The wintry weather passed away with its storms and continuous rains and
floods, which hindered the progress of the great lode or drain, and then
came the spring sunshine, with the lads waking up to the fact that here
and there the arums were thrusting up their glossy-green spathes, that
the celandines were out like yellow stars, and that the rustling reeds
left uncut had been snapped off and beaten down, and had rotted in the
water, and that from among them the young shoots of the fresh crop were
beginning to peep.
Bold brisk winds swept over the fen and raised foamy waves in the meres,
and the nights were clear and cold, though there had been little frost
that year, never enough to well coat the lakes and pools with ice, so
that the pattens could be cleaned from their rust and sharpened at
Hickathrift's grindstone ready for the lads at the old Priory and
Grimsey to skate in and out for miles. But, in spite of the cold, there
was a feeling of spring in the air. The great grey-backed crows were
getting scarce, and the short-eared owls, which, a couple of months
before, could be flushed from the tufts in the fen, to fly off looking
like chubby hawks, were gone, and the flights of ducks and peewits had
broken up. The golden plovers were gone; but the green peewits were
busy nesting, or rather laying eggs without nests--pear-shaped eggs,
small at one end, large at the other, thickly blotched and splashed with
dark green, and over which the birds watched, ready to fall as if with
broken wing before the intruder, and try to lure him away.
Many a tramp over the sodden ground did the lads have with Dave, who
generally waited for their coming, leaping-pole in hand, and then took
them to the peewits' haunts to gather a basketful of their eggs.
"I don't know how you do it, Dave," said Dick. "We go and hunt for
hours, and only get a few pie-wipes' eggs; you always get a basketful."
"It's a man's natur," said Dave.
"Well, show us how you know," said Dick, shouldering his leaping-pole,
and pretending to hit his companion's head.
"Nay, lad, theer's no showing a thing like that," said Dave
mysteriously. "It comes to a man."
"Gammon!" cried Dick. "It's a dodge you've learned."
Dave chuckled and tramped on beside the lads, having enough to do to
avoid sinking in.
"She's reyther juicy this spring, eh? They heven't dree-ernt her yet,"
said Dave with a malicious grin. "See there, now, young Tom
Tallington," he cried, stepping past the lad, and, picking up a couple
of eggs in spite of the wailing of their owners, as they came napping
close by, the cock bird in his glossy-green spring feathers, and a long
pendent tuft hanging down from the back of his head.
"How stupid!" cried Tom. "I didn't see them."
"Nay, you wouldn't," said Dave, stepping across Dick, who was on his
left; "and yow, young squire Dick, didn't see they two."
"Yes, I did, Dave, I did," cried Dick. "I was just going to pick them
up."
"Pick' em up then," cried Dave quietly; "where are they then?" Dick
looked sharply round him; but there was not an egg to be seen, and he
realised that Dave had cheated him, and drawn him into a declaration
that was not true.
He was very silent under the laughter of his companions, and felt it all
the more.
They went on, the lads sometimes finding an egg or two, but nearly all
falling to Dave, who, as if by unerring instinct, went straight to the
spots where the nests lay, and secured the spoil.
Now and then a heron flew up, one with a small eel twining about its
bill; and more than once a hare went bounding off from its form among
the dry last year's grass.
"We want Hickathrift's dog here," cried Dick.
"What for, lad? what for?" said Dave, laughing.
"To catch the hares."
"Nay, yow want no dog," said Dave. "Easy enough to catch hares."
"Easy! How?" cried Tom.
"Go up to 'em and catch 'em," said Dave coolly.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dick, and his companion joined in. "I should like
to see you catch a hare, Dave."
"Shouldst ta, lad? Very well, wait a bit."
They tramped on, with Dave picking up an egg here, a couple there, in a
way that was most exasperating to the boys, whose luck was very bad.
"I never saw such eyes," said Tom. "I can't see the eggs like he can."
Dave chuckled as if he had a rattlesnake in his throat, and they went on
for a while till Dick stopped suddenly, and pointed to the side of one
of the fen ponds.
"That isn't a heron," he said.
