"Why, it's gone right through, mother," whispered the squire, shaking his head as he applied sponge and cold water to the bleeding wounds.

"And doctor says there's veins and artrys, mester," said Hickathrift, huskily. "One's bad and t'other's worse. Which is it, mester?"

"I hope and believe there is no artery touched," said the squire; "but we must run no risk. Hickathrift, my man, the doctor must be fetched. Go and send one of the men."

"Nay, squire, I'll go mysen," replied the big wheelwright. "Did'st see his goon, Mester Dick?"

"No, I saw no gun."

"Strange pity a man can't carry a gun like a Chrishtun," said the wheelwright, "and not go shutin hissen that way."

The wheelwright went off, and the squire busied himself binding up the wounds, padding and tightening, and proving beyond doubt that no artery had been touched, for the blood was soon nearly staunched, while, just as he was finishing, and Mrs Winthorpe was drawing the sleeve on one side so as to secure a bandage with some stitches, something rolled on to the floor, and Dick picked it up.

"What's that, Dick—money?"

"No, father; leaden bullet."

"Ha! that's it; nice thing to go through a man's arm," said the squire as he examined the roughly-cast ragged piece of lead. "We must look for his gun to-morrow. What did he expect to get with a bullet at a time like this? Eh? What were you trying to shoot, Marston?" said the squire, as he found that the young man's eyes were open and staring at him.

"I—trying to shoot!"

"Yes; of course you didn't mean to bring yourself down," said the squire, smiling; "but what in the world, man, were you trying to shoot with bullets out here?"

The young engineer did not reply, but looked round from one to the other, and gave Mrs Winthorpe a grateful smile.

"Do you recollect where you left your gun?" said Dick eagerly, for the thought of the rust and mischief that would result from a night in the bog troubled him.

"Left my gun!" he said.

"Never mind now, Mr Marston," said the squire kindly. "Your things are wet, and we'll get you to bed. It's a nasty wound, but it will soon get right again. I'm not a doctor, but I know the bone is not broken."

"I did not understand you at first," said the young engineer then. "You think I have been carrying a gun, and shot myself?"

"Yes, but never mind now," said Mrs Winthorpe, kindly. "I don't think you ought to talk."

"No," was the reply; "I will not say much; but I think Mr Winthorpe ought to know. Some one shot me as I was coming across the fen."

"What!" cried Dick.

"Shot you!" said the squire.

"Yes. It was quite dark, and I was carefully picking my way, when there was a puff of smoke from a bed of reeds, a loud report, and I seemed to feel a tremendous blow; and I remember no more till I came to, feeling sick and faint, and managed to crawl along till I saw the lights of the farm here, and cried for help."

"Great heavens!" cried the squire.

"Didn't you see any one?" cried Mrs Winthorpe.

"No, nothing but the smoke from the reeds. I feel rather faint now—if you will let me rest."

With the help of Dick and his father the young engineer was assisted to his bed, where he seemed to drop at once into a heavy sleep; and, satisfied that there was nothing to fear for some time, the squire returned to the parlour looking very serious, while Dick watched him intently to see what he would say.

"This is very dreadful, my dear," whispered Mrs Winthorpe at last. "Have we some strange robber in the fen?"

"Don't know," said the squire shortly. "Perhaps some one has a spite against him."

"How dreadful!" said Mrs Winthorpe.

"One of his men perhaps."

"Or a robber," cried Dick excitedly. "Why, father, we might get Dave and John Warren and Hicky and some more, and hunt him down."

"Robbers rob," said the squire laconically.

"Of course, my dear," said Mrs Winthorpe; "and it would be dreadful to think of. Why, we could never go to our beds in peace."

"But Mr Marston's watch and money are all right, my dear. Depend upon it he has offended one of the rough drain diggers, and it is an act of revenge."

"But the man ought to be punished."

"Of course, my dear, and we'll have the constables over from town, and he shall be found. It won't be very hard to do."

"Why not, father?"

"Because many of the men have no guns."

"But they might borrow, father?"

"The easier to find out then," said the squire. "Well, one must eat whether a man's shot or no. History does not say that everybody went without his supper because King Charles's head was cut off. Mother, draw the ale. Dick, tell Sarah to bring in those hot potatoes. I'm hungry, and I've got to sit up all night."

There proved to be no real need, for the squire's patient slept soundly, and there was nothing to disturb the silence at the Toft. But morning found the squire still watching, with Mrs Winthorpe busy with her needle in the dining parlour, and Dick lying down on the hearth-rug, and sleeping soundly by the glowing fire. For about four o'clock, after strenuously refusing to go to bed, he had thought he would lie down and rest for a bit, with the result that he was in an instant fast asleep, and breathing heavily.

By breakfast-time Farmer Tallington had heard the news, and was over with Tom, each ready to listen to the squire's and Dick's account; and before nine o'clock Dave and John Warren, who had come over to Hickathrift's, to find him from home, came on to the Toft to talk with Dick and Tom, and stare and gape.

"Why, theer heven't been such a thing happen since the big fight wi' the smugglers and the king's men," said Dave.

To which John Warren assented, and said it was "amaazin'."

"And who do you think it weer?" said Dave, as he stood scratching his ear; and upon being told the squire's opinion, he shook his head, and said there was no knowing.

"It's a bad thing, Mester Dick, bringing straangers into a plaace. Yow nivver know what characters they've got. Why, I do believe—it's a turruble thing to say—that some of they lads at work at big dree-ern hevven't got no characters at all."

"Here be Hickathrift a-coming wi' doctor," said John Warren.

And sure enough there was the doctor on his old cob coming along the fen road, with Hickathrift striding by his side, the man of powder and draught having been from home with a patient miles away when Hickathrift reached the town, and not returning till five o'clock.

"He'll do right enough, squire," said the doctor. "Young man like he is soon mends a hole in his flesh. You did quite right; but I suppose the bandaging was young Dick's doing, for of all the clumsy bungling I ever saw it was about the worst."

Dick gave his eye a peculiar twist in the direction of his father, who was giving him a droll look, and then they both laughed.

"Very delicately done, doctor," said the squire. "There, Dick, as he has put it on your shoulders you may as well bear it."

"Ah, let him!" said the doctor. "Now, what are you going to do?" he said aloud; "catch the scoundrel who shot Mr Marston, and get him transported for life?"

"That's what ought to be done to him," said John Warren solemnly, as he looked straight away over the fen.

"Ay," said Dave. "How do we know but what it may be our turn or Hickathrift's next? It's a straange, bad thing."

"I must talk it over with Mr Marston," said the squire, "when he gets better, and then we shall see."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE PATIENT'S FRIENDS.

Mr Marston declared that he had not the most remote idea of having given any of his men offence, and then looked very serious about the question of bringing over the constables from the town to investigate the matter.

"It may have been an accident, Mr Winthorpe," he said; "and if so, I should be sorry to get any poor fellow into trouble."

"Yes, but it may not have been an accident," said the doctor.

This was in the evening, the doctor having ridden over again to see how his patient was getting on.

"Heaven forbid, sir," said Marston warmly, "that I should suspect any man of such a cowardly cruel deed! Impossible, sir! I cannot recall having done any man wrong since I have been here. My lads like me."

"How do you know that?" said the squire dryly. "Men somehow are not very fond of the master who is over them, and makes them fairly earn their wages."

"Well, sir, I don't know how to prove it," said Marston, who was lying on a dimity-covered couch, "but—"

"Hallo!" cried the squire, leaping up and going to the window, as a loud and excited buzzing arose, mingled with the trampling of feet, which sounded plainly in the clear cold spring evening.

"Anything wrong?" said the doctor.

"Why, here's a crowd of a hundred fellows armed with sticks!" cried the squire. "I believe they've got the rascal who fired the shot."

"No!" said the doctor.

"Father! Mr Marston!" cried Dick, rushing up stairs and into the visitor's bed-room; "here are all the drain-men—hundreds of them—Mr Marston's men."

"Not hundreds, young fellow," said Marston smiling, "only one, if they are all here. What do they want? Have they caught anyone?"

"No, sir. They want to see you. I told them you were too bad; but they say they will see you."

"I'll go and speak to them and see what they want," said the squire. "Is it anything about paying their wages?"

"Oh dear, no!" said Marston. "They have been paid as usual. Shall I go down to them, doctor?"

"If you do I'll throw up your case," cried the doctor fiercely. "Bless my soul, no! Do you think I want you in a state of high fever. Stop where you are, sir. Stop where you are."

"I'll go," said the squire, "before they pull the house down."

For the men were getting clamorous, and shouting loudly for Mr Marston.

The squire descended, and Dick with him, to find the front garden of the old farm-house full of great swarthy black-bearded fellows, everyone armed with a cudgel or a pick-axe handle, some having only the parts of broken shovels.

"Well, my lads, what is it?" said the squire, facing them.

A tremendous yell broke out, every man seeming to speak at once, and nothing could be understood.

"Hullo, Hickathrift! You're there, are you?" said the squire. "What do they want?"

"Well, you see, squire," began the wheelwright; but his voice was drowned by another furious yell.

"Don't all speak at once!" cried Dick, who had planted himself upon a rough block of stone that had been dug out of the ruins and placed in the front of the house.

There was something so droll to the great band of workmen in a mere stripling shouting to them in so commanding a way, that they all burst into a hearty laugh.

