The two lads had left the grammar-school in the county town about a year
before in consequence of a terrible outbreak of fever; and, Mrs
Winthorpe declaring against their going back, they had been kept at
home. But though several plans had been proposed of sending them for
another year's education somewhere, the time had glided by, the business
of the draining had cropped up, and as the lads proved useful at times,
the school business kept on being deferred, to the delight of both, the
elongated holiday growing greatly to their taste. Even though they were
backward from a more modern point of view, they were not losing much,
for they were acquiring knowledge which would be useful to them in their
future careers, and in addition growing bone and muscle such as would
make them strong men.
Hence it was that the time glided pleasantly on, with the two lads
finding plenty of opportunities for the various amusements which
gratified them when not occupied in some way about the farms.
It was a few days after the conversation with the squire that Tom
proposed a turn after the fish in Hickathrift's boat.
"We could pole ourselves without Dave; and let's ask Mr Marston to
come. It's a long time since he has had a holiday."
Dick's brow was overcast, and he wore generally the aspect of a boy who
had partaken of baking pears for a week, but his face cleared at this,
and he eagerly joined in the plan.
"We'll get Hicky to lend us his boat, and pole down as far as we can,
and then run across to Mr Marston."
Their preparations did not take long, and though they were made before
they knew whether they could have the punt, they did not anticipate any
objections, and they were right.
Hickathrift was busy sawing, but he looked up with a broad grin, and
leaving his work went down with them to the water side.
"Course I'll lend it to you, lads," he said. "Wish I could come wi'
you."
"Do, then, Hicky. It's a long time since we've had a fish."
"Nay; don't ask me," was the reply. "I wean't leave the work. Ay, bud
it's nice to be a boy," he added, with a smile.
"Couldn't you do your work afterward?" cried Tom.
"Nay, nay, don't tempt a poor weak fellow," he cried. "I'm going to do
that bit o' sawing 'fore I leave it. Now, theer, in wi' you!"
The boys made another appeal to the great fellow to come; but he was
staunch. Still he uttered a sigh of relief as he gave the punt a
tremendous thrust from the bank into deep water, where it went rustling
by the willow boughs and over the wild growth where the pink-blossomed
persicaria sent up its pretty heads.
"If we had pressed Hicky a little more, I believe he would have come,"
said Dick.
"No, he wouldn't. He never will when he says he won't."
Just at that moment Hickathrift was muttering to himself on the bank, as
he watched the boat.
"Straange thing," he said, "that a girt big man like I am should allus
feel like a boy. I wanted to go wi' they two straange and badly. I
will go next time."
Taking it in turns, the boys sent the punt quickly over the amber water,
the exercise in the bright sunshine chasing the clouds from Dick's
countenance, so that before they reached their intended landing-place on
the edge of the mere, as near as they could go to the spot where Mr
Marston's men were at work, he was once more his old self, laughing,
reckoning on the fish they would catch with the trimmers that lay ready,
and forgetting for the time all about the plots to injure the drain and
its projectors.
There was a low patch of alders at the spot where they intended to land,
and Dick was just about to run the punt close in, when he suddenly
ceased poling and stood motionless staring before him.
"What's the matter?" cried Tom.
There was no answer, in fact none was needed, for at that moment Tom's
eyes fell upon the object which had arrested his companion's action, to
wit, the flabby, unpleasant-looking face of Thorpeley, the constable,
that individual being seated by the low bushes smoking his pipe in a
position where he must have been watching the lads ever since they
started.
Dick's teeth gave forth a peculiar gritting sound, and then, thrusting
down the pole, he ran in the punt, leaped on to the quivering shore with
the rope, fastened it to a bush, and signed to Tom to follow.
The man said nothing, but there was a curiously aggravating leering grin
upon his countenance as he sat taking in every movement on the part of
the boys, who walked away rapidly with the full knowledge that they were
followed.
"Don't look back, Tom," said Dick between his teeth. "Oh, how I should
have liked to give him a topper with the pole!"
"I wish old Dave was here to pitch him in the water," growled Tom.