"No. One o' them long-legged ones--a crane," said Dave. "Getting
straange and scarce now. Used to be lots of 'em breed here when my
grandfather was a boy. Nay, nay, don't scar' him," he cried, checking
Dick, who was about to wave his hands. "Niver disturb the birds wi'out
you want 'em to eat or sell. Now, then: yonder's a hare."
"Where?" cried Tom. "I can't see it."
"Over yonder among that dry grass."
"There isn't," said Dick. "I can't see any hare."
"Like me to go and catch him, young Tom?"
"Here, I'll soon see if there's a hare," cried Dick; but Dave caught him
by the shoulder with a grip of iron, and thrust the pole he carried into
the soft bog.
"I didn't say I was going to run a hare down," he said. "Theer's a hare
yonder in her form. Shall I go and catch her?"
"Yes," said Dick, grinning. "Shall I say, `Sh!'"
"Nay, if thou'rt going to play tricks, lad, I shall howd my hand. I
thowt yow wanted to see me ketch a hare."
"Go on, then," said Dick, laughing; "we won't move."
Dave chuckled, swung his basket behind him as if hung by a strip of
cow-hide over his shoulder, and walked quietly on, in and out among the
tufts of heather and moss, for some five-and-twenty yards.
"He's laughing at us," said Dick.
"No, he isn't. I've heard Hickathrift say he can catch hares," replied
Tom. "Look!"
For just then they saw Dave go straight up to a tuft of dry grass, stoop
down and pick up a hare by its ears, and place it on his left arm.
The boys ran up excitedly.
"Why, Dave, I didn't think you could do it!" cried Dick.
"Dessay not," replied the decoy-man, uttering his unpleasant laugh.
"Theer, she's a beauty, isn't she?"
The hare struggled for a moment or two, and then crouched down in the
man's arm, with its heart throbbing and great eyes staring round at its
captors.
"Kill it, Dave, kill it," cried Tom.
"Kill it! What for? Pretty creatur'," said Dave, stroking the hare's
brown speckled fur, and laying its long black-tipped sensitive ears
smoothly down over its back.
"To take home."
"Nay, who kills hares at the end of March, lad? Hares is mad in March."
"Is that why it let you catch it, Dave?"
"Mebbe, lad, mebbe, Mester Dick. Theer, hev you done stroking her?"
"No. Why?"
"Going to let her run?"
"Wait a bit," cried Dick.
"Tek her by the ears, lad, and putt thy hand beneath her. That's the
ways."
Dick took the hare in his arms, and the trembling beast submitted
without a struggle.
"How did you know it was there?" said Tom.
"How did I know she was theer! Why, she had her ears cocked-up
listening, plain enough to see. Theer, let her go now. She's got a
wife somewheers about."
"_She's_ got a wife! Why don't you say _He_?" cried Dick. "Now, Tom,
I'm going to let him go; but he won't run, he's a sick one. You'll see.
Anyone could catch a hare like this."
He carefully placed the hare upon the ground, holding tightly by its
ears.
"There," he cried; "I told you so! Look how stupid and--Oh!"
The hare made one great leap, and then hardly seemed to touch the ground
again with its muscular hind-legs; but went off at a tremendous rate,
bounding over heath and tuft, till it disappeared in the distance.
"There's a sleepy sick one for you, Mester Dick!" cried Dave. "Now,
then, goo and ketch her, lad."
"Well, I never!" cried Dick. "I say, Dave, how do you manage it? Could
you catch another?"
"Ay, lad, many as I like."
"And rabbits too?"
"Nay, I don't say that. I hev ketched rabbuds that ways, but not often.
Rabbud always makes for his hole."
As he spoke he walked back to where he had left his pole standing in the
bog earth, and they trudged on again to where a lane of water impeded
their further progress.
"Too wide for you, lads?" said Dave.
"No," replied Dick, "if it's good bottom."
"Good bottom a little higher up here," said Dave, bearing off to the
left. "Now, then, over you go!"
Dick, pole in hand, took a run without the slightest hesitation, for
Dave's word was law. He said there was good bottom to the lane of
water, and he was sure to know, for he had the knowledge of his father
and grandfather joined to his own. If it had been bad bottom Dick's
feat would have been impossible, for his pole would have gone down
perhaps to its full length in the soft bog; as it was, the end of the
pole rested upon gravel in about three feet of water, and the lad went
over easily and describing a curve through the air.