"Here, let Hicky speak!" cried Dick.

"Yes!—Ay!—Ah!—Let big Hickathrift speak!" was shouted out.

"Keep quiet, then," said the wheelwright, "or how can I! You see, squire," he continued, "the lads came along by my place, and they said some one had put it about that one of them had fired a shot at the young engyneer, and they're all popped about it, and want to see Mr Marston and tell him it isn't true."

"You can't see Mr Marston, my lads," said the squire.

Here there was a fierce yell.

"The doctor says it would do him harm," continued the squire, "and you don't want to do that."

"Nay, nay, we wean't do that," shouted one of the men.

"But I may tell you that Mr Marston says that he does not believe there's a man among you who would do him any harm."

"Hooray!" shouted one of the men, and this was followed by a roar. "We wouldn't hurt the ganger, and we're going to pay out him as did."

There was a tremendous yell at this, and the men nourished their weapons in a way that looked serious for the culprit if he should be discovered.

"Ay, but yow've got to find out first who it was," said Hickathrift.

"Yes, and we're going to find out too," cried one rough-looking fellow standing forward. "How do we know as it warn't you?"

"Me!" cried Hickathrift, staring blankly.

"Ay, yow," roared the great rough-looking fellow, a man not far short of the wheelwright's size. "We've heered all on you a going on and pecking about the dree-ern being made. We know yow all hates our being here, so how do we know it warn't yow?"

The man's fierce address was received with an angry outburst by the men, who had come out on purpose to inflict punishment upon some one, and in their excitement, one object failing, they were ready to snatch at another.

It was perhaps an insensate trick; but there was so much of the frank manly British boy in Dick Winthorpe that he forgot everything in the fact that big Hickathrift, the man he had known from a child—the great bluff fellow who had carried him in his arms and hundreds of times made him welcome in that wonderland, his workshop, where he was always ready to leave off lucrative work to fashion him eel-spear or leaping-pole, or to satisfy any other whim that was on the surface—that this old friend was being menaced by a great savage of a stranger nearly as big as himself, and backed by a roaring excited crowd who seemed ready for any outrage.

Dick did not hesitate a moment, but with eyes flashing, teeth clenched, and fists doubled, he leaped down from the stone, rushed into the midst of the crowd, closing round the wheelwright, and darting between the great fellow and the man who had raised a pick-handle to strike, seized hold of the stout piece of ash and tried to drag it away.

"You great coward!" he roared—"a hundred to one!"

It was as if the whole gang had been turned to stone, their self-constituted leader being the most rigid of the crowd, and he stared at Dick Winthorpe as a giant might stare at the pigmy who tried to snatch his weapon away.

But the silence and inert state lasted only a few seconds, before the black-bearded fellow's angry face began to pucker up, his eyes half closed, and, bending down, he burst into a hearty roar of laughter.

"See this, lads!" he cried. "See this! Don't hurt me, mester! Say, lads, I never felt so scared in my life."

The leader's laugh was contagious, and the crowd took it up in chorus; but the more they laughed, the more angry grew Dick. He could not see the ridiculous side of the matter; for, small as was his body in comparison with that of the man he had assailed, his spirit had swollen out as big as that of anyone present.

"I don't care," he cried; "I'll say it again—You're a set of great cowards; and as for you," he cried to the fellow whose weapon he had tried to wrest away, "you're the biggest of the lot."

"Well done, young un—so he is!" cried the nearest man. "Hooray for young ganger!"

The men were ready to fight or cheer, and as ready to change their mood as crowds always are. They answered the call with a stentorian roar; and if Dick Winthorpe had imitated Richard the Second just then, and called upon the crowd to accept him as their leader, they would have followed him to the attempt of any mad prank he could have designed.

"Thank ye, Mester Dick!" said Hickathrift, placing his great hand upon the lad's shoulder, as the squire forced his way to their side. "I always knowed we was mates; but we're bigger mates now than ever we was before."

"Ay, and so 'm I," said the big drain delver. "Shake hands, young un. You're English, you are. So 'm I. He's English, lads; that's what he is!" he roared as he seized Dick's hand and pumped it up and down. "So 'm I."

"Hooray!" shouted the crowd; and, seeing how the mood of all was changed, the squire refrained from speaking till the cheering was dying out, when, making signs to the men to hear him, he was about to utter a few words of a peacemaking character, but there was another burst of cheering, which was taken up again and again, the men waving their caps and flourishing their cudgels, and pressing nearer to the house.

For the moment Dick was puzzled, but he realised what it all meant directly, for, looking in the same direction as the men, it was to see that the young engineer had disregarded the doctor's orders, and was standing at the open window, with his face very pale and his arm in a sling.

He waved his uninjured arm to command silence, and this being obtained, his voice rang out firm and clear.

"My lads," he cried, "I know why you've come, and I thank you; but these people here are my very good friends, and as for the squire's son and the wheelwright there, they saved my life last night."

"Hooray!" roared the leader of the gang frantically; and as his companions cheered, he caught hold of Hickathrift's hand, and shook it as earnestly as if they were sworn brothers.

"As to my wound," continued the engineer, "I believe it was an accident; so now I ask you to go back home quietly, and good-night!"

"Well said, sir; good-night to you!" roared the leader as the window was closed. "Good-night to everybody! Come on, lads! Good-night, young un! We're good mates, eh?"

"Yes," said Dick, shortly.

"Then shake hands again. We don't bear no malice, do us? See, lads. We're mates. I wean't laugh at you. You're a good un, that's what you are, and you'll grow into a man."

The great fellow gave Dick's hand another shake that was very vigorous, but by no means pleasant; and then, after three roaring cheers, the whole party went off, striking up a chorus that went rolling over the fen and kept on dying out and rising again as the great sturdy fellows tramped away.

"I'm not an inhospitable man, doctor," said the squire, as the former shook hands to go, after giving orders for his patient to be kept quiet, and assuring the squire that the young fellow would be none the worse for the adventures of the night—"I'm not an inhospitable man, but one has to think twice before asking a hundred such to have a mug of ale. I should have liked to do it, and it was on my lips, but the barrel would have said no, I'm sure. Good-night!"

"Now, sir," said the squire as soon as he was alone with his son, "what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Say, father!" replied Dick, staring.

"Yes, sir. Don't you think you did about as mad and absurd a thing as the man who put his head into the lion's jaws?"

"I—I didn't know, father," replied Dick, who, after the exultation caused by the cheering, felt quite crestfallen.

"No, of course you did not, but it was a very reckless thing to do, and—er—don't—well, I hope you will never have cause to do it again."

Dick went away, feeling as if his comb had been cut, and of course he did not hear his father's words that night when he went to bed.

"Really, mother, I don't know whether I felt proud of the boy or vexed when he faced that great human ox."

"I do," said Mrs Winthorpe smiling, but with the tears in her eyes—"proud."

"Yes, I think I did," said the squire. "Good-night!"

"Don't you think some one ought to sit up with Mr Marston?"

"No: he is sleeping like a top; and after our bad time with him yesternight, I mean to have some sleep."

Five minutes after, the squire's nose proclaimed that it was the hour of rest, and Dick heard it as he stole from his bed-room, to see how the wounded man was; and this act he repeated at about hourly intervals all through the night, for he could not sleep soundly, his mind was so busy with trouble about the injury to their visitor's arm, and the wonder which kept working in his brain. Who was it fired that shot?

The doctor was right; the wounded man's arm soon began to mend; but naturally there was a period when he was unable to attend to his duties, and that period was a pleasant one for Dick Winthorpe, inasmuch as it was the commencement of a long friendship.

John Marston was for going back to his lodgings near the outfall or gowt as it was termed; but the squire and Mrs Winthorpe would not hear of it, and to the boys' great delight, he stayed.

He was an invalid, but the right kind of invalid to make a pleasant companion, for he loved the open air, and was never happier than when he was out with the boys and Dave or John Warren, somewhere in the fen.

"It's all gammon to call him ill, and for the doctor to keep coming," said Tom Tallington.

"Oh, he is ill!" said Dick; "but you see he's only ill in one arm."

Dick had only to propose a run out, and John Marston immediately seemed to forget that he was a man, became a boy for the time being, and entered into the spirit of their pursuits.

One day it was pike-fishing, with Dave to punt them about here and there among the pools. At another time ordinary tackle would be rigged up, and Dave would take them to some dark hole where fish were known to swarm, and for hours the decoy-man would sit and watch patiently while the three companions pulled up the various denizens of the mere.

One bright April morning Dave was seen coming out of the mist, looking gigantic as he stood up in his boat; and his visit was hailed with delight, for the trio had been wondering how they should pass that day.

"Morning, Dave!" said Marston as the fen-man landed slowly from his boat, and handed Dick a basket of fresh ducks' eggs.

"Morn', mester! Tak them up to the missus, Mester Dick. They be all noo-laid uns. Straange thick haar this morn," he continued, wiping the condensed mist from his eyelashes. "Re'glar sea-haar." [sea-fog—mist from the German Ocean.]

"Take those eggs up to mother, Tom," said Dick imperatively.

"Sha'n't. I know! You want to be off without me."

"Hallo, young fellow!" said the squire cheerily. "What have you got there—eggs?"

"Yes, mester, fresh uns for the missus."

"I'm going in, and I'll take them," said the squire, thus disposing of the difficulty about a messenger. "There's a canister of powder for you, Dave, when you want some more."