"Did you ever see anything so aggravating? He's following us. I can
hear his boots. Don't take any notice. Let's go on fast as if he
wasn't there."
"I don't know that I can," grumbled Tom. "I feel alloverish like."
"Feel how?"
"As if I couldn't do as I liked. My head wants to turn round and look
at him, my tongue wants to call him names, and my toes itch, and my
fists want to feel as if it would be like punching a sack of corn to hit
him in the nose."
"Come along!" cried Dick, who was too angry to laugh at his companion's
remarks. "Let's make haste to Mr Marston."
As they reached the works the first man they encountered was big Bargle,
who stuck his spade into the soft peat and came slowly up the
embankment, to stand wiping his fist on his side, before opening it and
holding it out, smiling broadly the while.
He shook hands with both lads, and then went back to his work smiling;
and as they walked on they could hear him say confidentially to all
around him:
"We're mates, we are, lads; we're mates."
The engineer was coming towards them; and as they met, Dick unfolded his
plan, but before he had half-finished his words trailed off, and he
stopped short. For the severe countenance before him checked his
utterance.
"No," said Mr Marston, shortly. "I am too busy. Good day!"
He went on to speak to his men, and Dick looked at Tom with a dismal
expression of countenance which spoke volumes.
"Come along back!" he said.
Tom obeyed without a word, and glancing neither to the right nor left,
the two boys walked heavily back over the dry surface of the quaking
bog, so as to reach their boat.
Before they had travelled half-way they met Thorpeley, who leered at
them in a sinister way, and, as they passed on, turned and followed at a
distance.
"Look here, Dick," whispered Tom, "let's give him something to think
about. Come along!"
Tom started running as if in a great state of excitement, and Dick
followed involuntarily, while after a momentary hesitation the constable
also began to run.
"I say, don't go that way," said Dick, as his companion struck off to
the left. "Bog's soft there."
"I know: come along! Keep on the tufts."
Dick understood Tom's low chuckling laugh, which was just like that of a
cuckoo in a bush, and divining that the object was to reach the boat by
a detour, he did not slacken his speed.
Long familiarity with the worst parts of the fen enabled the lads to
pick their way exactly, and they went on bounding from tuft to tuft,
finding fairly firm ground for their feet as if by instinct, though very
often they were going gingerly over patches of bog which undulated and
sprang beneath their tread, while now and then they only saved
themselves from going through the dry coat of moss by making a
tremendous leap.
They had pretty well half a mile to run to reach the boat by the alder
bush, and the constable soon began to go heavily; but he was so
satisfied that the boys had some sinister design in view, and were
trying to throw him off their scent, that he put forth all his energies,
and as Dick glanced back once, it was to see him, hat in hand, toiling
along in the hot sun right in their wake.
"You'd better not go round there, Tom," said Dick as they approached a
patch of rushes. "It's very soft."
"I don't care if I go in; do you?" was the reply.
"No, I don't mind," said Dick sadly. "I don't seem to mind anything
now."
"Come along then," cried Tom; "and as we get round let's both look back
and then try to keep out of sight--pretend, you know."
They reached the patch of tall rushes and reeds, which was high enough
to hide them, and giving a frightened look back at their pursuer,
plunged out of sight.
"Oh, I say, isn't it soft?" cried Dick.
"Never mind: some people like it soft," said Tom. "Follow me."
He had arranged his plan so deftly that while keeping the patch of reeds
between them and their pursuer, Tom managed, with no little risk of
going through, to reach a second patch of the marsh growth, behind which
he dodged, and threw himself down, Dick following closely; and they were
well hidden and lay panting as the constable came round the first patch,
glanced round, and then made for a third patch still more to the left,
and beyond which was quite a copse of scrubby firs.
"Ho--ho--ho!" laughed Tom in a low voice, as he nearly choked with
mirth, for all at once there was a splash, a shout, a strange wallowing
noise, and as the lads parted and peered through the rushes they could
see that the constable was down and floundering in the bog.
"Oh, Tom," cried Dick, struggling up, "he'll be smothered!"
"Sit down; he won't. It'll be a lesson to him."
"But suppose--"
"No, don't suppose anything. He'll get out right enough."