"Look out!" shouted Tom, following suit, and landing easily upon the
other side; while Dave took off his basket of plovers' eggs by slipping
the hide band over his head, then, hanging it to the end of his pole, he
held it over the water to the boys, who reached across and took it
together on their poles, landing it safely without breaking an egg.
The next minute, with the ease of one long practised in such leaps, Dave
flew over and resumed his load.
Several more long lanes of water were cleared in this way, Dave leading
the boys a good round, and taking them at last to his house, pretty well
laden with eggs, where he set before them a loaf and butter, and lit a
fire.
"Theer, you can boil your eggs," he said, "and mak' a meal. Mebbe
you're hungry now."
There was no maybe in the matter, judging from the number of slices of
bread and butter and hard-boiled plovers' eggs the lads consumed.
Over the meal the question of the draining was discussed
sympathetically.
"No fish," said Dick.
"No decoy," said Tom.
"No plovers' eggs," said Dave.
"No rabbiting," said Dick.
"No eeling," said Tom.
"No nothing," said Dave. "Hey bud it'll be a sad job when it's done.
But it arn't done yet, lads, eh?"
"No, it isn't done yet," said Dick. "I say, where's John Warren? I
haven't seen him for months."
"I hev," said Dave. "He's a breaking his heart, lads, about big drain.
Comes over to see me and smoke his pipe. It'll 'bout kill him if his
rabbud-warren is took awaya. Bud dree-ern ar'n't done yet, lads, eh?"
Squire Winthorpe was of a different opinion that night when Dick reached
home after seeing Tom well on his way.
"They're going on famously now," he said to Mrs Winthorpe, who was
repairing the damage in one of Dick's garments.
"And was the meeting satisfied?"
"Yes, quite," said the squire. "We had a big meeting with the gentlemen
from London who are interested in the business, and they praised young
Mr Marston, the engineer, wonderfully fine young fellow too."
Dick pricked up his ears.
"I thought Mr Marston was coming to see us a deal, father!" he said.
"He's been away during the bad weather when the men couldn't work--up in
town making plans and things. He's coming over to-night."
"And do the people about seem as dissatisfied as ever about the work?"
said Mrs Winthorpe.
"I don't hear much about it," said the squire. "They'll soon settle
down to it when they find how things are improved. Well, Dick, plenty
of sport to-day?"
"Dave got plenty of pie-wipes' eggs, father. I didn't find many."
"Got enough to give Mr Marston a few?"
"Oh, yes, plenty for that! What time's he coming?"
"About eight, I should think. He's coming along the river bank after
his men have done."
"And going back, father?"
"Oh no! he'll sleep here to-night."
The squire went out to have his customary look round the farmstead
before settling down for the night, and Dick followed him. The thrushes
were piping; sounds of ducks feeding out in the fen came off the water,
and here and there a great shadowy-looking bird could be seen flapping
its way over the desolate waste, but everywhere there was the feeling of
returning spring in the air, and the light was lingering well in the
west, making the planet in the east look pale and wan.
Everything seemed to be all right. There was a loud muttering among the
fowls at roost. Solomon laid back his ears and twitched the skin of his
back as if he meant to kick when Dick went near the lean-to shed
supported on posts, thatched with reeds and built up against an old
stone wall in which there were the remains of a groined arch.
Everything about the Toft was at peace, and down toward the
wheelwright's the labourers' cottages were so still that it was evident
that some of the people had gone to bed.
The squire went on down the gravel slope, past the clump of firs, and by
the old ivied wall which marked the boundary of the ancient priory,
when, after crossing a field or two, they came to the raised bank which
kept the sluggish river within bounds.
"Looks cold and muddy, father," said Dick.
"Yes, not tempting for a bathe, Dick; but some day I hope to see a river
nearly as big as that draining our great fen."
"But don't you think it will be a pity, father?"
"Yes, for idle boys who want to pass their lives fishing, and for men
like Dave and John Warren. Depend upon it, Dick, it's the duty of every
man to try and improve what he sees about."
"But natural things look so beautiful, father!"
"In moderation, boy. Don't see any sign of Mr Marston yet, do you?"
"No, father," replied Dick after taking a long look over the desolate
level where the river wound between its raised banks toward the sea.
