Chapter 14. Hicky's Opinions

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_ CHAPTER FOURTEEN. HICKY'S OPINIONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ay, lads, I seen him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, what did you do then?"

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

"What did you go to him for?"

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

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

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

"Who says so?"

"The bone-setter."

"Well, is it getting better, Hicky?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

"Yes; you've got one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you don't want it."

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

"Can you see Mr Marston from here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah, but is it a man?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh yes, I should!"

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

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

Mr Marston welcomed the lads warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

"That it is, my lad."

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

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

"Half a mile," said Dick.

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

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

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

"Then it must have belonged to the Danes."

"Danes or Saxons, Dick."

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

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

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

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

"Before the peat began to form!"

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

"And was that farther back?"

"Perhaps thousands of years before the Danes first landed. The peat preserves the wood, Tom. Bog is not rotten mud, but the decayed masses that have grown in the watery expanse. Well, Dick, what do you think of it?"

"I wish we could get it home to our place to keep as a curiosity?"

"But it would want a shed over it, my lad, for the rain, wind, and sun would soon make an end of it."

"Then, what are you going to do?"

"Get it out and up that slope they are cutting, along some planks if we can, and then fill up the trench."

The lads inspected the curious-looking old hull, whose aspect seemed to bring up recollections of the history of early England, when fierce-looking men, half sailors, half warriors, came over from the Norland in boats like this, propelled by great oars, and carrying a short thick mast and one sail. All the upper portions had rotted away, but enough of the hull remained to show pretty well what its shape must have been, and that it had had a curiously-projecting place that must have curved out like the neck of a bird, the whole vessel having borne a rough resemblance to an elongated duck or swan.

The boys were, however, by no means so enthusiastic as the engineer; and as a great figure came looming up behind them, Dick was ready enough to welcome the incident of the man's reminder about the disturbance at the Toft.

"We're mates, we are," cried the great fellow, holding out his broad hairy hand to take Dick's in his grasp, and shake it steadily up and down. "I heven't forgot, I heven't forgot."

"Are you all right again, Bargle?" said Dick, trying in vain to extricate his hand.

"Yeees. Knock o' the yead don't hot me. See here."

He slowly drew out of his pocket a great piece of dark-yellow ivory, evidently the point, and about a foot in length, of the tusk of some animal, probably an elephant.

"Theer's what I promised you, lad. That's a tush, that is. What yer think o' that?"

Dick did not seem to know what to think of it, but he expressed his gratitude as well as he could, and had to shake hands again and again with the great fellow, who seemed to take intense delight in smiling at Dick and shaking his head at him.

How long this scene would have lasted it is impossible to say; but at last, as it was growing irksome, there came a shout from the end of the drain.

"They've found something else," said Mr Marston; and the lads needed no telling to hasten their steps, for the finding of _something_ buried in the peat could not fail to prove interesting; but in this case the discovery was startling to the strongest nerves.

As they neared the end of the drain where the men were slowly delving out the peat, and a section of the bog was before them showing about twelve feet of, the wet black soil, Mr Marston stepped eagerly forward, and the group of men who were standing together opened out to let him and his companions pass through.

Dick shuddered at the object before him: the figure of a man clothed apparently in some kind of leather garb, and partly uncovered from the position it had occupied in the peat.

"Some un been murdered and berrid," growled Bargle, who was close behind.

"No, my man," said Mr Marston, taking a spade and cutting down some more of the turf, so as to lay bare the figure from the middle of the thigh to the feet.

"Lemme come," growled Bargle, striding forward and almost snatching the sharp spade from his leader's hand.

"Don't hurt it," cried Mr Marston, giving way.

"Nay, no fear o' hotting him," growled Bargle, grinning, and, bending to his work, he deftly cut away the black peat till the figure stood before them upright in the bog as if fitted exactly in the face of the section like some brownish-black fossil of a human being.

It was the figure of a man in a leather garb, and wearing a kind of gaiters bound to the legs by strips of hide which went across and across from the instep to far above the knee. There was a leathern girdle about the waist, and one hand was slightly raised, as if it had held a staff or spear, but no remains of these were to be seen. Probably the head had once been covered, but it was bare now, and a quantity of long shaggy hair still clung to the dark-brown skin, the face being half covered by a beard; and, in spite of the brown-black leathery aspect of the face, and the contracted skin, it did not seem half so horrible as might have been supposed.