The constable had a hard struggle for a few minutes, and doubtless would
have got out sooner if he had worked a little more with his brains; but
finally he crawled to firmer ground, just as a scuffle began between
Dick and Tom, the former being determined to go to his enemy's help, the
latter clinging to him with all his might to keep him back.
"Now, come along down to the boat. We can get nearly there before he
sees us," whispered Tom.
"But do you think he will get back safe?"
"Of course he will. He won't try to run any more."
Dick took a long look at the constable to see that he was really out of
danger, and feeling satisfied at last that there was nothing to mind, he
followed Tom once more, the two managing so well that after losing sight
of them altogether for some time, their inquisitive pursuer had the
mortification of seeing them enter the punt and push off, leaving him to
make a long and tedious circuit, crawling part of the way, and when he
stood erect, wanting as he was in the boys' experience, making very slow
progress to the regular track.
As soon as the excitement was over, and the boat reached once more,
Dick's gloomy feelings came back, and but for his companion's efforts he
would have relapsed into a mournfully depressed condition, which would
have done little towards making their trip agreeable.
Tom, however, worked hard, and using the pole with vigour he drove the
punt along, till Dick roused up from a fit of musing on his father's
severe looks and Mr Marston's distant manner, to find that they were
close to Dave's home.
"Why have you come here?" he cried.
"To see how he is," replied Tom; and, thrusting down his pole, he soon
had the punt ashore.
"Why, he isn't at home!" said Dick.
His words proved correct, for the punt was missing, and unless it lay on
the other side of an alder patch or was drawn out to be repaired, the
master must have it far away somewhere on the mere.
It need not be supposed that the two lads were troubled with more
curiosity than is the property of most boys of their age, because they
landed and looked round, ending by going up to the fen-man's hut and
entering.
It was not a particularly cleanly place, but everything there, dealing
as it did with Dave's pursuits, had its attraction, from the gun hanging
upon a couple of wooden pegs to the nets and lines above the rough
bed-place, with its sheep-skins and dingy-looking blanket.
"I should like to take the gun and have a turn by ourselves," said Dick,
gazing at the long rusty piece longingly.
But it remained untouched, and, returning to the boat, the boys pushed
off and made for the more remote portion of the fen, passing from one
open lake to another as they followed the long meandering lanes of
water, in and out among reed-beds and alder patches, islands of
bog-plants, islets of sedge, and others where the gravel and sand
enabled the purple heather and lavender ling to blow profusely, in
company with here and there a little gorgeous orange-yellow furze.
The hours went by, and the sun was declining fast as they neared at
length a spot which had attracted them for some time past. It was
either a little promontory or an isthmus, where the ground was strong
enough for fir-trees to flourish, and this promised dry ground, wood,
and a good site for a little hut if they set one up.
Dick brightened at the sight, for there was a cheering notion in his
mind that he was going to find rest, peace, and happiness here in a
little home of his own making, to which he could retire from the world
to fish, shoot, and eat the fruits he would be able to gather in the
season.
In short, Dick Winthorpe, being in a marsh, was suffering from a sharp
fit of goose, such as attacks many boys who, because matters do not go
exactly as they like at home, consider that they are ill-used, and long
for what they call their freedom--a freedom which is really slavery,
inasmuch as they make themselves the bond-servants of their silly
fancies, and it takes some time to win them back.
The clump of firs here, which they had before seen at a distance,
surpassed their expectations, for it was a good-sized island, far from
the shore, and promised fishing, fowling, and security from
interruption, for it was not likely that any one would venture there.
But the evening was rapidly coming on, and the punt's head was turned
homewards, the distance they had come proving startling, as they began
now to feel that they were very hungry, and that they had hours of work
before them before they could reach the Toft.
"Not many fish to land," said Dick rather dismally.
"Why, you wouldn't fish!" replied Tom. "Never mind, we've found the
island. Shall we build a place?"
Dick's reply was in the affirmative, and for the next two hours they
debated on the subject of what they should take over, and how soon, and
so passed the time away till after dark, when, being still quite a mile
from home, there came the sharp report of a gun, and then they fancied
that they heard a cry.
