough now, mester," was the reply; "and yonder's
Grimsey."

"I can see Tom," said Dick just then; "and there's Farmer Tallington,
and all the rest, right on the top of the roof."

In a few minutes more all was plain enough, and the reason apparent why
the people at Tallington had not shown a light in the course of the
night or done anything else to indicate their position, for it was
evident that they had been driven from below stairs to the floor above,
and from thence to the roof, where they must have sat out the evening
hours, perhaps doubtful of how long the place would last before it was
swept away.

So intent had the squire and Dick been in watching for the dawn, that
the gradual cessation of the flowing water had passed unnoticed; but it
was plain now that the surface of the wide expanse out of which the Toft
rose, with the old Priory buildings a couple of miles away, was now
unruffled by the wind, and that the current had ceased to flow.

But for this the party of rescue in the two punts would not have been
able to reach the inundated farm, for it was only here and there that a
firm place could be found for the poles, which generally sank deeply in
the peat covered by the water to an average depth of about eight feet.

In the course of half an hour the boats were close up to the reed thatch
of the great farm-house, a rope made fast to the chimney-stack, and Mrs
Tallington, the farmer, Tom, a couple of maids and three men were
transferred to the boats, all stiff and helpless with the cold.

"I don't mind now," said Tom, shivering as he spoke.  "A boat isn't much
of a thing, but it will float, and all last night it seemed as if the
old house was going to be swept away."

"Are these your horses?" said Dick, pointing to a group of
dejected-looking animals standing knee-deep in company with some cattle,
about a quarter of a mile away.

"Yes, and our cows," replied Tom, shivering.  "Oh, I say, don't talk;
I'm so cold and hungry!"

All this time Hickathrift was diligently using the pole in the larger
boat, and Dave leading the way in the other, both being well laden now,
and progressing fairly fast toward the Toft, which stood up like an
island of refuge in the midst of the vast lake, dotted here and there
with the tops of trees.  At times the poles touched a good firm tuft of
heath or a patch of gravel, and the boat received a good thrust forward;
at other times, when the bottom was soft, Hickathrift struck the water
with it right and left as he stood up in the prow, using it as a kind of
paddle.

Before they were half-way on their journey the sun came out from a
cloud, just at the edge of the inundation; and with it and the prospect
of warmth and food at the Priory, everybody's spirits began to rise.

"Might have been worse, neighbour," shouted the squire.  "You sold all
your sheep last week."

"Ay," said the farmer from Dave's punt; "and we might all have been
drowned.  It's a sore piece of business; but it shows a man what his
neighbours are, and I won't murmur, only say as you do, it might have
been worse."

"And thank God for sparing all our lives!" said the squire, taking off
his hat.

"Amen!" said Farmer Tallington, and for a time there was nothing heard
but a sob from Mrs Tallington and the splashing of the poles.

But two boys could not keep silence long with the sun shining and the
place around wearing so novel a guise; and Dick soon burst out with:

"Look, Tom; look at the teal!"

He pointed to a flock forming quite a patch upon the water some hundreds
of yards away.

"Ay," said the squire; "it's good for the wild-fowl, but bad for us.
The sooner the place is drained now, neighbour, the better, eh?"

"Ay, squire, you're right; but how are we to get rid of all this
watter?"

"Ah, we must see," said the squire; and Dave and John Warren exchanged
glances and shook their heads.  "The sooner the draining works are
commenced the better."

"Toft Fen wean't niver be drained, mester," said Dave in a low voice, as
he rested his pole in the punt and stood there looking as if he believed
himself to be a prophet.

"Oh, you think so, do you, Dave?" said the squire quietly.  "I daresay
hundreds of years ago, before the sea-wall was made, some men said that
no farming could be done in the fen, but the sea has been kept out for
all these years."

"Ay, but it's come through at last in its natural way, mester," said
John Warren.

"Yes, John," said the squire: "but we men who think how to live, make
nature work for us, and don't work for nature.  So we're going to turn
the sea off the land again, and drain the fresh water off as well, so as
to turn this wild waste into fertile land.  Do you hear, Dick?"

"Yes, father, I hear," said the lad; and he looked at Dave and John
Warren, in whose boat he was, and read incredulity there; and as he
gazed over the inundated fen, and thought of fishing, and shooting, and
boating there, he felt himself thoroughly on the fen-men's side, while,
feeling ashamed of this, he bent over the boat side, scooped up some
water in his hand and drank, but only to exclaim, "Ugh!"

"Ah! what does it taste like, Dick?" said the squire.

"Half salt, father."

"Then it is the sea broke in," said the squire.  "Ahoy! all right!" he
shouted, standing up and waving his cap.  "Shout, Dick, and let your
mother see you're here.  Come, cheer up, Mrs Tallington; there's a warm
welcome for you yonder from the wife; the water will soon go down, and
we're going to try and protect ourselves from such mischief coming
again."

The squire was right; there was a warm welcome waiting for the homeless
neighbours, to whom, after a good, snug, and hearty breakfast,
everything looked very different from what it had seemed during the long
dark stormy watches of the night.

[Wall, in fen-lands, the artificial bank or ridge of clay raised to keep
back river, drain, or sea.]



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE ROMAN BANK.

It was like standing on a very long low narrow island, with the
peculiarity that one side was sea, the other inland lake.  The sun shone
brilliantly, and the punt in which the squire, Farmer Tallington, Dave,
Warren, Hickathrift, and the two lads had come was lying on the inner
side of the sandy ridge covered with thin, wiry, harsh grass.

This ridge formed the island upon which they stood, in company with some
sheep and cattle which had instinctively made their way to the high
ground as the water rose.

The tide was down now; a great deal of the water had drained away, and
the party were standing by a great breach in the bank through which at
high-tide during the storm the sea had made its way.

"I can't quite understand how it could have broken through here," said
the squire; "but I suppose it was quite a small crack at first, and the
water soon washed it bigger."

There was a great channel at their feet, cut clean through the
embankment; and though the party were standing amongst the sand, they
could see that the bank which protected the fen from the sea, and ran up
alongside of the river, running inland, was formed of thick clay, matted
with the long roots of the grass.

"Who was it made this great bank, father?" said Dick.

"Your old friends you read about at school, they say, the Romans, first;
but of course it has been added to since.  Well, neighbour, we can do no
good by ourselves.  We must call together the adventurers, and it can
soon be mended and made stronger than it was at first.  Let's go back.
Unless we have a gale, no more water will come through this.  It's years
since I've been here.  If one had taken a look round one would have seen
the weak spot."

They re-entered the punt, and Hickathrift poled them back, being
relieved in turn by Dave and Warren, by whose solitary cottage they
paused--a mere hut upon a sandy patch, standing like an island out of
the watery waste, and here he elected to stay with the rabbits which
frisked about and showed their cottony tuft tails as they darted down
into their holes.

"How about your cottage, Dave?" said the squire, shading his eyes as he
looked across the flooded fen.

"Wet," said Dave laconically.

"Yes, there are four feet of water yonder, I should say.  You will have
to stop at the Toft for the present."

"Not I, mester," said the rough fellow.  "I don't mind a drop o'
watter."

"Not to wade through, perhaps, my man; but you can't sleep there."

"Sleep in my boat," said Dave laconically.  "Won't be the first time."

"Do as you please," said the squire quietly; and he turned to talk to
Farmer Tallington.

"I say, Dave," whispered Dick, "you're just like an old goose."

"Eh?" said the man with his eyes flashing.

"I mean being able to sleep on the water floating," said Dick, laughing,
and the angry look died out.

It was plain enough that the water had sunk a good deal already, but the
farmers had to face the fact that it would be weeks before the fen was
in its old state, and that if the breach in the sea-wall were not soon
repaired, they might at any time be afflicted with a similar peril.

But notice was sent to those interested, while the farmers here and
there who held the patches of raised land round the borders of the fen
obeyed the summons, and for about a month there was busy work going on
at the sea-wall with spade and basket, clay being brought from pits
beneath the sand upon the sea-shore, carried up to the breach, and
trampled down, till at last, without further mishap, the gap in the
embankment was filled up strongly, and the place declared to be safe.

Of those who toiled hard none showed so well in the front as Dave o' the
'Coy, and John Warren, and the squire was not stinted in his praise one
day toward the end of the task.

"Wuck hard, mester!" said Dave.  "Enough to mak' a man wuck.  John
Warren here don't want all his rabbits weshed away; and how am I to
manage my 'coy if it's all under watter."

"Ah, how indeed!" said the squire, and he went away; but Dick stayed
behind with Tom Tallington, and sat upon the top of the embankment,
laughing, till the rough fen-man stood resting on his spade.

"Now then, what are yow gimbling [grinning] at, young mester?" he said.

"At yow, Dave," said Dick, imitating his broad speech.

"Then it arn't manners, lad.  Thowt you'd been to school up to town
yonder to larn manners both on you?"

"So we did, Dave, and a lot more things," cried Dick.  "How to know when
anyone's gammoning."

"Gammoning, lad?" said Dave uneasily.

"Yes, gammoning.  You don't want the flood done away with."

"Not want the flood done away wi'!"

"No; and you don't want the fen drained and turned into fields."

"Do yow?" said Dave fiercely, and he took a step nearer to the lad.

"No, of course not," cried Dick.  "It would spoil all the fun."

"Hah!" ejaculated Dave, as his yellow face puckered up with a dry smile,
and in a furtive way which fitted with his fox-skin cap he turned and
gave John Warren a peculiar look.

"When may we come over to the 'coy, Dave?"

"When you like, lads.  Soon as the watter's down low enough for us to
work it."

"It's sinking fast, Dave," said Tom.  "It's all gone from our garden
now, and the rooms are getting dry."

"Ay, but my pipes are covered still, and it'll be a good month, my lads,
'fore we can do any good.  But I might ha' took you both out in the punt
for a bit o' shooting if you hadn't played that game on me, and spoiled
my horn and wasted all my powder."

"Ah, it was too bad, Dave; but there are a couple of fine large horns at
home I've saved for you, and we've bought you a pound of powder."

"Nay, I sha'n't believe it till I see 'em," said Dave.  "I did mean to
hev asked you lads to come netting, but I can't ask them as plays
tricks."

"Netting!  What, the ruffs?"

"Ay, I weer thinking about heving a try for 'em.  But I shall give it
up."

"Dave, you promised me a year ago that you'd take us with you some time,
and you never have," cried Dick.

"Nay, did I though?"

"Yes; didn't he, Tom?"

"Nay, yow needn't ask him; he'll be sewer to say yes," said Dave,
grinning.

"Look here," cried Dick, "I'm not going to argue with you, Dave.  Are
you going to take us?"

"Some day, lad, when the watter's down, if my live birds aren't all
drownded and my stales [stuffed decoys] spoiled."

"Oh, they won't be!" cried Dick.  "When will you go?"

"When the watter's down, my lad."

"It's low enough now.  There are plenty of places where you can spread
your nets."

"Ay, but plenty of places don't suit me, my lad.  You wait a bit and
we'll see.  Get John Warren to tek you ferreting."

"Yes, that will do," cried Tom.  "When are you going, John?"

The man addressed shook his head.

"Rabbuds don't want no killing off.  Plenty on 'em drownded."

"Why," cried Dick, "it was only the other day you said that none were
hurt by the flood."

"Did I, Mester Dick?  Ah, yow mustn't tek no notice o' what I say."

"But we shall take notice of what you say," cried Tom.  "I don't believe
he has any ferrets left."

"Ay, bud I hev.  Theer I'll tek you, lads.  Why don't thou tek 'em wi'
you, Dave, man?  Let un see the netting."

Dave smiled in a curious way, and then his eyes twinkled as he looked
from one to the other.

"Well, you wait a week, lads, and then I'll fetch you."

"To see the netting?"

"Ay.  In another week there'll be a deal more dry land, and the ruffs
and reeves'll be ower in flocks, I dessay.  If they aren't, we'll try
for something else."

"Hooray!" cried Dick; and that evening there was nothing talked of but
the projected trip.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE DEPARTING FLOOD.

The water sank slowly and steadily, leaving dry patches here and there
all over the fen; but the lake-like parts far exceeded the dry land, and
two or three fields still contained so much water that the squire set
men to work to cut a drain to carry it away.

"Kill two birds with one stone, Dick," he said.  "It will be useful by
and by."

At the time Dick did not understand what his father meant; but it was
soon evident when all hands were hard at work cutting down through the
peat to make the dyke.  For, instead of digging in the ordinary way, the
men carefully cut down through what was not earth, but thick
well-compressed black peat, each piece, about ten inches square and
three or four thick, to be carefully laid up like so much open brickwork
to drain and dry.

Good store for the next winter's fuel, for it was peat of fine quality
stored up by nature ages before, and not the soft brown mossy stuff
found in many places, stuff that burns rapidly away and gives out hardly
any heat.  This peat about the Toft was coal's young relative, and
burned slowly into a beautiful creamy ash, giving out a glow of warmth
that was wanted there when the wind blew from the northern sea.

The two lads watched the process with interest--not that it was anything
new, for they had seen it done a hundred times; but they had nothing
else to do that morning, having tired themselves of gazing at the flocks
of birds which passed over to the feeding grounds laid bare by the
sinking water.  It had been interesting to watch them, but Dave had not
kept his word about the netting; the decoy had not been worked; and
gunning was reserved for those of elder growth.  So that morning, though
the great lakes and canals among the reeds were dotted with birds, the
lads were patiently watching the cutting of the little drain.

Six men were busy, and making steady progress, for the peat cut easily,
the sharp-edged tools going through it like knives, while the leader of
the gang busied himself from time to time by thrusting down a
sharp-pointed iron rod, which always came in contact with sand and
gravel a few feet down.

"No roots, my lad?" said the squire, coming up.

"No, mester," said the labourer.  "I don't think--well, now, only think
of that!"

He was thrusting down the iron rod as he spoke, and the point stuck into
something that was not sand or gravel, while upon its being thrust down
again with more force it stuck fast, and required a heavy jerk to drag
it out.

"That seems to be a good one," said the squire, as the lads watched the
process with interest.

"Shall we hev it out, mester?"

"Have it out!  Oh, yes!" said the squire; and a couple of hours were
spent widening the drain at that part, so as to give the men room to
work round what was the root of an old tree, just as it had been growing
in the far-distant ages, before the peat began to rise over it to nine
or ten feet in thickness.

It was a long job, and after the great stump had been laid bare, axes
had to be used to divide some of the outlying roots before it was
finally dragged out by the whole force that could be collected by the
hole, and finally lay upon the side.

"Just like the others, Dick.  There must have been a tremendous fire
here at one time."

"And burned the whole forest down?"

"Burned the whole of the trees down to the stumps, my lad, and then the
peat gradually formed over the roots, and they've lain there till we
come and dig them out for firewood."