"Thanky kindly, mester. I'll come and get it when I'm up at house."

The squire nodded and went on, but turned back to ask when Mr Marston was going over to the works, and upon hearing that it was in the afternoon, he said he would accompany him.

"And how's your lame arm, mester?" said Dave as soon as the squire had gone.

"Getting better fast, Dave, my man."

"And with two holes in it, mester?"

"Yes, with two holes in it."

"But are they both getting better?"

"Why, you've been told a dozen times over that they are!" cried Dick.

"Nay, Mester Dick, I know'd as one hole was getting reight, but Mester Marston here nivver said as both weer. I'm straange and glad. Heered aught yet 'bout him as did it?"

"No, my man, and don't want to."

"Hark at that, Mester Dick! Why, if any one had shot at me, and hot me as they did him, I'd have found him out somehow afore now. Mebbe I shall find this out mysen."

"Why, you're not trying, Dave."

"Not trying, lad! Nay, but I am, and I shall find him yet some day. Look here, boys. If you want to find out anything like that, you mustn't go splashing about among the reeds, or tug-slugging through the bog-holes, or he hears you coming, and goos and hides. You must sit down among the bushes, and wait and wait quiet, like a man does when he wants to get the ducks, and by-and-by him as did it comes along. Dessay I shall catch him one of these days, and if I do, and I've got my pole with me, I'll throost him under water and half-drownd him."

"Never mind about all that, Dave. What are you going to do to-day?" cried Dick.

"Me, lad! Oh, nowt! I've brote a few eggs for the missus, and I shall tak' that can o' powder back wi' me, and then set down and go on makkin soom new coy-nets."

"That's his gammon, Mr Marston," cried Dick.

"Nay, nay, mester, it's solemn truth."

"'Tisn't; it's gammon. Isn't it, Tom?"

"Every bit of it. He's come on purpose to ask us to go out with him."

"Nay, nay, nay, lads," said Dave in an ill-used tone. "I did think o' asking if Mester Marston here would like to try for some eels up in the long shallows by Popley Watter, for they be theer as thick as herrin', bubblin' up and slithering in the mud."

"Let's go, then, Mr Marston. Eel-spearing," cried Dick.

"But I could not use an eel-spear," said the young engineer, smiling.

"But Tom and I could do the spearing, and you could put the eels in the basket."

"When you caught them," said Marston, laughing.

"Oh, we should be sure to catch some! Shouldn't we, Dave?"

"Ay, theer's plenty of 'em, mester."

"Let's go, then," cried Dick excitedly; "and if we get a whole lot, we'll take them over to your men, Mr Marston. Come on!"

"Nay, but yow weant," said Dave, with a dry chuckle.

"Why not?"

"Mester Hickathrift has got the stong-gad to mend. One of the tines is off, and it wants a noo ash pole."

"Here, stop a moment," said Marston, laughingly interrupting a groan of disgust uttered by the boys; "what, pray, is a stong-gad?"

"Ha—ha—ha!" laughed Tom. "Don't know what a stong-gad is!"

"Hold your tongue, stupid!" cried Dick indignantly, taking the part of his father's guest. "You don't know everything. What's a dumpy leveller? There, you don't know, and Mr Marston does."

"But what is a stong-gad?" said Marston.

"Eel-spear," said Dick. "How long would it take Hicky to mend it?"

"'Bout two hours—mebbe only one. I could mak' a new pole while he forged the tine."

"Come along, then. Hicky will leave anything to do it for me."

"Nay, he's gone to market," said Dave.

"Yes; I saw him pass our house," said Tom.

"What a shame!" cried Dick. "Here, I say, what's that basket for in the punt?" he added eagerly.

"Why, he's got a net, too, and some poles," cried Tom. "Yah! he meant to do something."

"Why, of course he did," cried Dick, running down to the boat. "Now, then, Dave, what's it to be?"

"Oh, nowt, Mester Dick! I thought to put a net in, and a pole or two, and ask if you'd care to go and get a few fish, but Mester Marston's too fine a gentleman to care for ought o' the sort."

"Oh, no, I'm not!" said Marston. "I should enjoy it, boys, above all things."

"There, Dave, now then! What is it—a drag-net?"

"Nay, Mester Dick, on'y a bit of a new."

"But where are you going?"

"I thowt o' the strip 'tween Long Patch and Bootherboomp's Roostens."

"Here, stop a moment," cried the engineer. "I've heard that name before. Who was Mr Bootherboomp?"

"Hi—hi—hi! hecker—hecker—hecker. Heigh!"

That does not express the sounds uttered by Dave, for they were more like an accident in a wooden clock, when the wheels run down and finish with a jerk which breaks the cogs. But that was Dave's way of laughing, and it ended with a horrible distortion of his features.

"I say: don't, Dave. What an old nut-cracker you are! You laugh like the old watchman's rattle in the garret. Be quiet, Tom!"

"But Mr Bootherboomp!" roared Tom, bursting into a second fit of laughter.

"It's butterbump, Mr Marston. It's what they call those tall brown birds something like herons. What do you call them in London?" said Dick.

"Oh, bitterns!"

"Yes, that's it. Come on!"

"Nay," said Dave; "I don't think you gentlemen would care for such poor sport. On'y a few fish'."

"You never mind about that! Jump in, Mr Marston. Who's going to pole?"

"Nay, I'll pole," said Dave. "If yow mean to go we may as well get theer i' good time; but I don't think it's worth the trouble."

"Get out! It's rare good fun, Mr Marston; sometimes we get lots of fish."

"I'm all expectation," said Marston as Dave smiled the tight smile, which made his mouth look like a healed-up cut; and, taking the pole, began to send the punt over the clear dark water. "Shall we find any of those curious fish my men caught in the river the other day?"

"What curious fish were they?" asked Dick.

"Well, to me they seemed as if so many young eels had grown ashamed of being so long and thin, and they had been feeding themselves up and squeezing themselves short, so as to look as like tench as possible."

"Oh, I know what you mean!" cried Tom. "Eel-pouts! they're just about half-way between eels and tench."

"Nay, yow wean't catch them here," said Dave oracularly. "They lives in muddy watter in rivers. Our watter here's clean and clear."

It was a bright pleasant journey over the mere, in and out of the lanes of water to pool after pool, till Dave suddenly halted at a canal-like spot, where the water ran in between two great beds of tender-growing reeds, which waved and undulated in the soft breeze. Here he thrust down his pole and steadied the punt, while he shook out his light net with its even meshes, securing one end to a pole and then letting the leaden sinkers carry it to the bottom before thrusting the punt over to the other side of the natural canal, to which he made fast the second end of the net in a similar way, so that the water was sealed with a light fence of network, whose lower edge was close to the black ooze of the bottom, held there by the leaden sinkers of the foot line, the top line being kept to the surface by a series of tightly-bound little bundles of dry rushes.

"Theer," said Dave as soon as he had done, his proceedings having been carefully watched; "that un do!"

"Will the fish go into that net?" said Marston.

"Nay, not unless we mak 'em, mester," said Dave, smiling. "Will they, Mester Dick?"

"Not they," cried Dick. "Wait a minute, Mr Marston; you'll see."

Dave took his pole and, leaving the net behind, coasted along by the shore of the little island formed by the canal or strait, which ran in, zigzagging about like a vein in a piece of marble; and after about a quarter of an hour's hard work he forced the punt round to the other side of the island, and abreast of a similar opening to that which they had left, in fact the other end of the natural canal or lane, here about twelve or fourteen feet broad.

"Oh, I see!" said the engineer. "You mean to go in here, and drive the fish to the net at the other end."

"That's the way, Mr Marston," said Tom Tallington. "Wait a bit, and you'll see such a haul."

"Perhaps of an empty net, Mr Marston," said Dick with a grin. "Perhaps there are none here."

"You set astarn, mester," said Dave. "I'll put her along, and you tak' one side, Mester Dick; and you t'other, young Tom Tallington."

The boys had already taken up two long light poles that lay in the boat, and standing up as Dave sent the boat along slowly and making a great deal of disturbance with his pole, they beat and splashed and stabbed the water on both sides of the boat, so as to scare any fish which might happen to be there, and send them flying along the lane toward the net.

This was a comparatively easy task, for the coming of the boat was sufficient as a rule to startle the timid fish, which in turn scared those in front, the beating with the poles at either side sending forward any which might be disposed to slip back.

There was more labour than excitement in the task; but the course along the lane of water was not entirely uneventful, for a moor-hen was startled from her nest in a half-liquid patch of bog, above which rose quite a tuft of coarse herbage; and farther on, just as Dick thrust in his pole to give it a good wriggle and splash, there was a tremendous swirl, and a huge pike literally shot out of the water, describing an arc, and after rising fully four feet from the surface dropped head-first among the tangled water-weeds and reedy growth, through which it could be seen to wriggle and force its way farther and farther, the waving reeds and bubbling water between showing the direction in which it had gone.

"Hooray, Dave! a forty-pounder!" cried Dick. "Push the punt in and we can easily catch him."

"Not you," said Dave stolidly; "he'll get through that faster than we could."

"But, look, look! I can see where he is."

"Nay, he'll go all through theer and get deeper and deeper, and it's more wattery farther on. He'll go right through theer, and come out the other side."

"But he was such a big one, Dave—wasn't he, Mr Marston?—quite forty pounds!"