"Why, who can be shooting now?" said Dick in an awe-stricken whisper.
"Is anything wrong?"
"I don't know. Look! look!"
Tom whispered these words, and pointed in the opposite direction, to a
lambent light which seemed to be moving slowly over the marshy edge of
the mere.
The light was in a portion of the shore where the mere narrowed; and the
two lads let the boat drift as they sat and watched, each thinking of
the place in the light of experience.
"Why, Tom, that can't be a boat," whispered Dick.
"Boat! No, it's land there."
"Land! It's soft bog that nobody could walk on!"
"Then it couldn't be a boat. Why, it's a will-o'-the-wisp."
"Yes," said Dick, after a sceptical pause, during which he watched the
lambent light as it played about in a slow fantastic way, just as if it
were a softly-glowing lantern carried by a short-winged moth, which used
it to inspect the flowering plants as it sought for a meal. "Let's go
over and look at it."
"No, no! no, no!" whispered Tom excitedly.
"Why not? Are you afraid?"
"No, not a bit; but I don't want to go. I'm tired and hungry. I don't
believe you want to go either."
"Yes, I do," said Dick eagerly. "I feel as if I wanted to go, but my
body didn't."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Tom, but very softly, as he kept his eyes fixed on
the distant light. "That's a nice way of backing out of it. Why,
you're as much afraid as I am, only I'm honest and you're not."
"Yes, I am," whispered Dick. "I'm as honest as you are, and I'll show
you that I am. There, I should feel afraid to go by myself."
"Will you go if I go with you?"
Before Dick could answer there was a long, low, piteous cry from the
other direction, that from whence they had heard the shot.
"I say, what's that?" whispered Tom in an awe-stricken tone.
"I don't know. It sounds very queer. There it is again."
"Is it a bird?" whispered Tom.
"No. I never heard a bird cry like that."
"What is it then--a fox trapped?"
"Nobody would trap the foxes, and it can't be a rabbit, because that
would be a squeal."
The cry came again over the dark water of the mere, and sounded so
strange and weird that Dick shivered.
"It's something queer," said Tom huskily. "Take the pole and let's get
away. Don't make a noise."
"But--"
"No, no; don't stop. We don't know what it is. Perhaps it's one of
those things Hicky talks about that he has heard sometimes."
"Father says it's all nonsense, and there are no such things in the
fens."
"He'd better say there are no will-o'-the-wisps to lead people astray,"
whispered Tom.
"He doesn't say that. He says there are jack-o'-lanterns, but they
don't lead people astray--people go astray to try and catch them."
"Hist! there it is again!" said Tom, gripping his companion's arm, as
the long piteous cry came faintly over the water. "It is something
horrible!"
"It isn't," said Dick. "It's someone in distress."
"People in distress never cry out like that."
"Why, Tom, it's that Thorpeley stuck in the mud somewhere; and it's our
doing."
"It's his own if he is stuck there. But I don't believe it is. Why,
it's two miles nearer home than where we left him."
"Then it's somebody else in trouble," said Dick excitedly.
"It isn't. Let's go home."
Tom was, as a rule, no coward; but he was faint and tired, and the very
fact of being seated out on the dark waters with the gloom so thick that
they could see but a short distance, and with an unnatural-looking light
on one side and a strange marrow-thrilling cry coming on the other, was
enough to startle stouter-hearted lads than he, and he held more tightly
to his companion as Dick seized the pole.
"Let's get back home," he said again.
"You said I was afraid to go to the will o' the wisp," said Dick
stoutly. "You're afraid to go now and see what it is makes that noise."
"Well, I can't help it," said Tom appealingly; "but if you go I shall go
with you. There, listen! Isn't it horrible!"
He spoke as the cry came again faintly but piteous in the extreme.
Dick drove the pole down into the soft bottom of the mere and sent the
punt surging through the water, determined now to go straight to the
spot whence the cry seemed to come; and, guided by the sound, he toiled
away for about ten minutes before giving way to Tom, who worked hard to
reach the place.