"Why, boys," said Mr Marston after a long examination, "this might be the body of someone who lived as long back as the date when that old galley was in use."

"So long back as that!" cried Dick, looking curiously at the strange figure, whose head was fully six feet below the surface of the bog.

"Got a-walking across in the dark, and sinked in," said Bargle gruffly.

That might or might not have been the case. At any rate there was the body of a man in a wonderful state of preservation, kept from decay by the action of the peat; and, judging from the clothing, the body must have been in its position there for many hundred years.

"What's got to be done now?" said Bargle. "We want to get on."

Mr Marston gave prompt orders, which resulted in a shallow grave being dug in the peat about fifty yards from where the drain was being cut, and in this the strange figure was carefully laid, ready for exhumation by any naturalist who should wish to investigate farther; and after this was done, and a careful search made for remains of weapons or coins, the cutting of the drain progressed; till, after an enjoyable day with the engineer, the boys said good-bye, and tried to escape without having to shake hands with Bargle.

But this was not to be. The big fellow waylaid them, smiling and holding out his hand to Dick for a farewell grip, and a declaration that they were mates.

About half-way back, and just as it was growing toward sundown, they were met by Hickathrift, who came up smiling, and looking like a Bargle carefully smoothed down.

"Thought I'd see you safe back," said Hickathrift so seriously that a feeling of nervousness which had not before existed made the boys glance round and look suspiciously at a reed-bed on one side and a patch of alders on the other.

"What are you talking like that for?" cried Dick angrily; "just as if we couldn't walk along here and be quite safe! What is there to mind?"

The wheelwright shook his head and looked round uneasily, as if he too felt the influence of coming danger; but no puff of smoke came from clump of bushes or patch of reeds; no sharp report rose from the alders that fringed part of the walk, and they reached the wheelwright's cottage without adventure.

Here Hickathrift began to smile in a peculiar way, and, having only one hand at liberty, he made use of it to grip Dick by the arm, and use him as if he were an instrument or tool for entrapping Tom, with the result that he packed them both into his cottage, and into the presence of his wife, who was also smiling, as she stood behind a cleanly-scrubbed table, upon which was spread a tempting-looking supper.

"Here, Hicky, don't! What do you mean?" cried Dick, whom the great fellow's grip punished.

"Wittles," said the wheelwright, indulging in a broad grin.

"Oh, nonsense! We're off home. Tom Tallington's going to have supper with me."

"Nay, he's going to hev his supper here along o' uz," said Hickathrift. "Didn't I say, missus, I'd bring 'em home?"

"Yes, Mester Dick," cried Mrs Hickathrift; "and thank ye kindly, do stop."

"Oh, but we must get back!" cried Dick, who shrank from partaking of the wheelwright's kindly hospitality.

"Theer, I towd you so," cried Mrs Hickathrift to her husband, and speaking in an ill-used tone. "They're used to table-cloths, and squire's wife's got silver spoons."

"Nay, nay, never mind the cloths and spoons, Mester Dick; stop and have a bite."

"But, Hicky--"

"Nay, now," cried the wheelwright interrupting; "don't thee say thou'rt not hungry."

"I wasn't going to," said Dick, laughing, "because I am horribly hungry. Aren't you, Tom?"

Tom showed his teeth. It was meant for a smile, but bore a wonderful resemblance to a declaration of war against the food upon the table.

"Don't be proud, then, lad. Stop. Why, you nivver knew me say I wouldn't when I've been at your place."

That appeal removed the last objection, and the boys took off their caps, sat down with the wheelwright, and Mrs Hickathrift, according to the custom, waited upon them.

It is unnecessary to state what there was for supper, and how many times Dick and Tom had their plates replenished with--never mind what--and--it does not signify. Suffice it to say that for the space of half an hour the wheelwright's wife was exceedingly busy; and when at the end of an hour the trio rose from the table, and Hickathrift filled his pipe, both of his visitors seemed as if they had gone through a process of taming. For though a boy--a hearty boy in his teens--living say anywhere, can, as a rule, eat, in the exception of boys of the old fen-land, where the eastern breezes blow right off the German Ocean, they were troubled with an appetite which was startling, and might have been condemned but for the fact that it resulted in their growing into magnificent specimens of humanity, six feet high not being considered particularly tall.