"Nay, not half, lad," said Dave stolidly, as he thrust the boat on. "Beat away. We'll come and set a bait for him some day. That's the way to catch him."

Dick uttered an angry ejaculation as he looked back towards where he could still see the water plants waving; and in his vexation he raised his pole, and went on with the splashing so vigorously, and, as legal folks say, with so much malice prepense, that he sent the water flying over Dave as he stood up in the bows of the punt.

Tom chuckled and followed suit, sending another shower over the puntsman. Then Dick began again, the amber water flying and sparkling in the sunshine; but Dave took no notice till the splashing became too pronounced, when he stopped short, gave his head a shake, and turned slowly round.

"Want to turn back and give up?" he said slowly.

Dick knew the man too well to continue, and in penitent tones exclaimed:

"No, no, go on, Dave, we won't splash any more."

"Because if there's any more of it—"

"I won't splash any more, Dave," cried Dick, laughing, "It was Tom."

"Oh, what a shame!"

"So you did splash. Didn't he, Mr Marston?"

"I don't want to hear no more about it, Mester Dick. I know," growled Dave. "I only says, Is it to be fishing or games?"

"Fishing, Dave. It's all right; go on, Tom; splash away gently."

"Because if—"

"No, no, go on, Dave. There, we won't send any more over you."

Dave uttered a grunt, and forced the boat along once more, while Marston sat in the stern an amused spectator of the boys' antics.

Everything now went on orderly enough, till they had proceeded a long way on, in and out, for a quarter of a mile, when at a word from Dave the splashing and stabbing of the water grew more vigorous, the punt being now pretty close to the net, the irregular row of bundles of rushes showing plainly.

And now Dave executed a fresh evolution, changing the position of the punt, for instead of its approaching end on, he turned it abreast, so that it pretty well touched the reedy sides of the canal, and with the poles now being plied on one side, the boat was made to approach more slowly.

"Now, mester, you'd better stand up," said Dave.

"Yes, Mr Marston, stand up," cried Dick. "Look!"

Marston rose to his feet, and as he looked toward the entrance where the net was spread there was a wave-like swell upon the surface, which might have been caused by the movement of the boat or by fish.

There was no doubt about its being caused by fish, for all at once, close by the row of rush bundles, there was a splash. Then, as they approached, another and another.

"They're feeling the net," cried Dick excitedly.

"Ay, keep it oop, lads, or they'll come back," cried Dave, making the water swirl with his pole, which he worked about vigorously.

Even as he spoke there came another splash, and this time the sun flashed upon the glittering sides of the fish which darted out and fell over the other side of the top line of the net.

"There goes one," shouted Tom.

"Ay, and theer goes another," said Dave with a chuckle as he forced the boat along slowly.

And now, as Marston watched, he saw that the irregular line of rush bundles which stretched across the mouth of the canal was changing its shape, and he needed no telling that the regular semicircular form it assumed was caused by the pressure of a shoal of fish seeking to escape into the open mere, but of course checked by the fragile wall of net.

"There must be a lot, Tom," cried Dick excitedly. "Look, Mr Marston! There goes another. Oh, Dave, we shall lose them all!"

This was consequent upon another good-sized fish flying out of the water, falling heavily upon one of the rush floats, and then darting away.

"Nay, we sha'n't lose 'em all," said Dave coolly. "Some on 'em's safe to go. Now, then, splash away. Reach over your end, young Tom Tallington, or some on 'em 'll go round that way."

Tom changed his place a little, to stand now on what had been the front of their advance, and thrusting in his pole he splashed and beat the narrow space between him and the dense boggy side, where the sphagnum came down into the water.

Dick followed suit at the other end, and Dave swept his pole sidewise as if he were mowing weeds below the surface.

"Oh!" cried Dick, as he overbalanced himself, and nearly went in from the stern. He would have gone headlong had not Mr Marston made a bound, and caught him as he vainly strove to recover his balance.

The effort was well timed, and saved him, but of course the consequences of jumping about in a boat are well-known. The punt gave such a lurch that Dave almost went out, while, as for Tom, he was literally jerked up as from a spring-board, and, dropping his pole, he seemed to be taking a voluntary dive, describing a semicircle, and going down head-first, not into the narrow slit between him and the boggy shore, but right into the semi-fluid mass of sphagnum, water, and ooze, where he disappeared to his knees.

Tom's dive sent the boat, as he impelled it with his feet, a couple of yards away; and for a moment or two those who were in it seemed half paralysed, till a roar of laughter from Dick, who did not realise the danger, roused Dave to action.

For the dense mass, while fluid enough to allow Tom to dive in, was not sufficiently loose to let him rise; and there he stuck, head downwards, and with his legs kicking furiously.

"Now if we was to leave him," said Dave sententiously, "he wouldn't never be no more trouble to his father; but I suppose we must pull him out."

"Pull him out, man? Quick, use your pole!"

"Ay, I'm going to, mester," said Dave coolly. "Theer we are," he continued, as he sent the end of the punt back to where poor Tom's legs went on performing a series of kicks which were sometimes like those made by a swimming frog, and at others as if he were trying to walk upside down along an imaginary flight of aerial stairs.

The time seemed long, but probably it was not half a minute from the time Tom dived into the bog till the young engineer seized him by the legs and dragged him into the boat, to sit upon the bottom, gasping, spitting, and rubbing the ooze from his eyes. But it was a good two minutes before he was sufficiently recovered to look round angrily, and in a highly-pitched quavering voice exclaimed:

"Look here: who was it did that?"

"Nobody," roared Dick. "Oh, I say, Tom, what a game! Are your feet wet?"

Tom turned upon him savagely, but everyone in the boat was laughing, and his countenance relaxed, and he rose up and leaned over the side of the boat to wash his face, which a splash or two relieved from the pieces of bog and dead vegetation which adhered.

"I don't mind," he said. "Only you wouldn't have found it a game if you'd been there."

"Let's get back quickly," said Mr Marston, "or the boy will catch cold."

"Oh, it won't hurt me!" cried Tom. "Let's catch the fish first. They never get cold."

"Yes: let's haul the net out first," said Dick. "Tom won't mind a ducking."

"Ay, we're going to hev out the net," said Dave. "Splash away, my lad. That'll keep away the cold."

Poor Tom's feet had not been wet, but as he stood up with the water trickling from him, a couple of streams soon made their way down the legs of his trousers into his boots. This was, however, soon forgotten in the excitement of the hauling.

For, after a fresh amount of splashing, though Dave declared the fish had all come back, the punt was run pretty close up to one side, the lines and pole taken on board, and the punt thrust toward the other side.

Before they reached it the bobbing of the rush floats and the semicircular shape of the top line showed plainly enough that there were a good many fish there; and when Dave had secured the lines at the other end, removed the poles, and by ingenious manipulation drawn on the bottom line so as to raise the cord, it was not long before the net began to assume the shape of a huge bag, and one that was pretty heavy.

Every now and then a swirl in the water and a splash showed where some large fish was trying to escape, while sometimes one did leap out and get away. Then the surface would be necked with silvery arrows as swarms of small-fry appeared flashing into sight and disappearing, these little bits of excitement growing less frequent as the small fish found their way over the top of the net, or discovered that the meshes were wide enough to allow them to pass through.

"How is it, Dave, that all the little fish like to keep to the top of the water, and the big ones out of sight down at the bottom?" said Dick.

Dave chuckled, or rather made a noise something like a bray.

"S'pose you was a fish, young mester, wouldn't you, if you was a little one, keep nigh the top if you found going down to the bottom among the big uns meant being swallowed up?"

"Oh, of course!" cried Dick. "I forgot that they eat one another. Look, Mr Marston, that was a pike."

He pointed excitedly to a large fish which rose to the surface, just showing its dark olive-green back as it curved over and disappeared again, making the water eddy.

"They do not seem to have all gone, Dave," said Mr Marston.

"Nay, theer's a few on 'em left, mester," replied Dave. "Now, my lads, all together. That's the way."

The lines were drawn, and the weight of the great bag of meshes proved that after all a good fair haul had been made, the net being drawn close to the boat and the bag seeming to shrink in size till there was a mass of struggling, splashing fish alongside, apparently enough to far more than fill a bushel basket.

"What are you going to do?" asked Mr Marston, who was as excited now as the boys, while Dave worked away stolidly, as if it was all one of the most commonplace matters for him.

"Haul the net into the boat," cried Tom.

"Nay, my net would break," said Dave. "There's a lot of owd rushes and roots, and rotten weeds in it."

"I don't believe there are, Dave," said Dick. "It's all solid fish."

"Nay, lad, but net'll break. Let's hev out some of the big uns first."

"Look! there's a fine one," cried Dick, making a dash at a large fish which rose out of the writhing mass, but it glided through his hands.

"Howd hard!" said Dave. "You lads go th'other side o' the punt or we shall capsize. Let me and the London gentleman get them in."

"Oh!" groaned Tom.

"No, I've only one hand to work with," said Marston, who saw the reasonableness of the old fen-man's remark, for the side of the boat had gone down very low once or twice, and the effect of dragging a portion of the laden net on board might have been sufficient to admit the water. "I'll give way, and act as ballast."

"No, no!" cried Dick. "You help, Mr Marston."

But the young engineer remained steadfast to his proposal, and seated himself on the other side.