"And they haven't rotted, father, although they have been under the peat
and water all this time."

"No, my boy; the peat is a preservative.  Nothing seems to decay under
the peat.  Why, you ought to have known that by now."

"I suppose I ought," said Dick rather dolefully, for he was beginning to
wake up to the fact of what an enormous deal there was in the world that
he did not know.

As he spoke, he picked up some of the red chips of the pine-root which
had been sent flying by the strokes of the axe, to find that they were
full of resin, smelling strongly of turpentine.

"Yes, it's full of it," said the squire; "that's one reason why the wood
has kept without rotting.  Here you two boys may as well do something
for your bread and butter."

Dick said something to himself answering to nineteenth-century Bother!
and awaited his father's orders.

"You can drag that root up to the yard.  Get a rope round it and haul.
Humph, no! it will be too heavy for you alone.  Leave it."

"Yes, father," said Dick with a sigh of relief, for it was more pleasant
to stand watching the men cutting the peat and the birds flying over, or
to idle about the place, than to be dragging along a great sodden mass
of pine-root.

"Stop!" cried the squire.  "I don't want the men to leave their work.
Go and fetch the ass, and harness him to it.  You three donkeys can drag
it up between you."

The boys laughed.

"I'm going up the river bank.  Get it done before I get back."

"Yes, father," cried Dick.  "Come along, Tom."

The task was now undertaken with alacrity, for there was somehow a
suggestion to both of the lads of something in the nature of fun, in
connection with getting the ass to drag that great root.

The companions ran along by the boggy field toward the farm buildings on
the Toft, to seek out the old grey donkey, who was at that moment
contemplatively munching some hay in a corner of the big yard, in whose
stone walls, were traces of carving and pillar with groin and arch.

Now some people once started the idea that a donkey is a very stupid
animal; and, like many more such theories, that one has been handed down
to posterity, and believed in as a natural history fact, while donkey or
ass has become a term of reproach for those not blessed with too much
brain.

Winthorpe's donkey was by no means a stupid beast, and being thoroughly
imbued with the idea that it was a slave's duty to do as little work as
he possibly could for those who held him in bonds, he made a point of
getting out of the way whenever he scented work upon the wind.

He was a grey old gentleman, whose years were looked upon as tremendous;
and as he stood in the corner of the yard munching hay, he now and then
scratched his head against an elaborately carved stone bracket in the
wall which took the form of a grotesque face.

Then his jaws stopped, and it was evident that he scented something, for
he raised his head slightly.  Then he swung one great ear round, and
then brought up the other with a sharp swing till they were both cocked
forward and he listened attentively.

A minute before, and he was a very statue of a donkey, but after a few
moments' attentive listening he suddenly became full of action, and
setting up his tail he trotted round the yard over the rotten peat and
ling that had been cut and tossed in, to be well trampled before mixing
with straw and ploughing into the ground.  He changed his pace to a
gallop, and then, still growing more excited, he made straight for the
rough gate so as to escape.

But the gate was fastened, though not so securely but that it entered
into a donkey's brain that he might undo that fastening, as he had often
undone it before, and then deliberately walked off into the fen, where
succulent thistles grew.

This time, however, in spite of the earnest way in which he applied his
teeth, he could not get that fastening undone; and, after striking at it
viciously with his unshod hoof, he reared up, as if to leap over, but
contented himself with resting his fore-legs on the rough top rail, and
looking over at the free land he could not reach; and he was in this
attitude when the two lads came up.

"Hullo, Solomon!" cried Dick.  "Poor old fellow, then!  Did you know
we'd come for you?"

The donkey uttered a discordant bray which sounded like the blowing
badly of a trumpet of defiance, and backing away, he trotted to the far
end of the yard, and thrust his head into a corner.

"Where's the harness?" said Tom.

"In the stone barn," was the reply; and together the lads fetched the
rough harness of old leather and rope, with an extra piece for fastening
about the root.

"I say, Dick, he won't kick that root to pieces like he did the little
tumbril," said Tom, who for convenience had placed the collar over his
own head.

"Nor yet knock one side off like he did with the sled," replied Dick
with a very vivid recollection of one of Solomon's feats.  "Now, then,
open the gate and let's pop the harness on.  Stop a minute till I get a
stick."

"Get a thick one," said Tom.

"Pooh! he don't mind a thick stick; he rather likes it.  Hicky says it
loosens his skin and makes him feel comfortable.  Here, this will do.
Must have a long one because of his heels."

"Oh, I say, Dick, look at the old rascal; he's laughing at us!"

It really seemed as if this were the case, for as the lads entered the
yard Solomon lowered his head still more in its corner, and looked at
them between his legs, baring his gums the while and showing his white
teeth.

"Ah, I'll make him laugh--_gimble_, as old Dave calls it--if he gives us
any of his nonsense!  Now, you, sir, come out of that corner.  Give me
the collar, Tom."

As Dick relieved his friend of the collar, and held it ready to put over
the donkey's head, though they were at least a dozen yards away, Solomon
began to kick, throwing out his heels with tremendous force and then
stamping with his fore-feet.

"Isn't he a pretty creature, Tom?  He grows worse.  Father won't sell
him, because, he says, he's an old friend.  He has always been my
enemy."

"You always whacked him so," cried Tom.

"No, I didn't; I never touched him till he began it.  Of course I wanted
to ride him and make him pull the sled, and you know how he ran after me
and bit me on the back."

"Yes, I know that somebody must have ill-used him first."

"I tell you they didn't.  He's always been petted and spoiled.  Why,
that day when he kicked me and sent me flying into the straw I'd gone to
give him some carrots."

"But didn't you tickle him or something?"

"No, I tell you.  A nasty ungrateful brute!  I've given him apples and
turnips and bread; one Christmas I gave him a lump of cake; but no
matter what you do, the worse he is.  He's a natural savage, father
says; and it isn't safe to go near him without a stick."

"Well, you've told me all that a dozen times," said Tom maliciously.
"It's only an excuse for ill-using the poor thing."

"Say that again and I'll hit you," cried Dick.

"No, you won't.  Here, give me the harness again and I'll put it on,
only keep back with that stick.  That's what makes him vicious."

"How clever we are!" cried Dick, handing back the collar.  "There: go
and try."

"Ah, I'll show you!" said Tom, taking the collar with its hames and
traces attached, and going up toward the donkey, while Dick stood back,
laughing.

"Take care, Tom; mind he don't bite!"

"He can't bite with his hind-legs, can he?" replied Tom.  "I'll mind.
Now, then, old fellow, turn round; I won't hurt you."

Solomon raised his tail to a horizontal position and held it out
stiffly.

"Don't be a stupid," cried Tom; "I want your head, not your tail."

Dick burst into a roar of laughter, but Tom was not going to be beaten.

"You leave off laughing," he said, "and go farther back with that stick.
That's right.  Now, then, old boy, come on; turn round then."

_Whack_!

Poor Tom went backwards and came down a couple of yards away in a
sitting position, with the collar in his lap and an astonished look in
his countenance.

"Oh, I am sorry, Tom!" cried Dick, running up.  "You, Solomon, I'll half
kill you.  Are you hurt, Tom?"

"I don't know yet," said the lad, struggling up.

"Where did he kick you?" cried Dick, full of sympathy now for his
friend.

"He didn't kick me at all," said Tom dolefully.  "I was holding the
collar right out and he kicked that, but it hit me bang in the front and
hurt ever so."

"Let me take the harness; I'll get it on him."

"No, I won't," cried Tom viciously.  "I will do it now.  Here, give me
that stick."

"Why, I thought you said I ill-used him!"

"And I'll ill-use him too," said Tom savagely, "if he doesn't come and
have on his collar.  Now, then, you, sir, come here," cried Tom sharply.

By this time the donkey had trotted to another corner of the yard, where
he stood with his heels presented to his pursuers, and as first one and
then the other made a dash at his head he slewed himself round and
kicked out fiercely.

"This is a nice game," cried Dick at last, when they were both getting
hot with the exercise of hunting the animal from corner to corner, and
then leaping backward or sidewise to avoid his heels, "Now, just you
tell me this, who could help walloping such a brute?  Hold still will
you!"

But Solomon--a name, by the way, which was given him originally from its
resemblance to "Solemn-un," the latter having been applied to him by
Hickathrift--refused to hold still.  In fact he grew more energetic and
playful every minute, cantering round the yard and dodging his pursuers
in a way which would have done credit to a well-bred pony, and the
chances of getting the collar on or bit into his mouth grew more and
more remote.

"I tell you what let's do," cried Dick at last; "I'm not going to run
myself off my legs to please him.  I've got it!"

"I wish you'd got the donkey," grumbled Tom.  "I don't see any fun in
hunting him and nearly getting kicked over the wall."

"Well, don't be in a hurry," said Dick; "I know how to manage him.
Here, catch hold of this harness.  I know."

"You know!" grumbled Tom, whose side was sore from the donkey's kick
upon the collar.  "What are you going to do?"

"You shall see," cried Dick, busying himself with the wagon rope he had
brought, and making a loop at one end, and then putting the other
through it, so as to produce an easily running noose.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Tom.

"Hold your noise," whispered Dick; "he's such an artful old wretch I
don't know that he wouldn't understand us.  I'm going to make you drive
him round by me, and then I'm going to throw this over his head and
catch him."

"I don't believe you can," cried Tom.

"Well, you'll see.  There, that'll do.  I'm ready; take the stick and
make a rush at him.  That will drive him round near me, and then we'll
try."

Tom laid down the harness, took the stick and made the rush at Solomon.
The latter kicked out his heels and cantered round by Dick, who threw
his noose, but failed to lasso the donkey, who took refuge in another
corner.

"Never mind," cried Dick, gathering up the rope, "I shall do it next
time.  Now, then--I'm ready.  Drive him back again."

Tom made another rush at the obstinate animal, which cantered off again,
working considerably harder than it would if it had submitted patiently
to being bitted.  This time he gave Dick a better chance, and the boy
threw the rope so well that it seemed as if it must go over the
creature's head.  But Solomon was too sharp.  He shied at the rope and
tossed his head aside; but though he avoided the noose and escaped it so
far, as he plunged he stepped right into it, tightened it round his
fore-legs, and the next instant fell over at one end of the rope,
kicking and plunging as he lay upon his side, while at the other end of
the rope there lay Dick upon his chest.  For he had been jerked off his
feet, but held on to the rope in spite of the donkey's struggles.

"I've got him, Tom; come and lay hold," panted Dick as the donkey made a
desperate plunge, got upon his legs, and then fell down again upon the
loose ling and straw, kicking out as if galloping.

This gave Dick time to rise, and, seeing his opportunity, he ran to the
gate and passed the slack rope round, drew it tight, and shouted to Tom
to come and hold on.

Just as Tom caught hold of the rope the donkey rose again and made a
plunge or two, but only to fall once more, slacking the rope to such an
extent that the boys were able to haul in a couple of yards more and
hold on, stretching Solomon's legs out and drawing them so tightly that
he uttered a piteous cry like the beginning of a bray chopped off short.

"Do you give in, then?" cried Dick.

The donkey raised his head slightly and let it fall again, gazing wildly
at his captors, one of whom rushed round, avoided a feeble kick, and sat
down upon the helpless animal's head.

"Now," cried Dick, "we've got him, Tom; and I've a good mind to play the
drum on his old ribs till he begins to sing!"

"Don't hit him when he's down," said Tom.  "It isn't English."

"I wasn't going to hit him," said Dick.  "He's a prisoner and has given
in.  Bring me the bit."

Solomon opened his mouth to utter a bray; but Dick put the stick between
his teeth, and he only uttered a loud sigh.

"Ah! now you're sorry for being such a brute, are you?" cried Dick.
"Come along, Tom."

"I'm coming, only the things have got all mixed," was the reply.

"Give 'em to me," cried Dick.  "That's it.  Now, then, you sit on his
neck, Tom, and then I'll get up.  And look here, you, sir," he added to
the donkey, "you come any more of your games, and I'll knock your head
off!"

Solomon's flanks heaved, but he lay quite still, and did not resent
Tom's rather rough treatment as he bestrode his neck and sat down.  On
the contrary, he half-raised his head at his master's command, suffered
the bit to be thrust between his teeth and the head-stall to be buckled
on, after which Tom leaped up.

"Take the rope from about his legs now, Tom," cried Dick.

"Suppose he kicks!"

"He won't kick now," cried Dick.  "He'd better!  Here, you hold the rein
and I'll take it off."

"No, I'll do it," said Tom sturdily; and going cautiously to work he
unknotted the rope and drew it away, the donkey lying quite motionless.

"Now, then, Sol, get up!" cried Tom.

The donkey drew his legs together, leaped to his feet, shook himself
till his ears seemed to rattle, and uttered a sound like a groan.

"He is beaten now," said Dick.  "Come and put on the pad and well go.
That's right; buckle it on."

Tom obeyed, and the rough scrappy harness was fixed in its place, while
Solomon twitched his ears and rolled them round as if trying to pick up
news in any direction.

"He won't kick now, will he?" said Tom.

"Not unless he feels a fly on his back, and then he'll try to kick it
off."

"Why, he couldn't kick a fly off his back if he tried," said Tom.

"No, but he'd try all the same.  Look out!--there he goes!"

Tom leaped aside, for the donkey kicked out fiercely for a few moments.

"Why, there are no flies now!" said Tom.

"Must be.  Look out!--he's going to kick again!"

The donkey's heels flew out, and Tom made a feint of punching his
companion's head.

"How clever we are!" he cried.  "Just as if I didn't see you tickling
him to make him kick!"

"Tickle him!" said Dick laughing.  "Why, I wasn't tickling him when he
kicked up in the corner there.  But come along or we shall never get
that log up to the yard, and father won't like it.  Now, Sol!  Open the
gate, Tom."

Tom opened the gate, and with Dick holding the rein the donkey walked
along by his side as meekly as if he had never kicked or shown his teeth
with the intention of biting in his life.  The rope was doubled up and
thrown over his back; and when they had gone a few yards Dick, without
pausing, made a bit of a jump and struggled on to the animal's back,
getting himself right aft, as a sailor would say, so that it seemed as
if at any moment he might slip off behind.

But Solomon made no objection; he just twitched and wagged his tail for
a moment or two, and then put it away out of sight.  For the donkey
chained, or rather harnessed, became an obedient slave--a very different
creature from the donkey free.

When they reached the dyke where the men were standing delving out the
peat, it was to find a group of three fresh arrivals in the persons of
Hickathrift the wheelwright, Dave, and John Warren, and all in earnest
converse upon some subject.

"Yow may say what yow like," cried Dave, "but fen-land's fen-land, and
meant for the wild birds."

"And rabbuds," put in John Warren.

"Ay, lad, and rabbuds," assented Dave; "and it weer nivver meant to grow
corn and grass.  Yow can't do it, and yow'll nivver make fen-land
fields.  It's agen natur."