For, once the two lads had taken action, they seemed to forget their
nervous dread, while what was more encouraging to them to proceed was
the fact that as they reduced the distance the cries gradually seemed to
be more human, and were evidently those of some person in peril or great
distress.
It was a weird strange journey over the water now, the excitement lent
by their mission seeming to change the aspect of all around. The reeds
whispered, the patches of growth looked black, and every now and then
they disturbed some water-fowl, whose hurried flight seemed suddenly to
have become mysterious and awe-inspiring, as if it were a creature of
the darkness which had been watching their coming and had risen to hover
round.
But there was the cry again and again, sometimes faint and distant,
sometimes sounding as if close at hand, and, as is often the case,
apparently varying in position to right or left as it was borne by the
soft night wind.
"We cannot go any farther," cried Dick at last as he drove the boat in
amongst the broad belt of reeds which fringed the edge of the mere.
"Yes, we can. There's a way here," cried Tom excitedly, pointing
through the gloom to his left where there was an opening. "Coming!" he
yelled as the cry rose once more.
Dick backed the boat out, with the reeds whistling and rustling
strangely, and the next minute he had it right in the gloomy opening,
which proved to be quite a little bay, where, at the end of a few good
thrusts of the pole, the prow of the punt bumped up against the
quivering moss.
The two boys got out cautiously; the pole was driven down into the peat,
and the boat made fast; and then they paused and listened for the next
cry.
Everything now was perfectly silent, not so much as the whisper of a
reed or the whir of the wing of a nightbird fell upon their ears; and at
last, in an awe-stricken whisper, Tom said:
"Hicky is right. It was something strange from out of the marsh. Let's
get away."
Dick was stouter-hearted than his companion, and lifting his voice he
shouted, and then stood silent.
"Help! help!" came faintly in reply.
"There!" cried Dick turning sharply. "It's a man."
"Think so?"
"Why, of course! Come along! Here, I can see where we are now."
"Yes, I think I know where we are," whispered Tom. "But is it safe to
go after it?"
"You mean after _him_," said Dick. "Yes, it's pretty firm here--yes,
it's all right. We're amongst heath and bilberry as soon as we get by
this bit of bog. Hoy! shout again," he cried as he plodded on
cautiously, with his feet sometimes sinking in the bog, sometimes
finding it pretty firm.
But there was no answer; and though as far as was possible Dick walked
in the direction of the sound, the guidance was of the most
unsatisfactory nature, and at the end of a minute or two they listened
again.
"It must be that Thorpeley regularly bogged," said Dick at last, and a
curious shiver ran through him. "I hope he hasn't sunk in."
"He couldn't," said Tom. "I know this part. It's all firm ground
between the water and the track to the sea."
"I can't quite make out where we are," said Dick, staring about him.
"I can. There's the big alder clump, and beyond it there's the river
wall." [Mud embankment.]
"So it is. Yes, I know now. Why, it is all firm about here, and nobody
could be bogged unless he got into a hole. Ahoy!"
He shouted once more, but there was no answer; and when he raised his
voice again it was only for the sound to seem to come back, just as if
they were shut up in some large room.
"He must be hereabout," said Dick.
"Shall we find our way back to the boat?" said Tom in a doubting tone.
"I don't know, but if we don't we could walk home in half an hour. Come
along. Ahoy!"
Still no answer; and in spite of his companion's suggestions and strange
doubts Dick kept on hunting about in the darkness among the patches of
alders and the heath that here grew freely. For, save in places, the
ground was sandy and firm, and, dark as it was, they had no difficulty
in making out the watery spots by their faint gleam or the different
character of the growth.
They shouted in turns and together, listening, going in different
directions, and all to no purpose. Not a sound could they get in reply;
and at last, with a curious feeling of horror stealing over him,
compounded of equal parts of superstition and dread lest the person
whose cry they had heard had sunk in the mire of some hole, Dick
reluctantly gave way to Tom's suggestion that they should go back to the
boat.
"I knew it was something queer," whispered Tom. "If we had gone on, we
should have been led into some dangerous hole and lost."
"Don't believe it," said Dick, as they trudged slowly back, utterly
worn-out and hoarse with shouting.