"Better let me lade out a few o' the big uns, Mester Dick," said Dave, "while you lads hold on."

The boys hardly approved of the proposal, but they gave way; and each taking a good grip of the wet net, they separated toward the head and stern, while Dave stayed in the middle, and taking off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves close to the shoulder, and then plunging his arms in among the swarm of fish he brought out a good-sized pike of six or seven pounds.

This was thrown into the basket, to flap furiously and nearly leap out, renewing its efforts as another of its kind was thrown in to keep it company.

"Is there a very big one, Dave?" cried Dick.

"Nay; nought very big," was the reply. "Draw her up, my lads. That's reight."

As Dave spoke he kept on plunging his hands into the splashing and struggling mass of fish, and sometimes brought out one, sometimes missed. But he kept on vigorously till, feeling satisfied that the net would bear the rest, he drew the loaded line well over into the boat, and, giving the boys a hint to tighten the line, he plunged in his arms once more, got well hold, and the next minute, by a dexterous lift, raised the bag, so that its contents came pouring over the edge of the punt in a silvery, glittering cataract of fish, leaping, gliding, and flapping all over the bottom about his feet.

Then a few fish, which were hanging by their gills, their heads being thrust through the meshes, were shaken out, the net bundled up together and thrown into the fore part of the boat, and the little party came together to gloat over their capture.

"Theer, lads," said Dave, coolly resuming his jacket, "you can pitch 'em all into the baskets, all the sizable ones, and put all the little ones back into the watter. I'll throost the punt back, so as young Tom Tallington can get some dry clothes."

These latter were the last things in Tom's mind, for just then, as Dave resumed the pole, and began sending the boat quickly through the water, the boy was trying to grasp an eel, which had found the meshes one size too small for his well-fed body, and was now in regular serpentine fashion trying to discover a retreat into which he could plunge, and so escape the inevitable frying-pan or pot.

Irrespective of the fact that a large eel can bite sharply, it is, as everyone knows, one of the most awkward things to hold, for the moment a good grip of its slimy body is made, the result seems to be that it helps the elongated fish to go forward or slip back. And this Tom found as he grasped the eel again and again, only for it to make a few muscular contortions and escape.

Then Dick tried, with no better effect, the pursuit lasting till the active fish made its way in among the meshes of the net, when its capture became easy, and it was swept into the great basket, to set the pike flapping and leaping once more.

Then the sorting commenced, all the small fish being thrown back to increase in size, while the rest of the slimy captives went into the basket.

There was no larger pike than the one first taken out of the net by Dave, but plenty of small ones, all extremely dark in colour, as if affected by living in the amber-tinted water, and nearly all these were thrown back, in company with dozens of silvery roach and orange-finned, brightly gilded rudd, all thicker and broader than their relatives the roach.

Many scores of fish were thrown overboard, some to turn up and float for a few minutes before they recovered their breath, as Tom called it, but for the most part they dived down at once, uninjured by what they had gone through, while their largeness fortunate friends were tossed into the basket—gilded side-striped perch, with now and then a fat-looking, small-eyed, small-scaled tench, brightly brazen at the sides, and looking as if cast in a soft kind of bronze. Then there were a couple of large-scaled brilliantly golden carp; but the majority of the fish were good-sized, broad, dingy-looking bream, whose slimy emanations made the bottom of the punt literally ask for a cleansing when the basket was nearly filled.

By that time the party were well on their way to the Toft, and as they neared the shore, it was to find the squire waiting to speak to the engineer, while John Warren was close behind with his dog, ready to join Dave, in whose company he went off after the latter had been up to the house and had a good feast of bread and cheese and ale.

That evening the squire and Mr Marston went over to the works to see how matters were progressing, to find all satisfactory, and the night passed quietly enough; but at breakfast the next morning, when some of the best of the tench appeared fried in butter, a messenger came over to see the engineer on his way to the town for the doctor, to announce that Hez Bargle, the big delver, who had been leader of the party who came over so fiercely about the attack upon Mr Marston, had been found that morning lying in the rough hovel where he slept alone, nearly dead.

The man was sharply examined by the engineer, a fresh messenger in the shape of Hickathrift being found to carry on the demand for the doctor. But there was very little to learn. Bargle had not come up to his work, and the foreman of the next gang went to see why his fellow-ganger had not joined him, and found him lying on the floor of the peat-built hut quite insensible, with the marks of savage blows about the head, as if he had been suddenly attacked and beaten with a club, for there was no sign of any struggle.

Mr Marston went over at once with the squire, Dick obtaining permission to accompany them; and upon their arrival it was to find all the work at a stand-still, the men being grouped about with their sleeves rolled-up, and smoking, and staring silently at the rough peat hovel where their fellow-worker lay.

The engineer entered the shelter—it did not deserve the title of cottage—and the squire and Dick followed, to find the man nearly insensible, and quite unable to give any account of how the affair had happened.

The men were questioned, but knew nothing beyond the fact that they had parted from him as usual to go to their own quarters, Bargle being the only one who lodged alone. There had been no quarrel as far as Mr Marston could make out, everyone he spoke to declaring that the work had gone on the previous day in the smoothest way possible; and at last there seemed to be nothing to do but wait until the great, rough fellow could give an account of the case for himself.

The doctor came at last, and formed his opinion.

"He is such a great, strong fellow that unless he was attacked by two or three together, I should say someone came upon him as he lay asleep and stunned him with a blow on the head."

"The result of some quarrel or offence given to one of the men under him, I'm afraid," said the engineer with a look of intense vexation in his eyes. "These men are very brutal sometimes to their fellows, especially when they are placed in authority. Will he be long before he is better?"

"No," replied the doctor. "The blows would have killed an ordinary man, but he has a skull like an ox. He'll be at work again in a fortnight if he'll behave sensibly, and carry out my instructions."

A couple of days later Bargle was sitting up smoking, when the engineer entered the reed-thatched hut, in company with Dick.

"Hallo, youngster!" growled the great fellow, with a smile slowly spreading over his rugged face, and growing into a grin, which accorded ill with his bandaged head; "shak' hands!"

Dick obeyed heartily enough, the great fellow retaining the lad's hand in his, and slowly pumping it up and down.

"We're mates, that's what we two are," he growled. "You ar'n't half a bad un, you ar'n't. Ah, mester, how are you? Arm better?"

"Mending fast, my lad; and how are you?"

"Tidy, mester, tidy! Going to handle a spade again to-morrow."

"Nonsense, man! you're too weak yet."

"Weak! Who says so? I don't, and the doctor had better not."

"Never mind that. I want you to tell me how all this happened."

"He ar'n't half a bad un, mester," said the injured man, ignoring the remark, as he held on to the boy's hand. "We're mates, that's what we are. See him stand up again me that day? It were fine."

"Yes; but you must tell me how this occurred. I want to take some steps about it."

"Hey! and you needn't take no steps again it, mester. I shall lay hold on him some day, and when I do—Hah!"

He stretched out a huge fist in a menacing way that promised ill to his assailant.

"But do you know who it was?" said the engineer.

"It warn't him," growled Bargle, smiling at Dick. "He wouldn't come and hit a man when he's asleep. Would you, mate?"

"I wouldn't be such a coward," cried Dick.

"Theer! Hear that, mester! I knowed he wouldn't. He'd hev come up to me and hit me a doubler right in the chest fair and square, and said, 'now, then, come on!'"

"Then someone did strike you when you were asleep, Bargle, eh?"

"Dunno, mester; I s'pose so. Looks like it, don't it?"

"Yes, my man, very much so. Then you were woke out of your sleep by a blow, eh?"

"Weer I? I don't know."

"Tell me who have you had a quarrel with lately?"

"Quarrel?"

"Well, row, then."

"Wi' him," said the big fellow, pointing at Dick.

"Oh, but he would not have come to you in the night!"

"Who said he would, mester?" growled Bargle menacingly. "Not he. He'd come up square and give a man a doubler in the chest and—"

"Yes, yes," said the engineer impatiently; "but I want to know who it was made this attack upon you—this cowardly attack. You say it was while you slept."

"Yes, I s'pose so; but don't you trouble about that, mester. I'm big enough to fight my bit. I shall drop on to him one of these days, and when I do—why, he'll find it okkard."

Mr Marston questioned and cross-questioned the man, but there was no more to be got from him. He s'posed some un come in at that theer door and give it him; but he was so much taken up with Dick's visit that he could hardly think of self, and when they came away Mr Marston had learned comparatively nothing, the big fellow shouting after Dick:

"I've got a tush for you, lad, when I get down to the dreern again—one I digged out, and you shall hev it."

Dick said, "Thank you," for the promised "tush," and walked away.

"I don't like it," said Mr Marston. "Someone shooting at me; someone striking down this man. I'm afraid it's due to ill-will towards me, Dick. But," he added, laughing, "I will not suspect you, as Bargle lets you off."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE SHAKES.

The time glided on. Bargle grew better; Mr Marston's wound healed; and these troubles were forgotten in the busy season which the fine weather brought. For the great drain progressed rapidly in the bright spring and early summer-time. There were stoppages when heavy rains fell; but on the whole nature seemed to be of opinion that the fen had lain uncultivated for long enough, and that it was time there was a change.