"Can't very well miss his way," said the squire, half to himself.
"Unless he came through the fen," said Dick.
"Oh, he wouldn't do that! He'd come along by the river wall, my boy;
it's longer, but better walking."
The squire walked back toward the house, turning off so as to approach
it by the back, where his men were digging for a great rain-water tank
to be made.
The men had not progressed far, for their way was through stones and
cement, which showed how, at one time, there must have been either a
boundary-wall or a building there; and as they stood by the opening the
latter was proved to be the case, for Dick stooped down and picked up a
piece of ancient roofing lead.
"Yes, Dick, this must have been a fine old place at one time," said the
squire. "Let's get back. Be a bit of a frost to-night, I think."
"I hope not, father."
"And I hope it will, my boy! I like to get the cold now, not when the
young trees are budding and blossoming."
They went in, to find the ample supper spread upon its snowy cloth and
the empty jug standing ready for the ale to be drawn to flank the pinky
ham, yellow butter, and well-browned young fowl.
"No, wife, no! Can't see any sign of him yet," said the squire. "Dick,
get me my pipe. I'll have just one while we're waiting. Hope he has
not taken the wrong road!"
"Do you think he has?" said Mrs Winthorpe anxiously. "It would be very
dangerous for him now it is growing dark."
"No, no; nonsense!" said the squire, filling his pipe from the stone
tobacco-jar Dick had taken from the high chimney-piece of the cosy, low,
oak-panelled room.
It was a curious receptacle, having been originally a corbel from the
bottom of a groin of the old building, and represented an evil-looking
grotesque head. This the squire had had hollowed out and fitted with a
leaden lid.
"Think we ought to go and meet him, father?" said Dick, after watching
the supper-table with the longing eyes of a young boy, and then taking
them away to stare at his mother's glistening needle and the soft grey
clouds from his father's pipe.
"No, Dick, we don't know which way to go. If we knew we would. Perhaps
he will not come at all, and I'm too tired to go far to-night."
Dick bent down and stroked Tibb, the great black cat, which began to
purr.
"Put on a few more turves, Dick, and a bit or two of wood," said his
mother. "Mr Marston may be cold."
Dick laid a few pieces of the resinous pine-root from the fen upon the
fire, and built up round it several black squares of well-dried peat
where the rest glowed and fell away in a delicate creamy ash. Then the
fir-wood began to blaze, and he returned to his seat.
"'Tatoes is done!" said a voice at the door, and the red-armed maid
stood waiting for orders to bring them in.
"Put them in a dish, Sarah, and keep them in the oven with the door
open. When Mr Marston comes you can put them in the best wooden bowl,
and cover them with a clean napkin before you bring them in," said Mrs
Winthorpe.
"Oh, I say, mother, I am so hungry! Mayn't I have one baked potato?"
"Surely you can wait, my boy, till our visitor comes," said Mrs
Winthorpe quietly.
Dick stared across at the maid as she was closing the door, and a look
of intelligence passed between them, one which asked a question and
answered it; and Dick knew that if he went into the great kitchen there
would be a mealy potato ready for him by the big open fireplace, with
butter _ad libitum_, and pepper and salt.
Dick sat stroking the cat for a few minutes and then rose, to go to the
long low casement bay-window, draw aside the curtain, and look out over
the black fen.
"Can't see him," he said with a sigh; and then, as no notice was taken
of his remark, he went slowly out and across the square stone-paved hall
to the kitchen, where, just as he expected, a great potato was waiting
for him by the peat-fire, and hot plate, butter, pepper, and salt were
ready.
"Oh, I say, Sarah, you are a good one!" cried Dick.
"I thought you'd come, Mester Dick," said the maid; and then, with a
start, "Gracious! what's that?"
"Sea-bird," said Dick shortly, and then he dropped the knife and ran
back to the parlour, for another cry came from off the fen.
"Hear that, father!" cried Dick.
"Hear it! yes, my lad. Quick! get your cap. My staff, mother," he
added. "Poor fellow's got in, p'r'aps."
The squire hurried out after Dick, who had taken the lead, and as they
passed out of the great stone porch the lad uttered a hail, which was
answered evidently from about a couple of hundred yards away.
"He has been coming across the fen path," said the squire. "Ahoy! don't
stir till we come."