"So it is to ride in a cart or on a sled, lad," said Hickathrift
good-humouredly; "but I make 'em, and folk rides in 'em and carries
things to market."

"Ay, but that's different," said Dave.  "Fen-land's fen-land; and you
can't dree-ern that."

"You can't dree-ern that," said John Warren, nodding his head in assent.

"Well, they'll drain these fields, at all events," said Hickathrift.
"Yow can't say they weant do that."

"I say fen-land's fen-land," reiterated Dave, taking off his fox-skin
cap and rubbing his ear viciously; "and it can't be dree-ernt."

"Ah! you two are scarred about your 'coy and your rabbud-warren," cried
Hickathrift good-humouredly.  "I wish they'd dree-ern the whole place
and have roads all over it, so as to want carts and wains."

"Nay, they nivver will," said Dave sourly.  "Tek to makkin' boats and
punts, mun.  Them's best."

"Hullo, Dave!" cried Dick; "how about the ruffs and reeves?  You said
you'd take me to the netting."

"Well, haven't I come for you, lad?" said Dave quietly.

"Have you?  Oh, Tom, and we've got this old stump to draw away!  I can't
go now, Dave."

"There's plenty o' time, lad.  I'm not going back yet Hicky's got to put
a bit o' plank in my boat 'fore I go back."

"Come on, Tom, and let's get it done," cried Dick.  "Here, give us the
rope."

He took the rope, fastened it to one of the roots, and then joined the
traces together, and tied the rope about them.

After this the donkey was turned so that his head was toward the sharp
slope, leading to the Priory on the Toft, and a start was made.  That is
to say, the donkey tightened the traces, stuck his hoofs into the
ground, tugged for a minute without moving the stump, and then gave up.

"Why, Mester Dick, yow'll have to get root on a sled or she weant move."

"Oh, we'll do it directly!" cried Dick.  "Here, Tom, you give a good
shove behind.  Now, then, pull up!"

Tom thrust with all his might, while Dick dragged at the donkey's
head-stall, and once more, after offering a few objections, Solomon
tightened the traces and rope, and tugged with all his might, but the
root did not move.

"Yow weant move her like that, I tell you, lad," said Hickathrift.

"Won't I!" cried Dick angrily; "but I just will.  You Tom, you didn't
half push."

"Shall I give her a throost?" said the wheelwright, smiling.

That smile annoyed Dick, who read in it contempt, when it was only
prompted by good temper.

"We can do it, thank you," cried Dick.  "Now, Tom, boy, give it a heave.
Pull up, Solomon."

Tom heaved, but Solomon refused to "pull up;" and after his late
disappointments, and his discovery that the root was heavier than he, it
took a great deal of coaxing to get him to stir.  At last, though, just
as Hickathrift was coming up good-temperedly to lend his aid, it seemed
as if the donkey anticipated a tremendous blow from the long staff the
wheelwright carried, for he made a plunge, Dick took tightly hold of the
rein and gave it a drag, and Tom sat down on the great root, to follow
Hickathrift's example and roar with laughter, in which the men who were
delving peat joined, while Dave and John Warren, men who took life in a
very solemn manner, actually smiled.

For Solomon's sudden plunge, joined to Dick's drag at the head-stall,
showed that it was quite time a new fit out of harness was provided,
inasmuch as the old leather gave way in two or three places, and the
donkey, with nothing on but his collar, was off full gallop, feeling
himself a slave no longer, while Dick, after staggering backwards for a
yard or two, came down heavily in a sitting position, and in a very wet
place.

"Yes, it's all very well to laugh," said Dick, getting up and looking
ruefully at the broken bridle and bit which he held in his hand; "but
see how cross father will be."

"And look where old Solomon has gone!" cried Tom.  "I say, how are we to
catch him?  Ha! ha! ha!  Only look!"

Everyone but Dick joined in the laugh, for Solomon was rejoicing in his
liberty, and galloping away toward the fen, shaking his head, and
kicking out his heels; while every now and then he stretched out his
neck, grinned, and bit at the wind, for there was nothing else to bite.

"Nice job we shall have!" grumbled Dick.  "Oh, I say, Tom, we are in a
mess."

"Oh, there's nowt the matter, Mester Dick!" said Hickathrift
good-temperedly, as he picked up the broken harness and examined it.
"Why, I could mend all this in less than an hour with some wax-ends and
a brad-awl."

"Yes, but will you, Hicky?"

"Of course I will, my lad.  Theer, don't look that how.  Go and catch
the Solemn-un, and me, and Dave, and John Warren'll get the root up to
the yard for you."

"Will you, Hicky?" cried the boys joyfully.  "Oh, you are a good old
fellow!  Come on, Tom, and let's catch Solomon."

The harness was thrust aside by the wheelwright, ready to take home, and
then at a word the two fen-men came forward, and together they rolled
the awkwardly-shaped root over and over toward the farm; while, once
satisfied that the pine-root was on its way, Dick gave his companion a
slap on the shoulder, and moistened his hand to get a better grip of his
stick.

"Get a stick, Tom," he said.  "I don't want to drum old Solomon's ribs;
but I'm just in the humour to give it him if he plays any of his
tricks."

That was just what the donkey seemed determined upon.  He had been shut
up for a fortnight in the yard, and hardly knew how to contain himself,
as he bounded along in a way he never attempted when he was not free.
There were spots which he knew of where succulent thistles and water
plants grew, and after a long course of dry food he meant to enjoy a
feast.

The boys shouted as they ran, and tried to get ahead; but the more they
shouted the more Solomon kicked up his heels and ran, performing a
series of capers that suggested youth instead of extreme old age.

"We shall never get him," cried Tom as he panted along.

"We must catch him," cried Dick, making a furious rush to head off the
frolicsome animal, which seemed as if he thoroughly enjoyed teasing his
pursuers.

Dick was successful in turning the donkey, but not homeward, and he
stopped short unwillingly as he saw the course taken.

"I say, Dick, isn't it soft out there?"

"Soft!  Yes.  Mind how you go!"

This advice would have been thrown away upon Solomon, though, had he
comprehended it, the effect might have been beneficial.  For, whatever
knowledge the donkey might have possessed about the flood, he did not
realise the fact that since he last tickled his palate with the spinous
thistle--an herb which probably assumed to his throat the flavour that
pepper does to ours--there had been a considerable depth of water over
the fen, and that it was very soft.  The result was, that while the lads
stopped short, and then began to pick their way from tussock to tussock,
and heather patch to patch, Solomon blundered on, made a splash here, a
bit of a wallow there, and then a bound, which took him in half-way up
his back; and as he plunged and struck out with fore-legs and heels, he
churned up the soft bog and made it softer, so that he sank in and in,
till only his spine was visible with, at the end, his long neck and
great grey head, upon which the ears were cocked out forward, while an
expression of the most intense astonishment shone out of his eyes.

"Oh, Tom, what shall we do?"

_He-haw_--_he-yaw_--_he-yaw_!

Solomon burst out into the most dismal bray ever heard--a long-drawn
misery-haunted appeal for help, which was prolonged in the most
astounding way till it seemed to be a shrill cry.

"I don't know," responded Tom, wiping the tears out of his eyes.

"Oh, come, I say," said Dick, "it isn't anything to laugh at!"

"I know it isn't," cried Tom; "but I can't help it.  I feel as if I must
laugh, and--Ha! ha! ha!"

He burst into a tremendous peal, in which his companion joined, for
anything more comic than the aspect of the "Solemn-un" up to his neck in
the bog it would be hard to conceive.

"Here, this won't do," cried Dick at last, as he too stood wiping his
eyes.  "Poor old Sol, we mustn't let you drown.  Come on, Tom, and let's
help him out."

How Dick expected that he was going to help the donkey out he did not
say; but he began to pick his way from tuft to tuft, avoiding the soft
places, till he was within twenty feet of the nearly submerged animal,
and then he had to stop or share his fate.

"I say, Tom, I can't get any farther," he cried.  "What shall we do?"

"I don't know."

"What a fellow you are!" was the angry reply.  "You never do know.  Old
Sol will be drowned if we don't look sharp.  The bog is twenty feet deep
here."

"Can't he swim out?"

"Can't you swim out!" cried Dick.  "What's the good of talking like
that?  You couldn't swim if you were up to the neck in sand."

"But he isn't up to his neck in sand."

"But he's up to his neck in bog, and it's all the same."

"Ahoy! what's matter?" came from a couple of hundred yards away; and the
lads turned, to see that it was Hickathrift shouting, he and the others
having just succeeded in taking up the root to its destination.

"Ahoy!  Bring the rope," shouted Dick.

"He-haw--haw--haw--haw!" shouted the Solemn one dismally, as if to
emphasise his young master's order.

"Why, how came he in there?" cried Hickathrift, trotting up with the
rope, but picking his way carefully, for the peat shook beneath his
feet.

"He went in himself," cried Dick.  "Oh, do get him out before he sinks!
Make a noose, and let's throw it over his head."

"We shall pull his head right off if we do," said Hickathrift, but
busily making the noose the while.

"Oh, no, I don't believe you would!" cried Tom.  "He has got an awfully
strong neck."

"It won't hurt him," said Dave, who came up slowly with the rest.

"Well, there's no getting it under him," said the wheelwright; "he'd
kick us to pieces if we tried."

"I'll try," said Dick eagerly.

"Nay, I weant let you," said Hickathrift.  "I'll go my sen."

"It weant bear thee, neighbour," said John Warren warningly.

"Eh? wean't it?  Well, I can but try, mun.  Let's see."

The good-natured wheelwright went cautiously towards where Dick was
standing waiting for the rope; but at the third step he was up to his
middle and had to scramble out and back as fast as he could.

"I'm too heavy," he said; "but I'll try again.  All right, I'm coming
soon!" he added as the donkey uttered another dismal bray.

But his efforts were vain.  Each time he tried he sank in, and at last,
giving up to what was forced upon him as an impossibility, he coiled up
the rope to throw.

"Thou mun heave it over his head, my lad.  Don't go no nigher to him; it
isn't safe."

He threw the rope, and Dick caught the end and recoiled it preparatory
to making a start over the moss.

"Nay, nay, stop!" shouted Hickathrift.

"I must go and try if I can't put it round him, Hicky," cried Dick.

"Come back, thou'lt drownd thysen," shouted Dave excitedly.

"No, I won't," said Dick; and picking his steps with the greatest care,
he succeeded in stepping within ten yards of the donkey, which made a
desperate struggle now to get out and reach him, but without success;
all he did was to change his position, his hind-quarters going down
lower, while his fore-legs struck out into the daylight once or twice in
his hard fight for liberty.

"Now, my lad, heave the rope over his head, and we'll haul him out,"
cried Hickathrift.

But Dick paid no heed.  He saw in imagination the poor animal strangled
by the noose; and with the idea that he could somehow get alongside, he
struck out to the left, but had to give up, for the bog was more fluid
there.

On the other side it was even worse, and Dick was about to turn and
shout to the men to try if they could not get the punt up alongside,
when a fresh struggle from Solomon plainly showed him that the animal
must be rescued at once or all would be over.

Dick made one more trial to get nearer, in spite of the cries and
adjurations of those upon the firmer ground; but it was useless, and
struggling to a tuft of dry reed, he balanced himself there and gathered
up the rope, so as to try and throw the loop over the donkey's head.

As he held it ready there was another miserable bray, and the lad
hesitated.

"It means killing him," he muttered.  "Poor old Solomon!  I never liked
him, but we've had so many runs together."

His hand dropped to his side with the rope, and he tottered, for the
reed tuft seemed to be sinking.

Solomon brayed again and fought desperately to free himself, but sank
lower.

"Heave, Dick, heave!" shouted Tom.

"Throw it over, my lad! throw it over, or thou'lt be too late!" cried
the wheelwright; but Dick did not move.  His eyes were fixed upon the
donkey's head, but his thoughts were far back in the past, in sunny days
when he had been riding by the edge of the fen to the town, or down to
the firm sand by the sea, where Solomon always managed to throw him and
then gallop off.  Then there were the wintry times, when the donkey's
hoofs used to patter so loudly over the frozen ground, while now--

Perhaps it was very childish, for Dick was a strongly built lad of
sixteen, and had his memory served him truly it would have reminded him
of that terrible kick in the leg which lamed him for a month--of the
black-and-yellow bruise upon his arm made by the vicious animal's jaws
one day when he bit fiercely--of that day when he was pitched over
Solomon's head into the black bog ditch, and had to swim out--of a dozen
mishaps and injuries received from the obstinate beast.  But Dick
thought of none of these, only of the pleasant days he had had with the
animal he had known ever since he could run; and, whether it were
childish or not, the tears rose and dimmed his eyes as he stood there
gazing at what seemed to be the animal's dying struggles, and thinking
that it would be kinder to let him drown than to strangle him, as he
felt sure they would.

"Why don't you throw, Dick?" cried Tom again in an excited yell that was
half drowned by Solomon's discordant bray, though it was growing more
feeble as the struggles were certainly more weak.

All at once Dick started and his eyes grew more clear.  It was not at
the warning shout of the wheelwright, nor the yell uttered by the other
men, but at the action of the sufferer in the bog.  For, feeling himself
surely and certainly sinking lower, the donkey made one more tremendous
effort, extricating his fore-legs and beating the fluid peat with them
till it grew thinner, and with neck outstretched and mouth open it sank
more and more back, till head and legs only could be seen.

Dick did it unconsciously.  His eyes were fixed upon the struggling
beast, but his ears were deaf to the shouts behind him.  All he heard
was the dismal bray enfeebled to a groan so full of despair that the lad
threw the rope, and in throwing lost his balance, fell, and the next
moment was struggling in the mire.

He tried to rise, but it was impossible, and as he fought and struggled
for a few moments it was to find that the bog was growing thinner and
that the patches about him, which looked firm, were beginning to sink.

Was he too going to drown? he asked himself, and something of the
sensation he had felt on the night of the flood came over him.

Then he felt a snatch, and a voice like thunder brought him to himself.

"Howd tight, lad!"

The next moment Dick felt himself gliding over the soft bog, and
directly after Dave had hold of one of his hands and drew him to a place
of safety before running back to the rope.

"All together, lads!  Haul!"

There was a shout and a tremendous splashing, and Dick Winthorpe
struggled to his feet, wiping the black fluid bog from his eyes, to see
Solomon hauled right out, slowly at first, then faster and faster, till
he was literally run over the slippery surface to where there was firm
ground.

"I got it over his head, then?" said Dick huskily.

"Ay, lad, and over his legs too," cried Hickathrift, as he bent down and
loosened the noose.  "Eh, bud it's tight.  That's it!"

He dragged the rope off, and the donkey lay perfectly motionless for a
few moments, but not with his eyes closed, for he seemed to be glowering
round.