The old people scattered here and there about the edge shook their heads, especially when they came over to Hickathrift's, and said it would all be swept away one of these fine nights—it being the new river stretching week by week farther into the morass; but the flood did not seem to have that effect when it did come. On the contrary, short as was the distance which the great drain had penetrated, its effect was wonderful, for it carried off water in a few days which would otherwise have stayed for weeks.

Dick said it was a good job that Mr Marston had been shot.

Asked why by his crony Tom, he replied that it had made them such good friends, and it was nice to have a chap who knew such a lot over at the Toft.

For the intimacy had grown; and whenever work was done, reports written out and sent off, and no duties raised their little reproving heads to say, "You are neglecting us!" the engineer made his way to the Toft, ready to join the two boys on some expedition—egg-collecting, fishing, fowling, or hunting for some of the botanical treasures of the bog.

"I wish he wouldn't be so fond of moss and weeds!" said Tom. "It seems so stupid to make a collection of things like that, and to dry them. Why, you could go to one of our haystacks any day and pull out a better lot than he has got."

Dick said nothing, for he thought those summer evenings delightful. He and Tom, too, had been ready enough to laugh at their new friend whenever he displayed ignorance of some term common to the district; but now this laughter was lost in admiration as they found how he could point out objects in their various excursions which they had never seen before, book-lore having prepared him to find treasures in the neighbourhood of the Toft of whose existence its occupants knew naught.

"Don't you find it very dull out there, Mr Marston," said Mrs Winthorpe one day, "always watching your men cut—cut—cut—through that wet black bog?"

"Dull, madam!" he said, smiling; "why, it is one continual time of excitement. I watch every spadeful that is taken out, expecting to come upon some relic of the past, historical or natural. By the way, Dick, did that man Bargle ever give you the big tusk he said he had found?"

"No, he has never said any more about it, and I don't like to ask."

"Then I will. Perhaps it is the tooth of some strange beast which used to roam these parts hundreds of years ago."

"I say, Marston," said the squire, "you'd like to see your great band of ruffians at work excavating here, eh?"

"Mr Winthorpe," said the young man, "I'd give anything to be allowed to search the ruins."

"Yes, and turn my place upside down, and disturb the home of the poor old monks who used to live here! No, no; I'm not going to have my place ragged to pieces. But when we do dig down, we come upon some curious old stones."

"Like your tobacco-jar?" the engineer said, pointing to the old carven corbel.

The squire nodded.

"You've got plenty of digging to do, my lad," he said, laughing. "Finish that, and then perhaps I may let you have a turn my way. Who's going over to see John Warren?"

"Ah, I wish you would go," said Mrs Winthorpe, "and take the poor fellow over some things I have ready, in a basket!"

"I'll go," said Dick. "Hicky will take us in his punt. There'll be plenty of time, and it's moonlight at nine."

"I'll go with you, Dick," said Marston. "What's the matter with the man?"

"Our own particular complaint, which the people don't want you to kill, my lad," said the squire. "Marsh fever—ague. Years to come when it's swept away by the drainage, the people will talk of it as one of the good things destroyed by our work. They are rare ones to grumble, and stick to their old notions."

"But the people seem to be getting used to us now."

"Oh yes! we shall live it down."

Dick sat and listened, but said nothing. Still he could not help recalling how one old labourer's wife had shaken her head and spit upon the ground as his father went by, and wondered in his mind whether this was some form of curse.

"Tak' you over to the Warren, my lad?" said Hickathrift, as they reached the wheelwright's shed, where the big fellow was just taking down a hoe to go gardening.

"Why, of course I will. Straange niced evening, Mr Marston! Come along. I'll put on my coat though, for the mist'll be thick to-night."

Hickathrift took his coat from behind the door, led the way to the place where his punt was floating, fastened to an old willow-stump; and as soon as his visitors were aboard he began to unfasten the rope.

"Like to tak' a goon, sir, or a fishing-pole?"

"No: I think we'll be content with what we can see to-night."

Hickathrift nodded, and Dick thought the engineer very stupid, for a gun had a peculiar fascination for him; but he said nothing, only seated himself, and trailed his hand in the dark water as the lusty wheelwright sent the punt surging along.

"Why, Hickathrift," cried Mr Marston, "I thought our friend Dave a wonder at managing a punt; but you beat him. What muscles you have!"

"Muscles, mester? Ay, they be tidy; but I'm nowt to Dave. I can shove stronger, but he'd ding [beat] me at it. He's cunning like. Always at it, you see. Straange and badly though."

"What, Dave is?" cried Dick.

"Ay, lad; he's got the shakes, same as John Warren. They two lay out together one night after a couple o' wild swans they seen, and it give 'em both ager."

It was a glorious evening, without a breath of air stirring, and the broad mere glistened and glowed with the wonderful reflection from the sky. The great patches of reeds waved, and every now and then the weird cry of the moor-hen came over the water. Here and there perfect clouds of gnats were dancing with their peculiar flight; swallows were still busy darting about, and now and then a leather-winged bat fluttered over them seeking its insect food.

"What a lovely place this looks in a summer evening!" said Mr Marston thoughtfully.

"Ay, mester, and I suppose you are going to spoil it all with your big drain," said the wheelwright, and he ceased poling for a few moments, as the punt entered a natural canal through a reed-bed.

"Spoil it, my man! No. Only change its aspect. It will be as beautiful in its way when corn is growing upon it, and far more useful."

"Ay, bud that's what our people don't think. Look, Mester Dick!"

Dick was already looking at a shoal of fish ahead flying out of the water, falling back, and rising again, somewhat after the fashion of flying-fish in the Red Sea.

"Know what that means?" said the wheelwright.

"Perch," said Dick, shortly. "A big chap too, and he has got one," he added excitedly, as a large fish rose, made a tremendous splash, and then seemed to be working its way among the bending reeds. "Might have got him perhaps if we had had a line."

Mr Marston made no reply, for he was watching the slow heavy flap-flap of a heron as it rose from before them with something indistinctly seen in its beak.

"What has it got?" he said.

Dick turned sharply, and made out that there seemed to be a round knob about the great bird's bill, giving it the appearance of having thrust it through a turnip or a ball.

"Why, it's an eel," he cried, "twisting itself into a knot. Yes: look!"

The evening light gleamed upon the glistening skin of the fish, as it suddenly untwisted itself, and writhed into another form. Then the heron changed its direction, and nothing but the great, grey beating pinions of the bird were visible, the long legs outstretched like a tail, the bent back neck, and projecting beak being merged in the body as it flew straight away.

Hickathrift worked hard at the pole, and soon after rounding one great bed of reeds they came in sight of the rough gravelly patch with a somewhat rounded outline, which formed the Warren, and upon which was the hut inhabited by John o' the Warren, out of whose name "o'-the" was generally dropped.

The moment they came in sight there was a loud burst of barking, and Snig, John Warren's little rabbit-dog, came tearing down to the shore, with the effect of rendering visible scores of rabbits, until then unseen; for the dog's barking sent them scurrying off to their holes, each displaying its clear, white, downy tuft of a tail, which showed clearly in the evening light.

The dog's bark was at first an angry challenge, but as he came nearer his tone changed to a whine of welcome; and as soon as he reached the water's edge he began to perform a series of the most absurd antics, springing round, dancing upon his hind-legs, and leaping up at each in turn, as the visitors to the sandy island landed, and began to walk up to the sick man's hut.

There were no rabbits visible now, but the ground was honey-combed with their holes, many of which were quite close to the home of their tyrant master, who lived as a sort of king among them, and slew as many as he thought fit.

John Warren's home was not an attractive one, being merely a hut built up of bricks of peat cut from the fen, furnished with a small window, a narrow door, and thickly thatched with reeds.

He heard them coming, and, as they approached, came and stood at the door, looking yellow, hollow of cheek, and shivering visibly.

"Here, John Warren, we've brought you a basket!" cried Dick. "How are you? I say, don't you want the doctor?"

"Yah! what should I do with a doctor?" growled the man, scowling at all in turn.

"To do you good," said Dick, laughing good-humouredly.

"He couldn't tell me nothing I dunno. I've got the ager."

"Well, aren't you going to ask us in?"

"Nay, lad. What do you want?"

"That basket," said Dick briskly. "Here, how is Dave?"

"Badly! Got the ager!"

"But is he no better?"

"Don't I tell you he's got the ager!" growled the man; and without more ado he took the basket from the extended hand, opened the lid, and turned it upside down, so that its contents rolled upon the sand, and displayed the kind-heartedness of Mrs Winthorpe.

Dick glanced at Marston and laughed.

"Theer's your basket," growled John Warren. "Want any rabbuds?"

"No; they're out of season, John!" cried Dick. "You don't want us here, then?"

"Nay; what should I want you here for?" growled the man. "Can't you see I've got the ager?"

"Yes, I see!" cried Dick; "but you needn't be so precious cross. Good-night!"

John Warren stared at Dick, and then at his two companions, and, turning upon his heel, walked back into the hut, while Snig, his dog, seated himself beside the contents of the basket, and kept a self-constituted guard over them, from which he could not be coaxed.

"Might have showed us something about the Warren," said Dick in an ill-used tone; "but never mind, there isn't much to see."

He turned to go back to the boat.

"I say, Hicky," he said; "let's go and see Dave. You won't mind poling?"

"He says I won't mind poling, Mester Marston," said Hickathrift with a chuckle. "Here, come along."

John Warren had disappeared into the cottage, but as they walked away some of the rabbits came to the mouths of their holes and watched their departure, while Snig, who could not leave his master's property, uttered a valedictory bark from time to time.