"You're such a doubting fellow!" grumbled Tom. "If it had been anybody
in distress we should have found him."
"Perhaps," said Dick sadly. "It's so dark, though, that we might have
passed him over."
"Nonsense!" cried Tom; "we were sure to find him. There wasn't anybody.
It was a marsh cry, and--oh!"
Tom uttered a yell and went headlong down, with the effect of so
startling his companion that he ran a few steps before he could recover
his nerve, when he returned to extend his hand to Tom, who rose
trembling, while Dick stood staring aghast at the dark figure lying
extended among the heath, and over which his friend had stumbled.
"Why, Tom, it's Thorpeley!" cried Dick, as he went down on one knee and
peered into the upturned face. "Mr Thorpeley, Mr Thorpeley!" he
cried; "what's the matter?"
There was no reply.
"It must have been him," whispered Dick. "He had lost his way."
"Then let him find it again," grumbled Tom, "instead of watching us."
"But perhaps there is something the matter. Mr Thorpeley, Mr
Thorpeley!"
Dick laid his hand upon the man's shoulder and shook him, but there was
no response.
"Is he dead?" said Tom in an awe-stricken whisper.
"Dead!" cried Dick, leaping up and shrinking away at the suggestion.
"No, he can't be. He's quite warm," he added, going down on his knee
again to shake the recumbent man, who now uttered a low groan.
"What shall we do, Dick?" said Tom huskily. "I hate him, but we can't
leave him here."
"Well," said Dick, "I'm not very fond of him, but it would be like
leaving anybody to die to go away now. We must carry him down to the
boat."
"Come on then, quick!"
Dick placed his hands beneath the constable's arms and locked his
fingers across his breast, while Tom turned his back as he got between
the man's legs, stooped in turn, and proceeded to lift them as if they
were the handles of a wheel-barrow.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Then both together."
The two lads lifted the constable, staggered along a few yards, and set
him down again.
"Oh, I say!" groaned Tom. "Isn't he heavy?"
"Come and try this end," retorted Dick. "He's an awful weight. We must
go a few yards at a time, and we shall do it yet. Now then."
"Stop a minute," said Tom, who had picked up a handful of moss, and was
rubbing one hand. "I--it's warm and sticky, and--oh, Dick, he's
bleeding."
Dick lowered the insensible man down again, and, shuddering with horror,
stepped to his companion's side.
Then kneeling down he tried to examine the spot pointed out by Tom, to
find out as well as was possible in the dim light that the constable was
bleeding freely from one leg.
"Dick, what shall we do?" cried Tom piteously.
"Why, what would anybody do if he had cut his finger?" cried Dick
manfully, as he undid his neckcloth and doubled it afresh.
"I don't know," cried Tom, who was sadly scared.
"You don't know! Suppose you had cut your finger, wouldn't you tie it
up?"
"Yes, I suppose so," faltered Tom, whom the situation had completely
unnerved.
"Take off his neckerchief while I tie this on," said Dick, whom the
emergency had rendered more helpful. "How can he have hurt himself like
this?"
As he spoke he busied himself in tightly bandaging the man's leg, and
added to the bandage the cotton cloth that Tom handed to him.
"I think that has stopped it," said Dick. "Now then, we must carry him
down."
"But we shall sink into the bog with him," faltered Tom.
"No, we sha'n't if we are careful. Now, then, are you ready?"
"I don't like to try and lift him now," said Tom. "It's so horrible.
The man's bleeding to death."
"More shame for you to stand still and not try to help him," said Dick
hotly. "Here, you come and carry this end."
Tom hastened to obey, heedless of the fact that the task would be the
harder; and setting to with a will, the lads carried their load a few
yards before setting it down again to rest.
This time, in spite of Tom's appeal not to be left alone, Dick went on
for a bit so as to explore and make sure of the best way to get back to
the boat, and not without avail, for he was able, in spite of the
darkness, to pick out the firmest ground, his knowledge of the growth of
the fen and its choice of soil helping him.