"Is he dying, Hicky?" said Dick.

"Nay, lad; yow can't kill an ass so easy.  Seems aw reight.  There!"

The last word was uttered as the donkey suddenly struggled up, gave
himself a tremendous shake, till his ears rattled again as the bog water
flew; and then stretching out his neck as if he were about to bray, he
bared his teeth and made a fierce run at the wheelwright.

But Hickathrift struck at him with the rope, and to avoid that, Solomon
worked round, made a bite at Dick, which took effect on his wet coat,
tearing a piece right out.  Then he swerved round like lightning and
threw out his heels at Tom, tossed up his head, and then cantered off,
braying as he went, as if nothing had been the matter, and making
straight for the yard.

"Well, of all the ungrateful brutes!" cried Tom.

"Ay, we might just as well hev let him get smothered," said the
wheelwright, joining in the laughter of the others.  "Didn't hurt you,
did he, Mester Dick?"

"No, Hicky.  Only tore my coat," replied Dick, turning reluctantly up to
the house, for he was wet and now felt cold.

"I say, Dick, what about the netting?" cried Tom.

The lad looked piteously at Dave and his companion of the rabbit
warren--two inseparable friends--and felt that his chance of seeing the
ruffs and reeves captured was very small.

"Are you going--to-day, Dave?" he faltered.

"Nay, lad," said Dave dryly, "yow've had enough o' the bog for one day.
Go and dry thysen.  I'll coom and fetch thee to-morrow."

So the lads went up to the house, the men returned to their draining,
and the wheelwright walked slowly away with Dave and John Warren.

"Let's run, Dick," said Tom, who was carrying the rope; "then you won't
catch cold."

"Oh, I sha'n't hurt," said Dick, running all the same; and in passing
the yard they closed the gate, for Solomon was safe inside; but as they
reached the house, where Mrs Winthorpe stood staring aghast at her
son's plight, Solomon burst forth with another dismal, loud complaining:
"_He-haw_!"



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE FEN-MAN'S WAGES.

Dave did not keep his promise the next day, nor the next; but Dick
Winthorpe had his attention taken up by other matters, for a party of
men arrived and stopped with their leaders at the Toft, where they were
refreshed with ale and bread and cheese, previous to continuing their
journey down to the seaside.

The squire and Farmer Tallington accompanied them down to their
quarters, which were to be at a disused farm-house close to the mouth of
the little river; and incidentally Dick learned that this was the first
party of labourers who were to cut the new lode or drain from near the
river mouth right across the fen; that there was to be a lock with gates
at the river end, to let the drain-water out at low tide, and that the
banks of the drain were to be raised so as to protect the land at the
sides from being flooded.

Fen people from far and wide collected to see the gang, and to watch the
surveyors, who, with measuring chain and staves and instruments, busied
themselves marking out the direction in which the men were to cut; and
these fen people shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders, while
more than once, when Squire Winthorpe addressed one or the other, Dick
noticed that they were always surly, and that some turned away without
making any answer.

"Never mind, Dick," said the squire laughing.  "Some day when we've
given them smiling pastures and corn-fields, instead of water and bog
and ague, they will be ashamed of themselves."

"But--"

"Well, but what, sir?" said the squire as the lad hesitated.

"I was only going to say, father, isn't it a pity to spoil the fen?"

The squire did not answer for a few moments, but stood frowning.  The
severe look passed off directly though, and he smiled.

"Dick," he said gravely, "all those years at a good school, to come back
as full of ignorance and prejudice as the fen-men!  Shame!"

He walked away, leaving Dick with his companion Tom Tallington.

"I say," said the latter, "you caught it."

"Well, I can't help it," said Dick, who felt irritated and ashamed.  "It
does seem a pity to spoil all the beautiful pools and fishing places,
and instead of having beds of reeds full of birds, for there to be
nothing but fields and a great ugly drain.  Why, the flowers, and
butterflies, and nesting places will all be swept away.  What do we care
for fields of corn!"

"My father cares for them, and he says it will be the making of this
part of the country."

"Unmaking, he means," said Dick; and they went on to watch the
proceedings of the strange men who had come--big, strong,
good-tempered-looking fellows, armed with sharp cutting spades, and for
whose use the lads found that a brig had come into the little river, and
was landing barrows, planks, and baskets, with a variety of other
articles to be used in the making of the drain.

"I'm afraid we shall have some trouble over this business, Tallington,"
said the squire as they went back.

"Well, we sha'n't be the only sufferers," said the farmer
good-humouredly.  "I suppose all we who have adventured our few pounds
will be in the people's black books.  But we must go on--we can't stop
now."

The next day Tom came over, and the lads went down towards the
far-stretching fen, now once more losing a great deal of the water of
the flood.

They passed the Solemn one apparently none the worse for his bath, for
he trotted away from the gate to thrust his head in the favourite corner
by the old corbel in the wall, and look back at them, as if as ready to
kick as ever.

"Poor old Solomon!" said Dick laughing, "I should have been sorry if he
had been lost."

"Oh, never mind him," cried Tom; "is old Dave coming over to fetch us?
Why, Dick, look!"

"I can't see anything," said Dick.

"Because you're not looking the right way.  There!  Now he's behind that
bed of reeds a mile away."

"I see!" cried Dick.  "Why, it is Dave, and he's coming."

The lads ran down to the edge of the fen, and made their way to the end
of a long, open, river-like stretch of water, which was now perfectly
clear, so that everything could be clearly distinguished at the bottom;
and before long, as they walked to and fro, they caught sight of a
little shoal of small fish, and soon after of a young pike, with his
protruding lower jaw, waiting for his opportunity to make a dash at some
unfortunate rudd, whose orange fins and faintly-gilded sides made him a
delectable-looking morsel for his olive-green and gold excellency the
tyrant of the river.

"He's coming here, isn't he?" said Tom, gazing out anxiously over the
reedy waste.

"Yes; I can see his old fox-skin cap.  He's coming safe enough."

"Oh, Dick!" cried his companion.

"Well!  What?"

"The powder.  You've never given him the powder, and he'll be as gruff
as can be.  Has he had the horn?"

"Had two," said Dick, watching the approaching punt, which was still
half a mile away, and being poled steadily in and out of the winding
water-lane, now hidden by the dry rustling reeds which stood covered
with strands of filmy conferva or fen scum.

"But he hasn't had the powder we promised him."

"No," said Dick loftily; "not yet."

"Why, you haven't brought it, Dick!"

"Haven't brought it, indeed!  Why, what's this, then?"

He drew a bottle from his pocket, took out the cork, and poured a little
of its contents into his hand--dry, black grains, like so much sable
sand, and then poured it back and corked it tightly.

"You are a good fellow, Dick; but I haven't paid my share."

"I don't want your share," said Dick loftily.  "Father gave me
half-a-crown the other day."

"I wish my father gave me half-crowns sometimes," sighed Tom; "but he
isn't so rich as yours."

"There, don't bother about money!" cried Dick.  "Let's think about the
birds.  Hooray! here he comes!  Hi, Dave!"

Sound travels easily over water, and the decoy-man must have heard the
hail, but he paid no heed, only kept on poling his punt along, thrusting
down the long ash sapling, which the fen-men used as punt-pole, staff,
and leaping-pole in turn; and then as the boat glided on, standing erect
in her bows like some statue.

"Now, what a dried-up old yellow mummy he is!" cried Dick.  "He can see
us, but he's pretending he can't, on purpose to tease us.  Look at that!
He needn't have gone behind that great reed patch.  It's to make us
think he is going down to your place."

"Let's run down and meet him," said Tom eagerly.

"No, no; stop where you are.  If he sees us go down there he'll double
back directly and come here.  He's just like an old fox.  I know.  Come
along!"

Dick started up and ran in the same direction as Dave had taken with the
punt before he disappeared behind the reed-bed.  Tom followed, and they
raced on along the edge till a clump of alders was reached.

"Pst!  Tom, round here," whispered Dick; and leading the way he doubled
back, following the long low bed of swamp-loving wood, and keeping in
its shelter till they were once more opposite to the spot where Dave
should have landed.

There, still hid among the trees, Dick stooped down in a thick bed of
dry reeds, pretty close to the water, and in full view of the rough
winding canal leading far and wide.

"Let's hide for a few minutes," said Dick chuckling.  "You'll see he'll
come here after all."

The lad had a good idea of Dave's ways, for before they had been
watching many minutes there was the splashing of the pole heard in the
water, and the rustling of the reeds, but nothing was visible, and Tom
began to be of opinion that his companion had been wrong, when all at
once the reeds began to sway and crackle right before them, and before
Tom recovered from his surprise the punt shot right out of the middle of
the long low wall of dried growth, and in answer to a vigorous thrust or
two from the pole, glided across to within a dozen yards of where the
lads crouched.

"Come on, Tom!" said Dick, and they stepped out at once so suddenly that
the decoy-man, in spite of his self-control, started.  A curious smile
puckered his face directly and he stood staring at them.

"Why, you have been a long time, Dave," cried Dick.

"Long, boy?"

"Yes, long.  You asked us to come over and see the netting."

"Ay, so I did, boy; but there soon wean't be no netting."

"Then come on and let's see it while there is some," cried Dick.  "When
we used to be home from school you always said we were too young.  You
can't say that now."

"Ay, bud I can," said the man with a dry chuckle.

"Then don't," said Dick.  "You've brought your gun there!" he cried
joyfully.

"Ay, I've brote my gun," said Dave; "but I hevven't any powder."

"Yes, you have, Dave," cried Dick, tugging the wine-bottle from his
pocket.  "Here's some."

"Eh?  Is that powder or drink?" said the man, taking the bottle and
giving it a shake.  "It arn't full, though."

"No, it isn't full," said Dick in a disappointed tone; "but there's a
whole pound, and it's the best."

"Ah, well, I daresay it'll do," said Dave slowly.

"Load the gun, then, and let's have a shot at the snipes as we go," said
Tom.

"Nay, she wean't go off till she has had a new flint in.  I'm going to
knap one when I get back."

"Jump in, then," cried Dick.  "I'm going to pole her across."

"Nay, I don't think it's any use to-day."

"Why, Dave, this is just the sort of day you said was a good one for
netting."

"Did I, lad?"

"Yes; didn't he, Tom?  And what's that wisp of birds going over the
water, yonder?"

"Quick, in wi' ye, lads!" cried the decoy-man, with his whole manner
changed.  "The right sort.  Look, lads, another wisp!  See how low they
fly.  They mean feeding."

The boys leaped into the punt, and Dick was about to seize the pole, but
Dave stopped him.

"Nay, lad, let me send her across.  Save time."

"Then may I have a shot at the first heron I see?"

"Nay, nay; don't let's scar' the birds, lad.  It's netting to-day.
We'll shute another time when they wean't come near the net."

Dick gave way, and Dave took the pole, to send the light punt skimming
over the water, and in and out among the reed-beds through which,
puzzling as they would have been to a stranger, he thrust the vessel
rapidly.  They were full of devious channels, and Dave seemed to prefer
these, for even when there was a broad open piece of water in front he
avoided it, to take his way through some zigzag lane with the reeds
brushing the boat on either side, and often opening for himself a way
where there was none.

The man worked hard, but it seemed to have no effect upon him; and when
the lads were not watching him and his energetic action, there was
always something to take up their attention.  Now a heron would rise out
of one of the watery lanes, gaunt, grey, and with his long legs
stretched out behind to look like a tail as his great flap wings beat
the air and carried him slowly away.

Then with a loud splash and cackling, up would spring a knot of ducks,
their wings whirring as they rapidly beat the air in a flight wonderful
for such a heavy bird.  Again a little farther and first one and then
another snipe would dart away in zigzag flight, uttering their strange
_scape, scape_.  And all tempting to a lad who sat there within touch of
a long heavy-looking gun, which had been cleaned and polished till every
part was worn.

But he had been told that it was not charged and that the flint-lock was
in a failing condition; and besides, Dick felt that it would be
dishonourable to touch the gun now that it was almost trusted to his
care.

In spite of Dave's ability and knowledge of the short cuts to the part
of the fen where he lived, it took him nearly three-quarters of an hour
to punt across, where the lads landed upon what was really an island in
the fen, though one side ran pretty close up to some fairly dry land
full of narrow water-lanes and pools, all favourite breeding ground for
the wild-fowl.

The boys leaped out while Dave fastened the punt to an old willow trunk,
and, quite at home in the place, went on first to a rough-looking house
nearly hidden among alders and willows, all of which showed traces of
the flood having been right up, submerging everything to a depth of
three to four feet.

"Hullo, Chip!  Chip!  Chip!" cried Tom, and the decoy-man's little
sharp-looking dog came bounding to them, to leap up, and fawn and whine,
full of delight at seeing human faces again.

There was the twittering and piping of birds, and the scuffling,
scratching noise made by animals in a cage, as they reached the
roughly-fenced yard, more than garden, about Dave's cottage, the boys
eager to inspect the birds, the ferrets, the eel-spear leaning against
the reed thatch, and the brown nets hung over poles, stretching from
post to post, as if to dry.

"Why, it's months sin' you've been to see me," said Dave.

"Well, whose fault's that?" said Dick sharply.  "I say, Dave, these nets
are new."

"Ay, every one of 'em.  Made 'em all this summer."

"Didn't you get lots of things spoiled when the flood came?" cried Tom.

"N-no, lad, no.  Nearly had my birds drownded, but I got 'em atop of the
thack yonder."

"But hasn't your cottage been dreadfully wet?" asked Dick, who was
poking his finger in a cage full of ferrets.  "I say, what are John
Warren's ferrets doing here?"

"Doin' nothing, and waiting to be took out, that's all, lad."

"But wasn't your place horribly wet?"

"What care I for a drop o' watter?" said Dave contemptuously.

"Look here, Dick, at the decoys," cried Tom running to a large wicker
cage in which were four of the curious long-legged birds known as ruffs
and reeves.

"Was six," said Dave.  "I lost two."

"How?"

"Fightin', lad.  I niver see such bonds to fight.  Gamecocks is babies
to 'em.  I'm going to try a new improved way of ketching of 'em by
challenging the wild ones to fight."

"Never mind about them," said Dick eagerly; "are you going to start
now?"

"Ah! you're so precious eager to begin, lad," said Dave; "but when
you've been sitting out there on the boat for about a couple of hours
you'll be glad to get back."

"Oh, no, we sha'n't!" cried Dick.  "Now, then, let's start."

"Ay, but we've got to get ready first."

"Well, that's soon done.  Shall I carry the birds down to the boat?"

"Nay; we wean't take them to-day.  I've sin more pie-wipes than ruffs,
so let's try for them."

He went round to the back of the hovel and took from the roof a cage
which the lads had not yet seen, containing seven green plovers, and
this was carried to the boat, where the frightened birds ran to and fro,
thrusting their necks between the wicker bars in a vain attempt to
escape.

