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.