But it was a long and painful task. The lads were faint and terribly
hungry. They had been working hard for several hours propelling the
punt, and the load they were carrying would not have been an easy one
for a couple of stout men. Still, by means of that wonderful aid to
success, perseverance, they at last got past bog and water-pool, patch
of sphagnum, bed of reed, and slimy hollow, where the cotton rushes
nourished, and reached the belt of waving reeds which separated them
from the water.
It was not done without tremendous effort and a constant succession of
rests; but they stood there at last bathed in perspiration, and waiting
for a few minutes before lifting the sufferer into the boat.
Up to this time they had been so busy and excited that they had not
paused to ask the question: How was it that the man had been wounded?
but as they lifted him carefully into the boat, Tom being in and Dick
ashore, they both burst out with the query, as if moved by the same
spring.
"I know," said Dick, as the truth seemed to flash upon him. "Some one
must have shot him."
Tom had taken up the pole and was just about to force the boat along
when this announcement seemed to paralyse him, and he stood there
thinking of what had taken place before.
"Why, Dick," he whispered, "isn't it very horrible?"
"Don't talk," cried his companion, entering the boat; "let's get home."
The pole plashed in the water, which rippled against the bows, and once
more they glided over the surface, just as the injured man uttered a low
groan.
"We sha'n't be very long," said Dick, kneeling down and carefully
feeling whether the kerchiefs he had bound round the leg were fulfilling
their purpose. "Are you in much pain?"
"Pain!" groaned the man. "Hah! Give me some water."
There was no vessel of any kind in the punt, and Dick had to scoop up
some water in the hollow of his hand, and pour it between the injured
man's lips, with the result that he became sufficiently refreshed to sit
up a little and begin muttering.
Dick now took the pole, and it was Tom's turn to try and administer a
little comfort in the shape of words as to the time that would elapse
before they could reach the Toft; but the only result was to produce an
angry snarl from their patient.
"How does he seem?" Dick asked, as Tom went to his relief.
"Better not ask him."
"Why not?"
"Perhaps he'll bite you. He nearly did me. I say, how much farther is
it?"
"Take another quarter of an hour. Oh, I shall be glad, Tom! Work
hard."
Tom looked in his companion's face, and uttered a low laugh, as he
toiled away at the poling, and that laugh seemed to say more than a
dozen long speeches. Then there was nothing heard for some time but the
regular plash and ripple of the water, as it was disturbed by pole and
punt, while the darkness seemed to increase. At the same time, though,
the hopes of the two lads rose high, for, standing as it were alone in
the midst of the black darkness, there was a soft yellow light. At
first it was so dull and lambent that it suggested thoughts of the
will-o'-the-wisp. But this was no dancing flame, being a steady glow in
one fixed spot, and Tom expressed his companion's thoughts exactly as he
exclaimed:
"There's Hicky's old horn lanthorn!"
A few minutes more and the big bluff voice of the wheelwright was heard
in a loud hail.
This was answered, and the sounds roused the wounded man.
"Nearly there?" he said hoarsely.
"Very close now," replied Dick; and snatching the pole from Tom he drove
it down vigorously, making a tremendous spurt to reach the patch of old
pollard willows by the landing-place, on one of whose old posts the
lanthorn had been hung, and beyond which could now be seen the light in
the Hickathrifts' cot.
"Why, I was a-coming swimming after you, lads," shouted Hickathrift.
"You scarred me. Squire's been down twiced to see if you'd got back,
and the missus is in a fine way."
"Don't talk, Hicky," shouted back Dick. "Is Jacob there?"
"Ay, lad. Why?"
"You'll want help. Look here, send for the doctor."
"Doctor, lad?"
"Yes; I know. Let Jacob go and tell my father, and he'll send down the
old cob. Thorpeley's hurt badly."
They heard a low whistle, then the wheelwright's orders given sharply to
his apprentice, followed by the dull _thud, thud_ of his boots as he ran
off; and directly after the punt glided in and its bow was seized by the
big strong hand upon which the soft glowing light of the horn lanthorn
shone.
"Hey, but what's the matter with the man?" cried Hickathrift. "We've
been wondering why he didn't come back."
"I don't know, only we heard a shot," said Dick excitedly; "and then we
heard someone calling for help, and found him lying ashore."