This done, a bundle of net, some long stout cord, and poles were
carefully placed in the stern, after which Dave went into his cottage to
bring out a mysterious-looking basket, which was also placed in the
stern of the boat.

"That's about all," said the man, after a moment's thought; and
unfastening the punt after the boys were in, he pushed off, but only to
turn back directly and secure the boat again.

"Why, what now, Dave?" cried Dick.  "Aren't you going?"

"Going, lad! yes; but I thowt if we caught no bohds you might like me to
shute one or two."

"Well, we've got the gun and plenty of powder."

"Ay, lad; but I've lost my last flint, and I've got to knap one."

The boys followed him ashore, leaving the plovers fluttering in the
cage, and Dave went inside his cottage, and returned directly with a
hammer and a piece of flint, which he turned over two or three times so
as to get the stone in the right position, as, taught by long
experience, he struck a sharp blow.

Now Dave, the duck-decoy-man of the fens, knew nothing about lines of
fracture or bulbs of percussion as taught by mineralogists, but he knew
exactly where to hit that piece of flint so as to cause a nice
sharp-edged flake to fly off, and he knew how and where to hit that
flake so as to chip it into a neat oblong, ready for his gun, those
present being ignorant of the fact that they were watching workmanship
such as was in vogue among the men who lived and hunted in England in
the far-distant ages of which we have no history but what they have left
us in these works.  Dave Gittan chipped away at the flint just as the
ancient hunters toiled to make the arrow-heads with which they shot the
animals which supplied them with food and clothing, the flint-knives
with which they skinned and cut up the beasts, and the round sharp-edged
scrapers with which they removed the fat and adhering flesh as they
dressed and tanned the skins to make them fit to wear.

Dave chipped one gun-flint very accurately, failed to make a second, but
was triumphant with the third attempt, and fitting it exactly in the
lock of his piece with a piece of leather at top and bottom, he loaded
the gun with a great deal of ceremony, measuring the powder with a tiny
cup which fitted over the top of his powder-horn, and his shot with the
same vessel, so many times filled.

These rammed down in place with some rough paper on the top, and the
ramrod measured to see whether it stood out the right distance from the
barrel, the pan was primed and closed, and the gun carefully laid ready
for use.

"There," cried Dave in an ill-used tone, "I don't know why I'm tekkin'
all this trouble for such a pair o' young shacks as you; but come
along."

"It's because he likes us, Dick," said Tom merrily.

"Nay, that I don't," cried Dave.  "I hate the lot of you.  Not one of
you'll be satisfied till you've spoiled all my fen-land, and made it a
place where nivver a bird will come."

"Why, I wouldn't have it touched if I could help it--St!  Dave, what
bird's that?" said Dick.

"Curlew," replied Dave in a low voice, whose tones were imitated by the
lads as the boat was softly punted along.  "See them, boys!"

He nodded in the direction they were going, towards where a number of
birds were flying about over some patches of land which stood just over
the level of the water.  Now they looked dark against the sky, now they
displayed feathers of the purest white, for their flight with their
blunted wings was a clumsy flapping very different to the quiver and
skim of a couple of wild ducks which came by directly after and dropped
into the water a quarter of a mile ahead.

"You come and see me next spring, my lads, and I'll show you where
there's more pie-wipes' eggs than ever you found before in your lives."

"But you'll take us one day to the 'coy, Dave?" said Dick.

"Nay, I don't think I can," said Dave.

"But it's my father's 'coy," said Dick.

"Ay, I know all about that," said the man harshly; "but it wean't be
much good to him if he dree-erns the fen."

Dave's voice was growing loud and excited, but he dropped it directly
and thrust away without making the slightest splash with his iron-shod
pole.

As they came near one bed of reeds several coots began to paddle away,
jerking their bald heads as they went, while a couple of moor-hens,
which as likely as not were both cocks, swam as fast as their long thin
unwebbed toes would allow them, twitching their black-barred white tails
in unison with the jerking of their scarlet-fronted little heads, and
then taking flight upon their rounded wings, dragging their long thin
toes along the top of the water, and shrieking with fear, till they
dropped into the sheltering cover ahead.

Snipes flew up from time to time, and more curlews and green plovers
were seen, offering plenty of opportunities for the use of the gun, as
the punt progressed till a long low spit of heathery gravel, about forty
feet in length and five wide, was reached, with a patch of reeds across
the water about a couple of hundred yards away.

"Is this the place?" cried Dick excitedly; and upon being answered in
the affirmative--"Now, then, what shall we do first?"

"Sit still, and I'll tell you, lads," was the stern reply, as Dave, now
all eagerness, secured the boat and landed his net and poles.

"Don't tread on her, my lads," he said.  "Now help me spread her out."

He showed them how to proceed, and the net, about a dozen yards in
length, was spread along the narrow spit of land, which was only about a
foot wider than the net, at whose two ends was fixed a pole as spreader,
to which lines were attached.

The net spread, the side nearest to the water was fastened down with
pegs, so adjusted as to act as hinges upon which the apparatus would
turn, while as soon as this was done Dave called for the
mysterious-looking basket.

This being produced from the punt and opened was found to contain about
a dozen stuffed peewits, which, though rough in their feathers, were
very fair imitations of the real things.

These were stuck along the edge of the net outside and at either end.

"Now for the 'coys," cried Dave, and Tom brought the cage of unfortunate
peewits, who had a painful duty to perform, that of helping to lead
their free brethren into the trap that was being laid for them.

Each of these decoy-birds was quickly and cleverly tethered to a peg
along the edge of the net upon the narrow strip of clear land, a string
being attached to one leg so long as to give them enough freedom to
flutter a little among the stuffed birds, which seemed to be feeding.

"There!" cried Dave, when all was ready; and at a short distance nothing
was visible but the group of birds fluttering or quiescent, for the net
was wonderfully like the ground in colour.  "There, she's ready now, my
lads, so come along."

He bade Dick thrust the punt along to the bed of reeds; and as the lad
deftly handled the pole, Dave let out the line, which was so attached to
the ends of the poles that a vigorous pull would drag the net right
over.

It was quite a couple of hundred yards to the reeds, through which the
punt was pushed till it and its occupants were hidden, when, having
thrust down the pole as an anchor to steady the little vessel, the line
was drawn tight so as to try whether it would act, and then kept just so
tense as to be invisible beneath the water, and secured to the edge of
the punt.

"That ought to bring them, lads," said Dave, with his eyes twinkling
beneath his fox-skin cap, after beating a few reeds aside so that they
could have a good view of where the unfortunate peewits fluttered at the
pegs.

"But suppose they don't come?" said Tom.  "I know if I was a piewipe I
wouldn't be cheated by a few dummies and some pegged-down birds."

"But then you are not a piewipe, only a goose," said Dick.

"Hist!" whispered Dave, and placing his fingers to his mouth he sent out
over the grey water so exact an imitation of the green plover's cry that
Dick looked at him in wonder, for this was something entirely new.

_Pee-eugh, pee-eugh, pee-eugh_!  And the querulous cry was answered from
a distance by a solitary lapwing, which came flapping along in a great
hurry, sailed round and round, and finally dropped upon the little
narrow island and began to run about.

"You won't pull for him, will you, Dave?" whispered Dick.

Dave shook his head, and the boys watched as from time to time the man
uttered the low mournful cry.

"Wonder what that chap thinks of the stuffed ones?" whispered Dick.

"Why don't the live ones tell him it isn't safe?" said Tom.

"Don't know; perhaps they're like old Tom Tallington," said Dick:
"whenever they get into a mess they like to get some one else in it
too."

"You say that again and I'll hit you," whispered Tom, holding up his
fist menacingly.

"Hist!" came from Dave, who uttered the imitation of the peewit's
whistle again, and a couple more of the flap-winged birds came slowly
over the grey-looking water, which to anyone else, with its patches of
drab dry weeds and bared patches of black bog, would have seemed to be a
terrible scene of desolation, whereas it was a place of enchantment to
the boys.

"They come precious slowly," said Dick at last.  "I thought that there
would have been quite a crowd of birds, like you see them sometimes.
Look at the old bald-heads, Tom."

He pointed to a party of about half a dozen coots which came slowly out
of the reeds and then sailed on again as if suspicious of all being not
quite right.

Then there was another little flock of ducks streaming over the fen in
the distance, and their cries came faintly as they dashed into the
water, as if returning home after a long absence.

"There goes a her'n," whispered Tom, who was not very good at seeing
birds and worse at telling what they were.

"'Tisn't," cried Dick; "it's only a grey crow."

"If you two go on chattering like that we shall get no birds," said Dave
sharply.  "What a pair o' ruck-a-toongues you are; just like two owd
women!"

"Well, but the birds are so long coming," said Dick; "I'm getting the
cramp.  I say, Dave, are there any butterbumps [bitterns] close here?"

"Plenty; only they wean't show theirsens.  Hah!"

They had been waiting a couple of hours, and the peewit's cry had been
uttered from time to time, but only a straggler or two had landed upon
the strip of land.  Dick had been eager to capture these, but Dave shook
his head.  It wasn't worth while to set the net and peg out decoys and
stales, he said, to catch two pie-wipes that weren't enough for a man's
dinner.

So they crouched there in the punt, waiting and growing more cold and
cramped, fidgeting and changing their positions, and making waves seem
to rise from under the boat to go whispering among the reeds.

Every now and then Tom uttered a sigh and Dick an impatient grunt, while
at these movements Dave smiled but made no other sign, merely watching
patiently.  His eyes glittered, and their lids passed over them rapidly
from time to time; otherwise he was as motionless as if carved out of
old brown boxwood, an idea suggested by the colour of his skin.

"I say," said Dick at last, as there were tokens in the distance of the
day coming to an end with mist and fine rain, "I am getting so hungry!
Got anything to eat, Dave?"

"When we've done, lads."

"But haven't we done?  No birds will come to-day."

Dave did not answer, only smiled very faintly; and it seemed as if the
lad was right, for the sky and water grew more grey, and though the
stuffed birds appeared to be diligently feeding, and those which were
tethered hopped about and fluttered their wings, while the two free ones
ran here and there, flew away and returned, as if exceedingly mystified
at the state of affairs on that long, narrow strip of land, Dave's calls
seemed to be as vain as the snares he had made.

"I wonder whether these birds break their shins in running over the
meshes of the net!" said Dick after a long yawn.  "Oh, I say, Dave,
there's no fun in this; let's go!"

"Hist! pee-eugh, pee-eugh!" whistled Dave loudly, and then in quite a
low tone that sounded distant, and this he kept up incessantly and with
a strange ventriloquial effect.

The boys were all excitement now, for they grasped at once the cause of
their companion's rapid change of manner.  For there in the distance,
coming down with the wind in scattered flight and as if labouring
heavily to keep themselves up, appeared a flock of lapwings pretty well
a hundred strong.

"Hooray!  At last, Tom!" cried Dick.  "Will they come and settle on the
net, Dave?"

"Not a bird of 'em if thou keeps up that ruck," whispered the man
excitedly.

The next minute he was imitating the cry of the peewit, and it was
answered from the distance by the birds coming along, while the two
stragglers which had been hanging about so long now rose up, circled
round, and settled again.

"Look at them!" whispered Dick.  "Lie low, Tom; they're coming."

Both lads were on the tiptoe of expectation, but it seemed as if they
were to be disappointed, for the flock came on slowly, uttering its
querulous cries, and circled round as if to pass over, but they were
evidently still attracted by the decoy-birds, and hesitated and flew to
and fro.

"Oh, if they don't light now!" said Dick to himself.  "They're going,"
he sighed half aloud, and then he seized Tom's arm in his excitement,
and gripped it so hard that the boy nearly cried out, and would have
done so but for the state of eagerness he too was in.

For after farther signs of hesitation and doubt, all of which were in
favour of the flock going right away, one of them seemed to give a
regular tumble over in the air, as if it were shot, and alighted.
Another followed, and another, and another, till, to the intense
excitement of the occupants of the boat among the reeds, the long, low
spit of gravel, almost level with the water, became alive with birds
running here and there.

It was on Dick's lips to cry, "Now, Dave, pull!" but he could not speak,
only watch the thin, keen, yellow man, whose eye glittered beneath his
rough hairy cap as he slowly tightened the line, drawing it up till it
was above the surface of the water, which began to ripple and play about
it in long waves running off in different directions.  There was so
great a length that it was impossible to draw it tight without moving
the spreader poles; and as the lads both thought of what the
consequences would be if the line broke, the movement at the ends of the
long net spread the alarm.

There was a curious effect caused by the spreading of the wings of the
birds, and the whole island seemed to be slowly rising in the air; but
at that moment the water hissed from the punt right away to where the
flock was taking flight, and as the line tightened, a long filmy wave
seemed to curve over towards them.  By one rapid practice-learned drag,
the net was snatched over and fell on to the water, while a great flock
of green plovers took flight in alarm and went flapping over reed-bed
and mere.

"Oh, what a pity!" cried Dick, jumping up in the boat and stamping his
foot with rage.

"And so near, too!" cried Tom.

"Sit down, lads," roared Dave, who was dragging the pole out of the
ground, and the next moment he was thrusting the light boat along over
the intervening space, and the more readily that the bottom there was
only three or four feet below the surface, and for the most part firm.

"Why, have you caught some?" cried Dick.

The answer was given in front, for it was evident that the net had
entangled several of the unfortunate birds, which were flapping the
water and struggling vainly to get through the meshes, but drowning
themselves in the effort.

The scene increased in excitement as the boat neared, for the birds
renewed their struggles to escape, and the decoys tethered on the island
to their pegs leaped and fluttered.

In an incredibly short time the skilful puntsman had his boat alongside
the net, and then began the final struggle.

It was a vain one, for one by one the plovers were dragged from beneath
and thrust into a large basket, till the net lay half-sunk beneath the
surface, and the feeble flapping of a wing or two was all that could be
heard.

The boat was dripping with water and specked with wet feathers, and a
solitary straggler of the plover flock flew to and fro screaming as if
reproaching the murderers of its companions; otherwise all was still as
Dave stood up and grinned, and showed his yellow teeth.

"There!" he cried triumphantly; "yow didn't expect such a treat as
that!"

"Treat!" said Dick, looking at his wet hands and picking some feathers
from his vest, for he and Tom after the first minute had plunged
excitedly into the bird slaughter and dragged many a luckless bird out
of the net.

"Ay, lad, treat!--why, there's nigh upon fourscore, I know."

Dick's features had a peculiar look of disgust upon them and his brow
wrinkled up.

"Seems so precious cruel," he said.

Dave, who was rapidly freeing his decoy-birds and transferring them to
the cage, stood up with a fluttering plover in one hand.

"Cruel!" he cried.

"Yes, and treacherous," replied Dick.