"I say, Mr Marston," cried Dick, pausing, "isn't he a little beauty, to have such a master! Look at him watching that food, and not touching it. Wait a minute!"

Dick ran back to the dog and stooped down to open a cloth, when the faithful guard began to snarl at him and show his teeth.

"Why, you ungrateful beggar!" cried Dick; "I was going to give you a bit of the chicken. Lie down, sir!"

But Snig would not lie down. He only barked the more furiously.

"Do you want me to kick you?" cried Dick.

Snig evidently did, for not only did he bark, but he began to make charges at the visitor's legs so fiercely that Dick deemed it prudent to stand still for a few moments.

"Now, then," he said, as the dog seemed to grow more calm; "just see if you can't understand plain English!"

The dog looked up at him and uttered a low whine, accompanying it by a wag of the tail.

"That's better!" cried Dick. "I'm going to pull you off a leg of that chicken for yourself. Do you understand?"

Snig gave a short, friendly bark.

"Ah, now you're a sensible dog," said Dick, stooping down to pick up the cloth in which the chicken was wrapped; but Snig made such a furious onslaught upon him that the boy started back, half in alarm, half in anger, and turned away.

"Won't he let you touch it, Mester Dick?" chuckled Hickathrift.

"No; and he may go without," said Dick. "Come along!"

They returned to the boat, Snig giving them a friendly bark or two as they got on board; and directly after, with lusty thrusts, the wheelwright sent the punt along in the direction of Dave's home.

The evening was still beautiful, but here and there little patches of mist hung over the water, and the rich glow in the west was fast fading out.

"I say, Mr Marston," said Dick, "you'll stay at our place to-night?"

"No; I must go home, thank you," was the reply.

"But it will be so late!"

"Can't help that, Dick. I want to be out early with the men. They came upon a great tree trunk this afternoon, and I want to examine it when it is dug out. Is that Decoy Dave's place?"

"That's it, and there's Chip!" cried Dick, as the boat neared the shore. "You see how different he'll be!"

Dick was right in calling attention to the dog's welcome, for Chip's bark was one of delight from the very first, and dashing down to the water, he rushed in and began swimming rapidly to meet them.

"Why, Chip, old doggie!" cried Dick, as, snorting and panting with the water he splashed into his nostrils, the dog came aside, and after being lifted into the boat gave himself a shake, and then thrust his nose into every hand in turn. "This is something like a dog, Mr Marston!" continued Dick.

"Yes; but he would behave just the same as the other," said the engineer.

"Here's Dave," said Dick. "Hoy, Dave!"

The decoy-man came slowly down toward the shore to meet them, and waved his hand in answer to Dick's call.

"Oh, I am sorry!" cried the latter. "I wish I'd brought him something too. I daresay he's as bad as John Warren."

Dave's appearance proved the truth of Dick's assertion. The decoy-man never looked healthy, but now he seemed ghastly of aspect and exceedingly weak, as he leaned upon the tall staff he held in his hand.

"We've come to see how you are, Dave," cried Dick as the boat bumped up against the boggy edge of the landing-place.

"That's kindly, Mester Dick. Servant, mester. How do, neighbour?"

Dave's head went up and down as if he had a hinge at the back; and as the party landed, he too shivered and looked exceedingly feverish and ill.

"Why, Dave, my man, you ought to see a doctor!" said Mr Marston, kindly.

"Nay, sir, no good to do ought but bear it. Soon be gone. Only a shivering fit."

"Well, I'm trying to doctor you," said the engineer, laughing. "Once we get the fen drained, ague will begin to die out."

"Think so, mester?"

"I am sure so."

"Hear that, neighbour?" said Dave, looking at Hickathrift. "Think o' the fen wi'out the shakes."

"We can't stop, Dave," cried Dick; "because we've got to get home, for Mr Marston to walk over to the sea-bank to-night; but I'll come over and see you to-morrow and bring you something. What would you like?"

"What you heven't got, Mester Dick," said the fen-man, showing his yellow teeth. "Bit of opium or a drop o' lodolum. Nay, I don't want you to send me owt. Neighbour Hick'thrift here'll get me some when he goes over to market."

Hickathrift nodded, and after a little more conversation the party returned toward the boat.

"Straange and thick to-night, Mester Dick," said Dave. "Be thicker soon. Yow couldn't pole the boat across wi'out losing your way."

"Couldn't I?" cried Dick. "Oh, yes, I could! Good-night! I want you to show Mr Marston some sport with the ducks some day."

"Ay; you bring him over, Mester Dick, and we'll hev' a good turn at the 'coy. Good-night!"

They pushed off, and before they were fifty yards from the shore the boat seemed to enter a bank of mist, so thick that the wheelwright, as he poled, was almost invisible from where Mr Marston and Dick were seated.

"I say, Hicky, turn back and let's go along the edge of the fog," cried Dick.

"Nay, it's driftin' ower us," replied the wheelwright. "Best keep on and go reight through."

"Go on, then," cried Dick. "Feel how cold and damp it is."

"Feel it, Dick? Yes; and right in my wounded arm."

"Does it hurt much?"

"No; only aches. Why, how dense it is!"

"Can you find your way?"

"Dunno, mester. Best keep straight on, I think. Dessay it'll soon pass over."

But it did not soon pass over; and as the wheelwright pushed on it seemed to be into a denser mist than ever.

For a long time they were going over perfectly clear water; but soon the rustling of reeds against the prow of the boat told that they must be going wrong, and Hickathrift bore off to the right till the reeds warned him to bear to the left. And so it went on, with the night falling, and the thick mist seeming to shut them in, and so confusing him that at last the wheelwright said:

"Best wait a bit, Mester Dick. I dunno which way I'm going, and it's like being blind."

"Here, let me have the pole!" cried Dick. And going to the front of the boat, the wheelwright good-humouredly gave way for him, with the result that the lad vigorously propelled the craft for the space of about ten minutes, ending by driving it right into a reed-bed and stopping short.

"Oh, I say, here's a muddle!" he cried. "You can't see where you are going in the least."

"Shall I try?" said Mr Marston.

"Yes, do, please," cried Dick, eager to get out of his difficulty. "Take the pole."

"No, thank you," was the laughing reply. "I cannot handle a pole, and as to finding my way through this fog I could as soon fly."

Bang!

A heavy dull report of a gun from close by, and Hickathrift started aside and nearly went overboard, but recovered himself, and sat down panting.

"Here! hi! Mind where you're shooting!" cried Dick. "Who's that?"

He stared in the direction from which the sound had come, but nothing but mist was visible, and no answer came.

"Do you hear? Who's that?" shouted Dick with both his hands to his mouth.

No answer came, and Hickathrift now shouted.

Still no reply. His great sonorous voice seemed to return upon him, as if he were enveloped in a tremendous tent of wet flannel; and though he shouted again and again it was without result.

"Why, what's the matter with your hand, man?" cried Mr Marston, as the wheelwright took his cotton kerchief from his neck, and began to bind it round his bleeding palm.

"Nowt much, sir," said the man smiling.

"Why, Hickathrift, were you hit?"

"S'pose I weer, sir. Something came with a whuzz and knocked my hand aside."

"Oh!" ejaculated Dick; while Mr Marston sat with his heart beating, since in spite of his efforts to be cool he could not help recalling the evening when he was shot, and he glanced round, expecting to see a flash and hear another report.

Dick seized the pole which he had laid down, and, thrusting it down, forced the punt back from the reeds, and then, as soon as they were in open water, began to toil as hard as he could for a few minutes till the wheelwright relieved him. Declaring his injury to be a trifle, he in turn worked hard with the pole till, after running into the reeds several times, and more than once striking against patches of bog and rush, they must have got at least a mile from where the shot was fired, by accident or purposely, when the great fellow sat down very suddenly in the bottom of the boat.

As he seated himself he laid the pole across, and then without warning fell back fainting dead away.

A few minutes, however, only elapsed before he sat up again and looked round.

"Bit sick," he said. "That's all. Heven't felt like that since one o' squire's horses kicked me and broke my ribs. Better now."

"My poor fellow, your hand must be badly hurt!" said Mr Marston; while Dick looked wildly on, scared by what was taking place.

"Nay, it's nowt much, mester," said the great fellow rather huskily, "and we'd best wait till the mist goes. It's no use to pole. We may be going farther away, like as not."

Dick said nothing, but stood listening, fancying he heard the splash of a pole in water; but there was no sound save the throbbing of his own heart to break the silence, and he quite started as Mr Marston spoke.

"How long is this mist likely to last?"

"Mebbe an hour, mebbe a week," was the unsatisfactory reply. "Bud when the moon rises theer may come a breeze, and then it'll go directly."

Hickathrift rested his chin upon his uninjured hand, and Dick sat down in silence, for by one consent, and influenced by the feeling that some stealthy foe might be near at hand keen-eyed enough to see them through the fog, or at all events cunning enough to trace them by sound, they sat and waited for the rising of the moon.

The time seemed to be drawn out to a terrible extent before there was a perceptible lightening on their left; and as soon as he saw that, though the mist was as thick as ever, Hickathrift rose and began to work with the pole, for he knew his bearings now by the position of the rising moon, and working away, in half an hour the little party emerged from the mist as suddenly as they had dived in, but they were far wide of their destination, and quite another hour elapsed before they reached the old willow-stump, where the wheelwright made fast his boat, and assuring his companions that there was nothing much wrong he went to his cottage, while Mr Marston gladly accompanied Dick to the Toft, feeling after the shock they had had that even if it had not been so late, a walk down to the sea-beach that night would neither be pleasant nor one to undertake.