"Let me get a good howd on him," said the wheelwright; and with one foot
in the boat he passed his great arm under the constable and lifted him
out as tenderly as if he had been a child.
But, gentle as was the wheelwright's act, it roused the injured man, who
seemed to be driven into a fit of fury by the pain he suffered, and he
burst into a torrent of bad language against Hickathrift and the two
boys, which he kept up till he had been carried into his lodging and
laid upon his bed.
"Hey, lads," said the wheelwright with a low chuckle, as he walked down
with the boys to where the lanthorn still hung upon the willow-stump,
the care of the constable having been left to the women; "he don't seem
to hev lost his tongue."
"But he's very bad, isn't he?" said Dick anxiously.
"I should say no," replied Hickathrift. "Man who's very badly don't
call people."
"But his leg?"
"Ay, that's badly. I give the hankycher a good tighten up, and that hot
him, so that he had to howd his tongue."
"That made him hold his tongue, Hicky?"
"Ay, lad. I med him feel that if he didn't shoot his neb, I'd pull
tighter, and so he quieted down. Now, tell us all about it."
"Give us some bread and butter first, Hicky; we're nearly starved."
"Hey, lads," cried the wheelwright. "Here, coom in to missus and--"
Hickathrift's speech was cut short by the coming of the squire, who
hurried up.
"Here, boys," he cried; "what's all this?"
Dick told all he knew, and the squire drew a long breath and turned by
the light of the lanthorn to gaze first in the lads' faces, and then to
speak to the wheelwright.
"This is bad, Hickathrift," he said hoarsely.
As he spoke he gazed searchingly at the great workman.
"Ay, squire; it is a straange awkard thing."
Mr Winthorpe gazed in his great frank face again; and then, with his
lips compressed, he went to the bed-side of the injured man.
"Bad business," said Hickathrift; "but lads mustn't starve because a
constable's shot. Coom along. Here, missus, let's hev bit o'--Nay,
she's gone to see the neighbours, and hev a bit o' ruckatongue." [A
gossip.]
That did not much matter, for Hickathrift knew the ways of his own
house; and in a very short time had placed a loaf and a piece of cold
bacon before the hungry boys.
This they attacked furiously, for now that they were relieved of the
responsibility of the injured man, their hunger had asserted itself.
But they had not partaken of many mouthfuls before they heard the
squire's voice outside, in hurried conversation with Hickathrift.
"Yes, I sent him off directly on the cob," the squire said; "but it must
be some hours before the doctor can get here."
"Think he's very badly, squire?" came next, in Hickathrift's deep bass.
"No, not very bad as to his wound, my lad; but this is a terrible
business."
"Ay, mester, it is trubble. Straange thing to hev first one man shot
and then another. Say, squire, hope it wean't be our turn next."
"Go on eating, Tom," whispered Dick, setting the example, and cutting a
slice for his companion, while Tom hacked the bread.
"I'm hard at work," said Tom thickly. "I shall eat as much as ever I
can, and make mother give Hicky a piece o' chine."
"So will I," said Dick; "and a couple o' chickens."
The hungry lad had taken a piece of pink-fleshed bacon upon his fork,
and was about to transfer it to his mouth, when he stopped short with
his lips apart and eyes staring, while Tom let fall his knife and thrust
his chair back over the stone floor.
They had been eating and listening to the conversation outside, till it
reached its climax in the following words:
"What, man? You don't know what he says."
"What he says!" chuckled the wheelwright. "Ay, I heerd what he said; a
whole heap o' bad words till I checked him, and let him feel he'd best
howd his tongue."
"But you know what he says about who shot at him?"
"Nay, but if he says as it were me, I'll go and pitch him into the
watter."
"You did not hear, then?" cried the squire, huskily. "Hickathrift, he
says it was done by those boys!"
"What!" roared the wheelwright.
"It's a lie, father!" shouted Dick, recovering himself and running out.
"Here, ask Tom."
"Why, of course it's a lie," cried Tom.
"But that man says--" cried the squire.
"Yah!" shouted Hickathrift angrily, "they never shot him; they heven't
got no goon."