"Deal more cruel for me to be found starved to death in my place some
day," said Dave.  "Pie-wipes eats the beedles and wains, don't they?
Well, we eats the pie-wipes, or sells 'em, and buys flour and bacon.
Get out wi' ye!  Cruel!  Yow don't like piewipe pie!"

"I did, and roast piewipe too," cried Dick; "but I don't think I shall
ever eat any again."

"Hark at him!" cried Dave, going on rapidly with his task and packing up
his stuffed birds neatly in their basket, drawing out his pegs, and then
rolling up and wringing the wet net before placing it in the punt, and
winding in the dripping line which he drew through the water from the
reed-bed.  "Hark at him, young Tom Tallington!"--and he uttered now a
peculiarly ugly harsh laugh--"young squire ar'n't going to eat any more
bacon, 'cause it's cruel to kill the pigs; nor no eels, because they has
to be caught; and he wean't catch no more jacks, nor eel-pouts, nor yet
eat any rabbud-pie!  Ha--ha--ha--ha--ha!"

"Look here, Dave!" cried Dick passionately, "if you laugh at me I'll shy
something at you!  No, I won't," he shouted, seizing the cage; "I'll
drown all your decoys!"

"Ay, do!" said Dave, beginning to use the pole.  "You're such a
particular young gentleman!  Only, wouldn't it be cruel?"

"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Tom.

"Do you want me to punch your head, Tom?" roared Dick, turning scarlet.

"Nay, lads, don't spyle a nice bit o' sport by quarrelling," said Dave,
sending the boat rapidly homeward.  "I wean't laugh at you no more,
Mester Dick.  I like you for it, lad.  It do seem cruel; and sometimes
when I weer younger, and a bud looked up at me with its pretty eyes, as
much as to say, `don't kill me!'  I would let it go."

"Ah!" ejaculated Dick with a sigh of relief.

"But what did that bud do, lad?  If it was a piewipe, go and kill
hundreds o' worms, and snails, and young frogs; if it was a heron, spear
fish and pick the wriggling young eels out of the mud.  No, lad, it
wean't do; buds is the cruellest things there is, pretty as they are--
all except them as only eats seeds.  Everything 'most is cruel; but if
they wasn't the world would get so full that everything would starve.
We've got say fourscore pie-wipes--not for fun, but for wittles--and
what's fourscore when there's thousands upon thousands all about?"

"Why, Dave, you're a philosopher!" said Dick, who felt relieved.

"Yes," said Dave complacently, but with a very foggy idea of the meaning
of the word; "it's being out so much upon the water.  Now, there's a
nice couple o' ducks swimming just the other side o' them reeds, as a
lad might hit just as they rose from the water when we come round the
corner; and I'd say hev a shot at 'em, Mester Dick--on'y, if I did, it
would hurt your feelings."

Dick was silent for a moment or two as he tried to keep down his human
nature.  Then he spoke out:

"I beg your pardon, Dave, after what you did for us.  May I take up the
gun?"

"Ay.  Steady, lad!--keep her head over the stem, and I'll turn the boat
round and send you along gently.  Now you lie down on your chesty and
rest the barr'l on the net, for she's too heavy for you to handle.  Then
wait till the ducks rise, and let go at 'em."

There was another interval full of excitement; the punt was sent quietly
toward the end of the reed-bed; and in obedience to his instructions
Dick knelt ready to fire--Tom watching him enviously, and wishing it
were his turn.

Nearer, nearer, with the punt allowed to go on now by the force of the
last thrust given to it, till the last patch of reed was cleared; and
there, not twenty yards away, swam a fine shieldrake and four ducks.

As the punt glided into sight there was a splashing and whirring of
wings, a great outcry, and away went the birds.

"Now, lad!" cried Dave; and the gun was fired with a deafening report.
But no feathers flew--no unfortunate duck or drake dropped,
broken-winged, into the water.  The only living being injured was Dick,
who sat up rubbing his shoulder softly.

"I say," he said, "how that gun kicks!"

"Yes," said Dave dryly, "I put a big charge in her, my lad; but it was a
pity to waste it."

"I couldn't help missing," said Dick.  "They were so quick."

"Nay, you wouldn't try to hit 'em, lad, because you thought you'd hot
'em," said Dave, chuckling; and Tom laughed, while Dick sat and nursed
the gun in silence, till the punt was poled ashore and its contents
landed.

"Now," said Dave, "I've got a rabbud-pie as I made mysen.  Come and hev
a bit, lads; and then you shall take home a dozen pie-wipes apiece.
It'll be moonlight, and I'll soon punt you across."

That pie, in spite of the rough surroundings, was delicious; and Dick
forgot to pity the poor rabbits, and he did not refuse to take his dozen
lapwings home for a welcome addition to the next day's dinner.

"You see, Tom," he whispered, "I think I was a little too particular.
Good-night, Dave, and thank you!" he shouted.

"Good-night, lads--good-night!" came off the water.  Then there was a
splash of the pole, and Dave disappeared in the moonlit mist which
silvered the reeds, while the boys trudged the rest of their way home.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE DRAIN PROGRESSES.

The number of workers increased at the sea-bank, quite a colony growing
up, and Dick paid several visits to the place with his father to see how
busily the men were delving, while others built up what was termed a
_gowt_--a flood-gate arrangement for keeping out the sea at high water,
and opening it at low, so as to give egress to the drain-water collected
from the fen-land.

Both lads were eager enough to be there to witness the progress of the
works at first; but after going again and again, they voted the whole
thing to be uninteresting, and no more worth seeing than the digging of
one of the ditches on the farms at home.

And certainly there was no more difference than in the fact that the
ditches at home were five or six feet wide, while the one the
adventurers were having cut through the fen-land would be forty feet,
and proportionately deep.

So the big drain progressed foot by foot, creeping on as it were from
the sea-shore, an innocent-looking channel that seemed valueless, but
which would, when finished, rid the land of its stagnant water, and turn
the boggy, peaty soil of the fen into rich pasture and corn-land,
whereas its finest produce now was wild-fowl and a harvest of reeds.

"We're getting on, neighbour," said the squire to Farmer Tallington one
evening.

"Ay, but it's slow work," said Tom's father.  "It'll be years before
that lode is cooten."

"Yes, it will be years before it is finished," said the squire,
"certainly."

"Then, what's the good of us putting our money in it, eh?  It'll do us
no good, and be robbing our boys."

"Then why don't you leave off, father?" said Tom stoutly.  "Dick
Winthorpe and I don't want the fen to be drained, and we don't want to
be robbed.  Do we, Dick?"

The two elders laughed heartily, and the squire was silent for a few
minutes before he began to speak.

"The drain's right, neighbour," he said gravely.  "Perhaps you and I
will reap no great benefit from it; though, if we live, we shall; but
instead of leaving to our boys, when they take up our work, neighbour,
either because we are called away to our rest or because we have grown
old, these farms with so much good land and so much watery bog, we shall
leave them acre upon acre of good solid land, that has been useless to
us, but which will bear them crops and feed their beasts."

"Yes," said Farmer Tallington, "there's something in that, but--"

"Come, neighbour, look ahead.  Every foot that drain comes into the fen
it will lower the level, and we shall see--and before long--our farm
land grow, and the water sink."

"Ye-es; but it's so like working for other people!"

"Well," said the squire laughing, "what have you been doing in that half
acre of close beside your house?"

"That!  Oh, only planted it with pear-trees so as to make a bit of an
orchard!"

"Are you going to pick a crop of pears next year, neighbour?"

"Next year!  Bah!  They'll be ten years before they come well into
bearing."  [This was the case with the old-fashioned grafting.]

"So will the acres laid bare by the draining," said the squire smiling,
"and I hope we shall live to see our boys eating the bread made from
corn grown on that patch of water and reeds, along with the pears from
your trees."

"That's a clincher," said the farmer.  "You've coot the ground from
under me, neighbour, and I wean't grudge the money any more."

"I wish father wouldn't say _coot_ and _wean't_!" whispered Tom, whose
school teaching made some of the homely expressions and bits of dialect
of the fen-land jar.

"Why not?  What does it matter?" said Dick, who was busy twisting the
long hairs from a sorrel nag's tail into a fishing-line.

"Sounds so broad.  Remember how the doctor switched Bob Robinson for
saying he'd been _agate_ early."

"Yes, I recollect," said Dick, tying a knot to keep the hairs from
untwisting; "and father said he ought to have been ashamed of himself,
for _agate_ was good old Saxon, and so were all the words our people use
down here in the fen.  I say, what are they talking about now?"

"Well, for my part," said the squire rather hotly, in reply to some
communication his visitor had made, "so long as I feel that I'm doing
what is right, no threats shall ever stop me from going forward."

"But they seem to think it arn't right," said the farmer.  "Those in the
fen say it will ruin them."

"Ruin!  Nonsense!" cried the squire.  "They'll have plenty of good land
to grow potatoes, and oats, instead of water, which produces them a
precarious living from wild-fowl and fish, and ruins no end of them with
rheumatism and fever."

"Yes, but--"

"But what, man?  The fen-men who don't cultivate the soil are very few
compared to those who do, and the case is this.  The fen-land is growing
about here, and good land being swallowed up by the water.  Five acres
of my farm, which used to be firm and dry, have in my time become
water-logged and useless.  Now, are the few to give way to the many, or
the many to give way to the few?"

"Well, squire, the few think we ought to give way to them."

"Then we will not," said the squire hotly; "and if they don't know
what's for their good, they must be taught.  You know how they will
stick to old things and refuse to see how they can be improved."

"Ay, it's their nature, I suppose.  All I want is peace and quietness."

"And you'll have it.  Let them threaten.  The law is on our side.  They
will not dare."

"I don't know," said Farmer Tallington, scratching his head as they
walked out into the home close.  "You see, squire, it wean't be open
enemies we shall have to fear--"

"The Winthorpes never feared their enemies since they settled in these
parts in the days of King Alfred," said Dick grandly.

"Hear, hear, Dick!" cried his father, laughing.

"No more did the Tallingtons," said Tom, plucking up, so as not to be
behindhand.

"Nay, Tom, my lad," said the farmer, "Tallingtons was never fighting
men.  Well, squire, I thought I'd warn you."

"Of course, of course, neighbour.  But look here, whoever sent you that
cowardly bit of scribble thought that because you lived out here in this
lonely place you would be easily frightened.  Look here," he continued,
taking a scrap of dirty paper out of his old pocket-book; "that bit of
rubbish was stuck on one of the tines of a hay-fork, and the shaft
driven into the ground in front of my door.  I said nothing about it to
you, but you see I've been threatened too."

He handed the paper to Farmer Tallington, who read it slowly and passed
it back.

"Same man writ both, I should say."

"So should I--a rascal!" said the squire.  "Here, Dick, don't say a word
to your mother; it may alarm her."

"No, father, I sha'n't say anything; but--"

"But what?  Speak out."

"May I read it--and Tom?" he added, for he saw his companion's eager
looks.

"Well, yes, you've heard what we've been talking about--what neighbour
Tallington came over for."

"Yes, father," said Dick, taking the piece of paper, and feeling very
serious, since he knew that it contained a threat.  But as soon as he
grasped its contents--looking at them as a well-educated lad for his
days, fresh from the big town grammar-school--he slapped his thigh with
one hand, and burst into a roar of laughter, while his father looked on
with a grim smile.

"What is it, Dick?" cried Tom eagerly.

"Here's a game!" cried Dick.  "Just look!"

There was not much on the paper, and that was written in a clumsy
printing-letter fashion, beneath a rough sketch, and with another to
finish.

"Why, here's a hollow turnip and two sticks!" cried Dick aloud; "and--
and what is it, Tom?"

  `stope the dyke
  or yow hev 2
  dighe'

"Stop the dyke or you'll have to dig," said Tom eagerly.  "You'll have
to dig!  Does he mean dig the ditch?"

"No!" roared Dick; "that's the way he spells die, and that long square
thing's meant for a coffin."

"Yes, Dick, and that's the spirit in which to take such a cowardly
threat--laugh at it," said the squire, replacing the letter in his
pocket-book.  "I only wish I knew who sent it.  Who's this coming?"

"Why, it's Dave!" cried Tom eagerly, as the man came slowly along one of
the winding lanes of water in his punt.

"Oh, yes, I remember!" said the squire; "he was here yesterday and said
he would come and fetch you, Dick, if you liked to go, over to the
decoy."

"And you never said a word about it, father!  Here, come along, Tom."

The latter glanced at his father, but read consent in his eyes, and the
two lads dashed off together.

"Seems to be letting him idle a deal," said Farmer Tallington
thoughtfully.

"Not it," said the squire.  "They're both very young and growing.  Let
them enjoy themselves and grow strong and hearty.  They've had a long
turn at school, and all this will do them good."

"Ay, it'll mak 'em grow strong and lusty if it does nowt else," said the
farmer.

"And as to the big drain," said the squire; "we're farmers, neighbour,
even if I do work my land as much for pleasure as for profit."

"Ay, but what's that to do with it?"

"This," said the squire, smiling; "a man who puts his hand to the plough
should not look back."

"That's true," said Farmer Tallington; "but when he gets a letter to say
some one's going to kill him, and draws coffins on the paper, it's
enough to mak' him look back."

"It's all stuff, neighbour!  Treat it as I do--with contempt."

"Ah! you see you're a gentleman, squire, and a bit of a scholar, and I'm
only a plain man."

"A good neighbour and a true Englishman, Tallington; and I'm glad my son
has so good and frank a companion as your boy.  There, take my advice:
treat all this opposition with contempt."

"Theer's my hand, squire," said Farmer Tallington.  "You nivver gave me
a bad bit of advice yet, and I'll stick to what you say--but on one
condition."

"What's that?" said the squire, smiling.

"You'll let me grumble now and then."

Long before Farmer Tallington had parted from the squire at the
beginning of the rough track which led from the Priory to Grimsey, Dick
and Tom were down by the water's edge waiting for Dave, who came up with
a dry-looking smile upon his face--a smile which looked as if it were
the withered remains of a last year's laugh.

"How are you, Dave?" cried Dick.  "We only just knew you were coming.
Are there plenty of ducks?"

"Mebbe.  Few like," said Dave in the slow way of a man who seldom
speaks.

"_Wuph_! _wuph_!" came from the boat.

"What!  Chip, boy! how are you?" cried Dick, patting the dog, which
seemed to go half mad with delight at having someone to make a fuss over
him, and then rushed to Tom to collect a few more friendly pats and
words.

"Shall we get in, Dave?" cried Tom.

"Get in, lad!  Why, what for?"

"Now, Dave, don't go on like that," cried Dick impatiently.  "Let's get
on, there's a good fellow.  I do want to see you work the decoy."

"Oh, you don't care for that!  'Sides, I want to go to Hickathrift's to
see his dunky pigs."

"Nonsense!  What do you want to see the dunks for?"