"Shall we want the lantern, father?" cried Dick.
"No, no, my lad; we can see. Seems darker first coming out of the
light."
A fresh cry came from off the fen, and it was so unmistakably the word
"Help!" that the squire and his son increased their pace.
"Ahoy, there!" cried a big gruff voice.
"Hickathrift?"
"Ay, mester! Hear that! some un's in trouble over yonder."
The wheelwright's big figure loomed up out of the darkness and joined
them as they hurried on.
"Yes, I heard it. I think it must be Mr Marston missed his way."
"What! the young gent at the dreeaning! Hey, bud he'd no call to be out
theer."
"Where are you?" shouted Dick, who was ahead now and hurrying along the
track that struck off to the big reed-beds and then away over the fen to
the sea-bank.
"Here! help!" came faintly.
"Tak' care, Mester Dick!" cried Hickathrift as he and the squire
followed. "Why, he is reight off the path!"
"I'll take care!" shouted Dick. "Come on! All right; it isn't very
soft here!"
Long usage had made him so familiar with the place that he was able to
leave the track in the darkness and pick his way to where, guided by the
voice, he found their expected visitor, not, as he expected, up to his
middle in the soft peat, but lying prone.
"Why, Mr Marston, you're all right!" cried Dick. "You wouldn't have
hurt if you had come across here."
"Help!" came faintly from the prostrate traveller, and Dick caught his
arm, but only to elicit a groan.
"Well, he is a coward!" thought Dick. "Here, father! Hicky!"
"Rather soft, my boy!" said the squire.
"Ay, not meant for men o' our weight, mester," said the wheelwright; and
they had to flounder in the soft bog a little before they reached the
spot where Dick stood holding the young man's cold hand.
"He has fainted with fright, father," said Dick, who felt amused at
anyone being so alarmed out there in the darkness.
"Let me tackle him, mester," said the wheelwright.
"No; each take a hand, my lad," said the squire, "and then let's move
together for the path as quickly as possible."
"Reight!" cried Hickathrift, laconically; and, stooping down, they each
took a hand, and half ran half waded through the black boggy mud, till
they reached the path from which the young man had strayed.
"Poor chap! he were a bit scar'd to find himself in bog."
"Pity he ventured that way," said the squire.
"Here, Mr Marston, you're all right now," said Dick. "Can you get up
and walk?"
There was no answer, but the young man tried to struggle up, and would
have sunk down again had not the squire caught him round the waist.
"Poor lad! he's bet out. Not used to our parts," said Hickathrift.
"Here, howd hard, sir. Help me get him o' my back like a sack, and I'll
run him up to the house i' no time."
It seemed the best plan; and as the young man uttered a low moan he was
half lifted on to Hickathrift's broad back, and carried toward the
house.
"Run on, Dick, and tell your mother to mix a good glass of hollands and
water," said the squire.
Dick obeyed, and the steaming glass of hot spirits was ready as the
wheelwright bore in his load, and the young man was placed in a chair
before the glowing kitchen fire.
"My arm!" he said faintly.
"You wrenched his arm, Hicky," said Dick, "when you dragged him out."
"Very sorry, Mester Dick."
"Ugh!" cried the lad, who had laid his hand tenderly on their visitor's
shoulder.
"What is it?" cried Mrs Winthorpe.
"Blood. He has been hurt," said Dick.
"Shot! Here," said the young man in a whisper; and then his head sank
down sidewise, and he fainted dead away.
Mr Marston's faintly-uttered words sent a thrill through all present,
but no time was wasted. People who live in out-of-the-way places, far
from medical help, learn to be self-reliant, and as soon as Squire
Winthorpe realised what was wrong he gave orders for the injured man to
be carried to the couch in the dining parlour, where his wet jacket was
taken off by the simple process of ripping up the back seam.
"Now, mother, the scissors," said the squire, "and have some bandages
ready. You, Dick, if it's too much for you, go away. If it isn't:
stop. You may want to bind up a wound some day."
Dick felt a peculiar sensation of giddy sickness, but he tried to master
it, and stood looking on as the shirt sleeve was cut open, and the young
man's white arm laid bare to the shoulder, displaying an ugly wound in
the fleshy part.
"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.