Dick was boiling over with impatience, and told his father the news the moment they entered the room where supper was waiting.

"A shot from close by!" cried the squire, excitedly.

"Yes, Mr Winthorpe," said the engineer; "and I'm afraid, greatly afraid, it was meant for me."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HICKY'S OPINIONS.

"Nay, lads, I don't say as it weer the will-o'-the-wisps, only as it might have been."

"Now, Hicky," cried Dick, "who ever heard of a will-o'-the-wisp with a gun?"

"Can't say as ever I did," said the wheelwright; "but I don't see why not."

"What stuff! Do you hear what he says, Tom? He says it may have been one of the will-o'-the-wisps that shot and broke his finger."

"A will-o'-the-wisp with a gun!" cried Tom. "Ha! ha! ha!"

"Why shouldn't a will hev a goon as well as a lanthorn?" said Hickathrift, stolidly.

"Why, where would he get his powder and shot?" said Dick.

"Same place as he gets his candle for his lanthorn."

"Oh, but what nonsense! The will-o'-the-wisp is a light that moves about," cried Dick. "It is not anybody."

"I don't know so much about that," said the wheelwright, lifting up his bandaged hand. "All I know is that something shot at me, and broke my finger just the same as something shot at Mester Marston. They don't like it, lads. Mark my words, they don't like it."

"Who don't like what?" said Tom.

"Will-o'-the-wisps don't like people cootting big drains acrost the fen, my lads. They don't mind you fishing or going after the eels with the stong-gad; but they don't like the draining, and you see if it don't come to harm!"

"Nonsense!" cried Dick. "But I say, Hicky, you are so quiet about it all, did you see who it was shot at you?"

The big wheelwright looked cautiously round, as if in fear of being overheard, and then said in a husky whisper:

"Ay, lads, I seen him."

"What was he like, Hicky?" said Tom, who suffered a peculiar kind of thrill as the wheelwright spoke.

"Somethin' between a big cloud, shape of a man, and a flash of lightning with a bit o' thunder."

"Get out!" roared Dick. "Why, he's laughing at us, Tom."

"Nay, lads, I'm not laughing. It's just what I seemed to see, and it 'most knocked me over."

"It's very queer," said Dick thoughtfully. "But I say, Hicky, what did the doctor say to your hand? Will it soon get well?"

"Didn't go to the doctor, lad."

"Why, what did you do then?"

"Went to old Mikey Dodbrooke, the bone-setter."

"What did you go to him for?"

"Because it's his trade. He knows how to mend bones better than any doctor."

"Father says he's an old sham, and doesn't understand anything about it," said Dick. "You ought to have gone to the doctor, or had him, same as Mr Marston did."

"Tchah!" ejaculated Hickathrift. "Why, he had no bones broken. Doctors don't understand bone-setting."

"Who says so?"

"The bone-setter."

"Well, is it getting better, Hicky?"

"Oh yes! It ar'n't very bad. Going down to the drain?"

"Yes. Mr Marston's found a curious great piece of wood, and the men are digging it out."

"Don't stop late, my lads," said the wheelwright, anxiously. "I wouldn't be coming back after dark when the will-o'-the-wisps is out."

"I don't believe all that stuff, Hicky," said Dick. "Father says—"

"Eh! What does he say?" cried the wheelwright, excitedly.

"That he thinks it's one of Mr Marston's men who has a spite against him, and that when there was that shot the other night, it was meant for the engineer."

"Hah! Yes! Maybe," said the wheelwright, drawing a long breath and looking relieved. "But I wouldn't stop late, my lads."

"We shall stop just as long as we like, sha'n't we, Tom?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall come and meet you, my lads. I sha'n't be happy till I see you back safe."

"I say, Hicky, you've got a gun, haven't you?" said Tom.

"Eh! A goon!" cried the wheelwright, starting.

"Yes; you've got one?"

"An old one. She's roosty, and put awaya. I heven't hed her out for years."

"Clean it up, and bring it, Hicky," said Dick. "We may get a shot at something. I say, you'd lend me that gun if I wanted it, wouldn't you?"

"Nay, nay; thou'rt not big enew to handle a goon, lad. Wait a bit for that."

"Come along, Tom!" cried Dick. "And I say, Hicky, bring the forge-bellows with you, so as we can blow out the will's light if he comes after us."

"Haw—haw—haw—haw!" rang out like the bray of a donkey with a bad cold; and Jacob, Hickathrift's lad, threw back his head, and roared till his master gave him a sounding slap on the back, and made him close his mouth with a snap, look serious, and go on with his work.

"Jacob laughs just like our old Solemn-un, sometimes," said Dick merrily. "Come along!"

The morning was hot, but there was a fine brisk breeze from off the sea, and the lads trudged on, talking of the progress of the drain, and the way in which people grumbled.

"Father says that if he had known he wouldn't have joined the adventure," said Tom.

"And my father says, the more opposition there is, the more he shall go on, for if people don't know what's good for them they've got to be taught. There's a beauty!"

Dick went off in chase of a swallow-tail butterfly—one of the beautiful insects whose home was in the fens; but after letting him come very close two or three times, the brightly-marked creature fluttered off over the treacherous bog, a place of danger for followers, of safety for the insect.

"That's the way they always serve you," said Dick.

"Well, you don't want it."

"No, I don't want it. Yes I do. Mr Marston said he should like a few more to put in his case. I say, they are getting on with the drain," Dick continued, as he shaded his eyes and gazed at where, a mile away, the engineer's men were wheeling peat up planks, and forming a long embankment on either side of the cutting through the fen.

"Can you see Mr Marston from here?"

"Why, of course not! Come along! I say, Tom, you didn't think what old Hicky said was true, did you?"

"N-n-no. Of course not."

"Why, you did. Ha—ha—ha! That's what father and Mr Marston call superstition. I shall tell Mr Marston that you believe in will-o'-the-wisps."

"Well, so do you. Who can help believing in them, when you see them going along over the fen on the soft dark nights!"

"Oh, I believe in the lights," said Dick, "but that's all I don't believe they shot Mr Marston and old Hicky; that's all stuff!"

"Well, somebody shot them, and my father says it ought to be found out and stopped."

"So does mine; but how are you going to find it out? He thinks sometimes it's one and sometimes another; and if we wait long enough, my gentleman is sure to be caught."

"Ah, but is it a man?"

"Why, you don't think it's a woman, do you?"

"No, of course not; but mightn't it be something—I mean one of the— well, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean," cried Dick—"a ghost—a big tall white ghost, who goes out every night shooting, and has a will-o'-the-wisp on each side with a lantern to show him a light."

"Ah, it's all very well for you to laugh now out in the sunshine; but if it was quite dark you wouldn't talk like that."

"Oh yes, I should!"

"I don't believe it," said Tom; "and I'll be bound you were awfully frightened when Hicky was shot. Come, tell the truth now—weren't you?"

"There goes a big hawk, Tom. Look!" cried Dick, suddenly becoming interested in a broad-winged bird skimming along just over the surface of the fen; and this bird sufficed to change the conversation, which was getting unpleasant for Dick, till they came to the place where the men were hard at work on the huge ditch, the boggy earth from which, piled up as it was, serving to consolidate the sides and keep them from flooding the fen when the drain was full, and the high-tide prevented the water from coming out by the flood-gates at the end.

Mr Marston welcomed the lads warmly.

"I've got a surprise for you," he said.

"What is it—anything good?" cried Dick.

"That depends on taste, my boy. Come and see."

He led the way along the black ridge of juicy peat, to where, in an oblique cutting running out from the main drain, a dozen men were at work, with their sharp spades cutting out great square bricks of peat, and clearing away the accumulations of hundreds of years from the sides of what at first appeared to be an enormous trunk of a tree, but which, upon closer inspection, drew forth from Dick a loud ejaculation.

"Why, it's an old boat!" cried Tom.

"That it is, my lad."

"But how did it come there?" cried Dick, gazing wonderingly at the black timber of the ancient craft.

"Who can tell, Dick? Perhaps it floated out of the river at some time when there was a flood, and it was too big to move back again, and the people in the days when it was used did not care to dig a canal from here to the river."

"Half a mile," said Dick.

"No, no. Not more than a quarter."

"But it doesn't look like a fishing-boat," said Dick.

"No, my lad. As far as I can make out, it is the remains of an old war galley."

"Then it must have belonged to the Danes."

"Danes or Saxons, Dick."

"But the wood's sound," cried Tom. "It can't be so old as that."

"Why not, Tom? Your people dig out pine-roots, don't they, perfectly sound, and full of turpentine? This is pine wood, and full of turpentine too."

"But it's such a while since the Danes and Saxons were here, Mr Marston," said Tom.

"A mere yesterday, my lad, compared to the time when the country about here was a great pine and birch forest, before this peat began to form."

"Before the peat began to form!"

"To be sure! Pine and birch don't grow in peaty swamps, but in sandy ground with plenty of gravel. Look all about you at the scores of great pine-roots my men have dug out. They are all pine, and there must have been quite a large forest here once."