"Thinking o' keeping a pig o' my own out thar, lads.  It's rayther
lonesome at times; and," he added quite seriously, "a pig would be
company."

The boys looked at one another and smothered a laugh for fear of giving
offence.

"What, with a place like a jolly island all to yourself, where you live
like a Robinson Crusoe and can keep tame magpies and anything you like,
and your boat, and your dog, and eel-spear?"

"And nets," put in Tom.

"And fishing-lines," said Dick.

"And gun," said Tom.

"Ay, lads," said Dave gravely; "seems aw reight to you, but it be
lonesome sometimes when the bootherboomps get running out o' the reeds
in the dark evenings and then go sailing high up and round and round."

"Oh, I should like that!" said Dick.

"Nay, lad, yow wouldn't.  It would scar yow.  Then o' soft warm nights
sometimes the frogs begins, and they go on crying and piping all round
you for hours."

"Pooh!" said Tom; "who'd mind a few frogs?"

"And then o' still nights theer's the will o' the wipses going about and
dancing over the holes in the bog."

"I say, Dave, what is a will o' the wisp really like?"

"What! heven't you niver seen one, lad?" said Dave, as he seated himself
on the edge of the boat.

"No; you see we've always been away at school.  I can remember one of
our men--Diggles it was--pointing out one on a dark night when I was
quite young, and I saw some kind of light, and I was such a little
fellow then that I ran in--frightened."

"Ay, they do frecken folk," said Dave, putting a piece of brown gum in
his mouth; "only you must be careful which way you run or you may go
right into the bog and be smothered, and that's what the wills like."

"Like! why, they're only lights," said Tom.

"They'm seem to you like lights, but they be kind o' spirits," said Dave
solemnly; "and they wants you to be spirits, too, and come and play with
'em, I s'pose."

"But, Dave, never mind the will o' the wisps.  Come on to the 'coy."

"Nay, it's no use to go there; the nets that goes over the pipes has
been charmed [gnawed] by the rats."

"Yes, I know," cried Dick, laughing; "and you've put all new ones.  I
heard you tell father so, and he paid you ever so much money.  He's only
playing with us, Tom."

Dave laughed like a watchman's rattle, whose wooden spring had grown
very weak.

"Look here, Dave, now no nonsense!  Want some more powder?"

"Nay, I don't want no poother," said Dave.

"Do you want some lead to melt down?  I'll give you a big lump."

"Nay, I don't want no poother, and I don't want no lead," said Dave in
an ill-used tone.  "I can buy what I want."

"He does want it, Dick."

"Nay, I don't, lad; and things a man do want nobody asks him to hev."

"Why, what do you want, Dave?"

"Oh, nowt!  I don't want nowt.  But there is times when a man's a bit
ill out there in the fen, and he gets thinking as a drop o' sperrits 'd
do him good.  But I d'n know."

"All right, Dave!  I won't forget," said Dick.  "Jump in, Tom."

"Nay, what's the good?" said Dave.

"All right, Tom!  He's going to take us to the 'coy."

Tom followed his companion into the boat, the dog leaped in after them,
whining with pleasure; and shaking his head and talking to himself, Dave
followed, seized the pole, giving a grunt at Dick, who wanted to preside
over the locomotion, and then, with a tremendous thrust, he sent the
punt surging through the water.

"Nay, I'll pole," he said.  "Get us over sooner, and we can begin work."

Dick exchanged glances with his companion, and they sat playing with the
dog and watching the birds that rose from the reeds or swept by in
little flocks in the distance, till, after about half an hour's poling,
Dave ran the boat into a narrow lane among the uncut reeds, after a
warning to be quite still, which the lads observed and the dog
understood, going forward and crouching down in front of his master,
with his eyes glittering and ears quivering with the intense way in
which he was listening.

The way through the reeds was long, and in spite of the stealthy way in
which the boat was propelled, several birds were startled, and flew up
quacking loudly, and went away.

At last, though, they emerged from the dry growth into a little open
pool, and crossing this, landed by a low house thatched with reeds and
hidden in a thick grove of alders.

"Now, lads," said Dave in a whisper, "not a word.  Stay here while I go
and look.  I wean't be long."

He secured the boat to a stump of wood, and landed, leaving the lads
seated in the punt, and gazing about them.  But there was very little to
see, for, save in the direction of the patch of reeds through which they
had passed, there was a low dense growth of alders and willows running
up to the height of twelve or fifteen feet; and it was beyond this that
the sport was to be had.

They had not very long to wait before Dave returned, with Chip the piper
at his heels--not that the dog had any musical gifts, but that he was
clever in doing certain duties in connection with a pipe, as will be
seen, and to perform these adequately utter silence was required.

Dave seemed quite transformed.  His yellow face, instead of being dull
and heavy, was full of anxious lines, his eyes twinkled, his mouth
twitched and worked, and his brown wiry hands were fidgeting about his
chin.

As he came up he held a finger in the air to command silence, and with
stooping body and quick alert way he paused till he was close to the
boys, and then whispered:

"You couldn't hev come better, lads; there's a boat load of 'em in the
pond."

"What sort?" whispered Dick excitedly.

"All sorts, lad: widgeons, teal, mallards, and some pochards.  Only
mind, if you say a word aloud, or let that theer dog bark, we sha'n't
get a duck."

Dick clapped his hand over his mouth, as if to ensure silence, and Tom
compressed his lips.

"Come along, then, boys, and I'll set yow wheer yow can look through a
hole in one o' the screens and see all the fun."

"But can't we help, Dave?" asked Tom.

"Help, lad! no, not till the ducks are in the net.  Then you may.  Now,
not a word, and come on."

Dave led the way to the little house, where he filled his pockets with
barley and oats mixed, out of a rough box, and as he did so he pointed
to one corner which had been gnawed.

"Been charming of it," he whispered.  "Eats!  Now come, quiet-like;" and
he stepped out and into a narrow path leading through the dense alder
wood, and in and out over patches of soft earth which quivered and felt
like sponges beneath their feet.

Dave glanced back at them sharply two or three times when a rustling
sound was made, and signed to them to be careful.  Then once he stopped
in a wider opening and tossed up a feather or two, as if to make sure of
the way the wind blew.  Apparently satisfied, he bent towards the two
lads and whispered:

"I'm going to the second pipe.  Come quiet.  Not a word, and when I mak'
room for you, peep through the screen for a minute, and then come away."

The boys nodded, and followed in silence through a part of the alder
wood which was not quite so dense, for here and there patches of tall
reeds had grown out of a watery bed, and now stood up seven or eight
feet high and dry and brown.

Then all at once Dave stopped and looked back at them with a sly kind of
grin upon his face, as he pointed down to a strong net stretched loosely
over some half hoops of ash, whose ends were stuck down tightly in the
soft ground so as to form a tunnel about two feet wide.

This was over the soft earth, upon which lay the end of the net, tied
round with a piece of cord.  A few yards farther on, however, this first
net was joined to another, and the tunnel of network was arched over a
narrow ditch full of water, and this ditch gradually increased in width
as the man led on, and ran in a curve, along whose outer or convex side
they were proceeding.

Before long, as the bent-over willows spanned the ditch or "pipe," as it
was called, the net ceased to come down quite to the ground, its place
being occupied by screens made of reeds and stakes, and all so placed
that there was room to go round them.

The boys now noted that the dog was following close behind in a way as
furtive as his master, and apparently quite as much interested as he in
what was to take place.

The water ditch increased in width rapidly now till the net tunnel
became six feet, twelve feet, twenty feet, and, close to the mouth,
twenty-four feet wide, while the light ash-poles, bent over and tied in
the middle, were quite twelve feet above the water.

They were now near the mouth of the curved ditch, whose narrow portion
bent round quite out of sight among the trees, while at a signal from
Dave they went to a broad reed screen in front, and gazed through an
opening, to see stretching out before them, calm and smooth beneath the
soft grey wintry sky, a large pool of about a couple of acres in extent,
surrounded by closely growing trees similar to those through which they
had passed, while at stated intervals were openings similar to that by
which they stood, in all five in number, making a rough star whose arms
or points were ditches or pipes some five-and-twenty feet wide, and
curving off, to end, as above told, sixty or seventy yards from the
mouth, only two feet wide, and covered right along with net.

All this was well-known to them before, and they hardly gave it a second
glance.  What took their attention were some half dozen flocks of
water-fowl seated calmly on the smooth surface of the pool and a couple
of herons standing in the shallow water on the other side, one so
hitched up that he seemed to have no neck, the other at his full height,
and with bill poised ready to dart down at some unfortunate fish.

Here and there a moor-hen or two swam quietly about flicking its
black-barred white tail.  There were some coots by a bed of reeds, and a
couple of divers, one of which disappeared from time to time in the most
business-like manner, and came up at the end of a long line of bubbles
many yards away.

Nearest to them was a large flock of quite a hundred ordinary wild
ducks, for the most part asleep, while the others sat motionless upon
the water or swam idly about, all waiting patiently in the secluded
pool, which seemed to them a sanctuary, for nightfall, when slugs and
snails would be out and other things in motion, ready to supply them
with a banquet on some of their far-off feeding grounds.  The drakes
were already distinct enough from the sober-feathered ducks, but the
former were not in their spring plumage, when they would put on their
brightest colours and their heads glisten in green and gold.

Away to the left were a number of flat-looking squatty-shaped pochards
with their brown heads and soft grey backs, while to the right were
plenty of widgeons and another little flock of teal, those pretty
miniature ducks, with here and there a rarer specimen, among which were
pintails, drakes with the centre feathers of the tail produced like
those of a parroquet.

The lads could have stopped for an hour gazing at the manners and
customs of the wild-fowl dotting the lake in happy unconsciousness of
the enemies so near; but, just as Dick had fixed his eyes upon a
solitary group of about a couple of dozen ducks nearly across the pond,
he felt a tug behind him, and turning, there was Dave signing to him to
come away.

Dave made the lads follow him till he could place them in among the
trees with a tuft of reeds before them, which proved sufficient screen
and yet gave them a view of part of the pool, and the entrance to the
pipe upon whose bank they had been standing.

"Now, look here, bairns," he whispered; "if you move or says a word,
there'll be no ducks."

The lads nodded and crouched in their places, while Dave disappeared
behind them, but appeared again close to the screen of reed which hid
him from the birds in the pool.

Matters were so exciting now as the watchers looked on that Dick
relieved his feelings by pinching Tom's leg, and then holding up his
fist, as if in promise of what was to follow if he made a sound.

Meanwhile, with Chip close at his heels, Dave went to the farthest
screen and peered through the opening, and after satisfying himself they
saw him thrust one hand into his pocket and make a sign to Chip, while
almost simultaneously he scattered a handful of the oats and barley
right over the water, the grain falling through the meshes of the
outspread net.

Just then Chip, in the most quiet matter-of-fact way, made his
appearance on the fore-shore of the pool, and, without barking or taking
notice of the ducks, trotted slowly along toward the entrance to the
pipe, leaped over a low piece of wood, and disappeared from sight to
join his master behind the screen, when the dog was rewarded for what he
had done with a piece of cheese.

The coming of the dog, however, had created quite a commotion upon the
lake, for the knot of two dozen ducks on the other side no sooner caught
sight of him than, uttering a prodigious quacking, they came swimming
and half flying as rapidly as they could toward the mouth of the pipe,
to begin feeding upon the oats scattered upon the water.

"Look at the decoy-ducks," whispered Dick, and then he watched in
silence, for these two dozen were regularly fed wild-fowl which had
become so far half tame that, knowing the appearance of the dog to be
associated with corn and other seeds at the mouth of the pipe, they came
at once.

This was too much for the strangers, which followed them, mingled with
them, and began to feed as well.

Dave was at this time behind the second screen waiting for Chip, who
showed himself for a moment or two at the edge of the long water ditch,
trotted on towards the second screen, leaped over a low wood bar at the
end, and joined his master, to receive a second piece of cheese.

That white dog was a wonder to the wild ducks, which left off eating
directly and began to swim slowly and cautiously up the netted tunnel to
try and find out what he was doing.

Had Chip stopped and looked at them, and barked, they would all have
taken flight, but the dog was too well taught.  He was a piper of the
highest quality, and knew his business, which was to show himself for a
short time and then trot on to the next screen and leap over and
disappear just as if he were engaged in some mysterious business of his
own.

This was too much for the ducks, which cackled and bobbed their heads up
and down and swam on, moved by an intense curiosity to find out what was
Chip's particular game.

But Chip's proceedings were stale to the decoy-ducks, who had seen him
so often that they cared nothing, but stopped behind to partake of the
food, while quite a hundred followed their leaders up the pipe in happy
ignorance of the meaning of a net.  What was more, the decoy-ducks often
found food at the mouths of the pipes when their wild relatives were off
feeding, and hence they troubled themselves no more.  All that was
impressed upon their small brains was that the appearance of Chip meant
food, and they stayed behind to feed.

Chip was invisible eating a piece of cheese.  Then he appeared again
higher up, trotted on, leaped over the low wood bar, and joined his
master for more cheese.

And so it went on, Dave going higher and higher from screen to screen,
and the dog slowly following and alternately appearing to and
disappearing from the sight of the ducks, which never of course caught
sight of Dave, who was too well hidden behind the screens.

At last they were lured on and on so far by the dog that they were where
the ditch began to bend round more sharply and the pipe was narrowing.
This was the time for a fresh proceeding.

Dave had gone on right up to the farthest screen, and suddenly dived
into a narrow path through the trees which led him, quite concealed from
view, round and back to the first screen.  He passed the boys, making
them a sign to be silent, and then went right round that first screen
just as Chip was appearing far up by the side of the pipe--and the flock
of ducks were following--and quickly now showed himself at the mouth of
the trap.

The ducks saw him instantly, and there was a slight commotion as he took
off and held up his hat; but there was no attempt at flight, the birds
merely swam on rapidly farther toward the end and disappeared round the
curve.

Dave went quickly on past a screen or two and showed himself again, the
curve of the pipe bringing him once more into view.  He held up his hat
and the ducks swam on, out of sight once more.

This was continued again and again, till the ducks were driven by
degrees from where the ditch and its arching of net decreased from eight
feet wide to six feet, to four feet, to two feet, and the flock was
huddled together, and safe in the trap that had been prepared for them.

All at once, while the two lads were watching all these proceedings,
Dave came into sight for a moment and waved his hand for them to come,
but signed to them at the same time to be quiet.

It was as well that he did, for otherwise they would have uttered a
shout of triumph.

"We've got 'em, lads," he said, with his yellow face puckered up with
satisfaction; "but don't make a noise.  I like to keep the 'coy quiet.
Come along!"

"Is there any fear of their getting away now, Dave?" whispered Dick as
he followed.

"Yes, to market," said Dave grimly.

As they neared the end of the pipe there was a loud cackling and
fluttering heard, and the ducks were disposed to make a rush back, but
the sight of the man sent them all onward once more to the end of the
pipe, where they were driven to leave the water for the dry land, over
which the net was spread for the last few yards, forming a gigantic
purse or stocking.

And now a tremendous fluttering and excitement ensued, for as, in
obedience to their leader's sign, the lads stopped once more, Dave
stepped forward rapidly, detached the final portion of the net which
formed the bag or purse from the bent-over ash stick, and twisted it
together and tied it round, with the result that the birds were all shut
up in the long purse and at his mercy.

Just then Chip performed a kind of triumphal dance, and leaped up at
Dick and again at Tom before becoming quiescent, and looking up at all
in turn, giving his little stumpy tail a few wags, while his whole
aspect seemed to say:

"Didn't we do that well?"

"That's a fine take, my lads," said Dave in congratulatory tones.

"Yes," said Dick, looking down at the frightened birds scuffling over
each other; "but--"

"Nay! don't, man, say that!" cried Dave.  "I know, my lad.  But wild
duck's good to yeat; and they've got to be killed and go to market.  Yow
wanted to see me ketch the duck, and theer they are.  Going to help me
kill 'em?"

"No!" cried Dick in a voice full of disgust.  But he helped carry the
capture to the boat after the slaying was at an end and the empty short
net replaced, ready distended at the end of the tunnel or pipe.

"There we are!" said Dave.  "Ready for another flock?"

"And are you going to try for another in one of the pipes over the other
side?"

"Nay, not to-day, my lad," was the reply.  "The 'coy-ducks wean't be
hungry and come for their food, so we'll wait for another time."

"Don't the 'coy-ducks ever go right away, Dave?" asked Tom, as the boat
was being quietly poled back.

"Sometimes; but not often, and if they do some others taks their places,
and stops.  They get fed reg'lar, and that's what a duck likes.  Good
uns to eat, ducks.  They mak' nests and bring off broods of young ones,
and keep to the pool year after year, and seem to know me a bit; but if
Chip here went barking among 'em, or I was to go shooting, they'd soon
be driven away."

"But do they know that they are leading the wild ducks into the pipe?"
said Dick eagerly.

"_Not_ they.  Ducks can't think like you and me.  They come to be fed,
and the others follow 'em, and then get thinking about Chip and follow
him."

"Does Chip know?" said Tom.

"Ask him," said Dave, laughing in his grim, silent way.  "I think he
doos, but he never said so.  Hello!"

They were passing the edge of a great bed of reeds, and rounding a
corner, when they came in sight of three or four teal, and no sooner did
the birds catch sight of them than they began to scurry along the water
preparatory to taking flight, but all at once there was a rush and a
splash, and the party in the boat saw a huge fish half throw itself out
of the water, fall back, and disappear.

"He caught him," said Dave grimly.  "You see, lad, other things 'sides
me ketches the ducks."

"A great pike!" cried Dick, standing up to try and catch sight of the
tyrant of the waters.

"Ay!  One as likes duck for dinner.  He'll eat him without picking his
feathers off."

"Wasn't it a very big one, Dave?" cried Tom.

"Ay, lad, a thirty-pounder like enew," said Dave, working his pole.

"Dave, shall you know this place again?" cried Dick.

"Should I know my own hand!"

"Then let's come over and try for that fellow to-morrow or next day."

"Right, lad!  I'll come.  We'll set some liggers, and I dessay we can
get hold of him.  If we can't theer's plenty more."

"To-morrow, Dave?"

"Nay, I shall be getting off my ducks.  Two hundred wants some seeing
to."

"Next day, then?"

"Say Saturday, my lads.  That'll give me time to get a few baits."

So Saturday was appointed for the day with the pike, and the ducks and
the boys were duly landed, the latter to go homeward with four couples
each, and Dick with strict orders to ask the squire whether he wanted
any more, before they were sent off in Hickathrift's car to the town.



CHAPTER NINE.

DICK IS CALLED EARLY.

It was Friday night.  Dick had been over with the squire and two or
three gentlemen interested in the great drain, to see how it progressed;
and the lad had found the young engineer in charge of the works ready to
ask him plenty of questions, such as one who had a keen love of the
natural objects of the country would be likely to put.

The result was that Squire Winthorpe invited him over to the old Priory
to come and make a fishing, shooting, or collecting trip whenever he
liked.

"You are very hospitable, Mr Winthorpe," he said.

"Oh, nonsense!  Shame if we who bring you people down from London to do
us good here in the fens, could not be a little civil."

This was after the inspection was over, the young engineer at liberty,
and he was walking part of the way back with Dick.

"Well, I must frankly say, Mr--ought I to say Squire Winthorpe?"

"No, no, Mr Marston," was the laughing reply, "I am only a plain
farmer.  It is the fashion down here to call a man with a few acres of
his own a squire.  I'm squire, you see, of a lot of bog."

"Which we shall make good land, Mr Winthorpe," said the engineer.  "But
I was going to say it will be a treat to come over from my lonely
lodgings to some one who will make me welcome, for I must say the common
people here are rather ill-disposed."

"Only snarling," said the squire.  "They daren't bite.  They don't like
any alterations made.  Take no notice of their surly ways.  The soreness
will soon wear off.  Cruel thing to do, Mr Marston, turn a piece of
swamp into a wholesome field!"

They both laughed, and soon after parted.

"I rather like that young fellow, Dick," said the squire.  "Knows a deal
about antiquities.  Little too old for a companion for you, but people
who collect butterflies and nettles and flowers generally mix regardless
of age."

"Do you think the people about will interfere with the works, father?"
said Dick, as they trudged along homeward.

"No, I don't, Dick," said the squire.  "I should like to catch them at
it."

Dick went to bed that night very tired, and dropped asleep directly,
thinking of Dave and the expedition to set trimmers, or "liggers" as
they called them, and he was soon in imagination afloat upon the lanes
and pools of water among the reeds, with Dave softly thrusting down his
pole in search of hard places, where the point would not sink in.  Then
he dreamed that he had baited hook after hook, attached the line to a
blown-out bladder, and sent it sailing away to attract the notice of
some sharking pike lurking at the edge of one of the beds of reeds.

Then he dreamed that the sun was in his eyes as it went down in a rich
glow far away over the wide expanse of water and rustling dried reed,
where the starlings roosted and came and went in well-marshalled clouds,
all moving as if carefully drilled to keep at an exact distance one from
the other, ready to wheel and turn or swoop up or down with the greatest
exactness in the world.

That dreamy imagination passed away, and he became conscious that he was
having his morning call, as he termed it, and for which he always
prepared when going to bed by pulling up the blind and drawing aside the
white curtains, so that the sun who called him should shine right in
upon his face.

For the sun called Dick Winthorpe when he shone, and as the lad lay upon
his side with his face toward the window the sun seemed to be doing his
morning duty so well that Dick yawned, stretched, and lay with his eyes
closed while the glow of red light flooded his room.

"Only seem to have just lain down," he grumbled, keeping his eyes more
tightly shut than ever.  "Bother!  I wish I wasn't so drowsy when it's
time to get up!"

At last he opened his eyes, to stare hard at the light, and then with a
cry full of excitement, he threw off the clothes and leaped out of bed,
to rush to the window.

"Oh!" he ejaculated; and darting back to the bed-side he hurried on his
trousers, opened his door, and the next moment his bare feet padded over
the polished oak floor as he made for his father's room and thumped at
the door.

"Father, quick!--father!"

"Hallo!  Any one ill?" cried the squire, for thieves and burglars were
known only by repute out there in the fen.

"Tallington's farm's in a blaze!" cried Dick, hoarsely.

He heard a thump on the floor, a hasty ejaculation from his mother, and
then ran back to his own room to finish dressing, gazing out of his
window the while, to see that the bright glow about Grimsey was
increasing, and that a golden cloud seemed to be slowly rising up
through the still air.

"Now, Dick!" shouted his father, "run down and rouse up the people at
the cottages."

Dick ran out, and down past the old Priory ruins, to where a cluster of
cottages, half-way to Hickathrift's, were occupied by the people who
worked upon the farm; and, distant as the fire was, he could yet see the
ruddy glow upon the water before him.

Half-way there, he heard a shout:

"Who's there!"

It was in a big bluff voice, which Dick recognised at once.

"That you, Hicky?  Fire! fire!"

"Ay, my lad, I was coming to rouse up the folk.  You go that end, I'll
do this.  Hey!  Fire!  Fire!"

He battered cottage door after cottage door, Dick following his example,
with the result that in their alarm the people came hurrying out like
bees whose hive has been disturbed by a heavy blow.

There was no need to ask questions.  Every man, while the women began to
wail and cry, started for the Tallingtons' farm; but they were brought
up by a shout from the squire.

"What are you going to do, men?" he cried.

"The fire!"--"help!"--"water!"--rose in a confused babble.

"Back, every one of you, and get a bucket!" cried the squire.  "You,
Hickathrift, run into the wood-house and bring an axe."

"Aw, reight, squire!" cried the wheelwright, and in another minute every
man was off at a trot following Dick's father, and all armed with a
weapon likely to be of service against the enemy which was rapidly
conquering the prosperous little farm at Grimsey.

Two miles form a long distance in a case of emergency, and before the
party were half-way there they began to grow breathless, and there was a
disposition evinced to drop into a walk.  One or two of those in advance
checked their rate, others followed, and for the next two or three
hundred yards the rescuers kept to a foot-pace, breathing heavily the
while, and speaking in snatches.

"Which is it, Dick--the house or the great stack?"

"I can't see, father," panted the lad; "sometimes it seems one,
sometimes both."

"Stacks, squire, I think," cried Hickathrift.  "I don't think house is
afire yet, but it must catch the thack before long."

The faint sound of a dog barking at a distance now reached their ears,
but it was evidently not from the direction of the farm, and the
squire's thoughts were put into words by Dick, who, as he looked on now
between his father and the wheelwright, exclaimed in a hoarse voice:

"Why, father, don't they know that the place is on fire?"

"Nay, that they don't," cried the wheelwright excitedly.  "They're all
asleep."

"Let's run faster," cried Dick.

"No.  We have a long way to go yet," cried the squire, "and if we run
faster we shall be too much exhausted to help."

"But, father--oh, it is so dreadful!" cried Dick, as in imagination he
pictured horror after horror.

"Can you run, Dick--faster?"

"Yes, father, yes."

"I can't," panted Hickathrift; "I've growed too heavy."

"Run on, then, and shout and batter the door.  We'll get up as quickly
as we can."

"Ay, roon, Master Dick, roon!" cried the wheelwright.  "Fire's ketched
the thack."

Dick doubled his fists, drew a long breath, and made a rush, which took
him fifty yards in advance.  Then he trotted on at the same pace as the
others; rushed again; and so on at intervals, getting well ahead of the
rest.  But never, in the many times he had been to and fro, had he so
thoroughly realised how rough and awkward was the track, and how long it
took to get to Grimsey farm.

As he ran on, it was with the fire glowing more brightly in his face,
and the various objects growing more distinct, while there was something
awful in the terrible silence that seemed to prevail, in the midst of
which a great body of fire steadily rose, in company with a cloud of
smoke, which was spangled with tiny flakes that seemed to be of gold.
Tree, shed, barn, and chimney-stack, too, seemed to have been turned to
the brilliant metal; but to the lad's great relief he saw that the
wheelwright was wrong, the "thack" had not caught, and so far the house
was safe, though the burning stacks were so near that at any moment the
roof of the reed-thatched house might begin to blaze.

At last there was a sound--one that might have been going on before, but
kept by the distance from reaching Dick's ear--a cock crowed loudly, and
there was a loud cackling from the barn where the fowls roosted.

Then came the lowing of a cow; but all was perfectly still at the house,
and it seemed astounding that no one should have been alarmed.

Only another hundred yards or so and the farm would be reached.  Dick
had settled down to a much slower speed.  There was a sensation as if
the fire that shone in his face had made his breath scorching, so that
it burned his chest, while his feet were being weighted with lead.

"Tom!" he tried to shout as he drew near; but his voice was a hoarse
whisper, and it seemed to be drowned by the steady beat of the feet
behind upon the road.

"Tom!" he cried again, but with no better result, as he staggered on by
the wide drain which ran right up to the farm buildings from the big
pool in the fen where the reeds were cut.

And now that full drain and the pool gleamed golden, as if they too were
turned to fire, as Dick pushed by, realising that the hay-stack, the
great seed-stack, and the little stack of oats were blazing together,
not furiously, but with the flame rising up in a steady silent manner
which was awful.

There was a rough piece of stone in the way, against which Dick caught
his foot and nearly fell; but he saved himself, stooped, and picked up
the stone; and as he panted up to the long low red-brick farm, he hurled
it through a window on his left, and then fell up against, more than
stopped at, the door, against which he beat and kicked with all his
might.

The crashing in of the leaded pane casement had, however, acted like the
key which had unlocked the silent farmstead.

Tom Tallington rushed to the window.

"Who's--"

He would probably have said "that," but he turned his sentence into the
cry of "Fire! fire!"

The alarm spread in an instant.  Farmer Tallington's window was thrown
open; and as he realised all, he dashed back, and then the rest of the
party came panting up, and Hickathrift cried, "Stand clear, Mester
Dick!"

He threw himself against the door, to burst it open, just as the farmer
came down, half carrying his wife wrapped in a blanket, and Tom ran out,
to dart down to the end of the long low building where a second tenement
formed the sleeping-place of the two men and a big lad who worked upon
the farm.

They were already aroused, and came out hurrying on their clothes, while
the squire and Hickathrift got out the women, who, with Mrs Tallington,
were hurried into a cart-shed.

"Why, neighbour, you'd have been burned in your bed!" cried the squire.
"Now, lads, all of you form line."

"She's caught now!" shouted Hickathrift, who had been round to the back.

"Then we must put it out," said the squire, as he busily ranged his men,
and those of Farmer Tallington, so that they reached from the nearest
point of the big drain to the corner of the farm, and in a double line,
so that full buckets of water could be passed along one and returned
empty along the other.

"Hickathrift, you go and dip."

"Ay, ay, squire!" roared the great fellow, and he rushed down to the
water's edge like a bull, while the squire went to the other end.

"Neighbour," cried Farmer Tallington excitedly, "you'll go on, wean't
you?  I must get in and bring out a few writings and things I'd like to
save."

"Here, Tom, let's you and me get out the clothes and things."

"Yes, and the small bits of furniture, boys," cried the squire.  "Now,
my lads, ready!"

There was a general shout from the men, who fell into their places with
the promptitude that always follows when they have a good leader.

"Get all you can out in case," shouted the squire; "but we're going to
save the house."

"Hurrah!" shouted the men as they heard this bold assertion, which the
squire supplemented by saying between his teeth, "Please God!"

"Bring up that ladder," cried the squire--"two of them."

These were 

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