It was quite late when the boys reached the Toft, to find the squire standing outside smoking his pipe and waiting for them.

"Where have you been, lads?" he said; and on being told, he uttered a good-humoured grunt, and laying his hand upon Tom's shoulder, "Here," he said, "you'd better stop with Dick to-night. They won't be uneasy at home?"

"No, sir," said Tom naively; "I told father perhaps I should stay."

"Oh, you did, eh!" said the squire. "Well, you're welcome. If you don't want any supper, you'd better be off to bed."

Both lads declared that they did not want any supper, but Mrs Winthorpe had made certain preparations for them which they could not resist, and something very like a second meal was eaten before they retired for the night.

As a rule, when one boy has a visitor for bed-fellow, it is some time before there is peace in that room. Set aside unruly demonstrations whose effects are broken pillowcase strings, ruptured bolsters, and loose feathers about the carpet, if nothing worse has happened in the way of broken jugs and basins, there is always something else to say at the end of the long conversation upon the past day's occurrences or the morrow's plans.

But in this instance it was doubtful whether Dick fell asleep in the act of getting into bed, or whether Tom was nodding as he undressed; suffice it that the moment their heads touched pillows they were fast asleep, and the big beetle which flew in at the open window and circled about the room had it all to himself. Now he ground his head against the ceiling, then he rasped his wings against the wall, then he buzzed in one corner, burred in another, and banged himself up against the white dimity curtains, till, seeing what appeared to be a gleam of light in the looking-glass, he swept by the open window, out of which he could easily have passed, and struck himself so heavily against the mirror that he fell on the floor with a pat, and probably a dint in his steely blue armour.

Then came a huge moth, and almost simultaneously a bat, to whirr round and round over the bed and along the ceiling, while from off the dark waters of the fen came from time to time strange splashings and uncouth cries, which would have startled a wakeful stranger to these parts. Now and then a peculiar moan would be heard, then what sounded like a dismal, distant roaring, followed by the cackling of ducks, and plaintive whistlings of ox-birds, oyster-catchers, and sandpipers, all of which seemed to be very busy hunting food in the soft stillness of the dewy night.

But neither splash nor cry awakened the sleepers, who were, like Barney O'Reardon, after keeping awake for a week; when they went to sleep they paid "attintion to it," and the night wore on till it must have been one o'clock.

The bat and the moth had managed to find their way out of the open window at last, and perhaps out of malice had told another bat and another moth that it was a delightful place in there. At all events another couple were careering about, the moth noisily brushing its wings against wall and ceiling, the bat silently on its fine soft leather wings, but uttering a fine squeak now and then, so thin, and sharp, and shrill that, compared to other squeaks, it was as the point of a fine needle is to that of a tenpenny nail.

The beetle had got over the stunning blow it had received, to some extent, and had carefully folded up and put away its gauzy wings beneath their hard horny cases, deeming that he would be better off and safer if he walked for the rest of the night, and after a good deal of awkward progression he came to the side of the bed.

It was a hot night, and some of the clothes had been kicked off, so that the counterpane on Tom's side touched the floor. In contact with this piece of drapery the beetle came, and began to crawl up, taking his time pretty well, and finally reaching the bed.

Here he turned to the left and progressed slowly till he reached the pillow, which he climbed, and in a few more moments found himself in front of a cavern in a forest--a curiously designed cavern, with a cosy hole in connection with certain labyrinths.

This hole seemed just of a size to suit the beetle's purpose, and he proceeded to enter for the purpose of snuggling up and taking a good long nap to ease the dull aching he probably felt in his bruised head.

But, soundly as Tom Tallington slept, the scriggly legs of a beetle were rather too much when they began to work in his ear, and he started up and brushed the creature away, the investigating insect falling on the floor with a sharp rap.

Tom sat listening to the sounds which came through the window and heard the splashing of water in the distance, and the pipings and quackings of the wild-fowl; but as he leaned forward intently and looked through the open window at the starry sky, there were other noises he heard which made him think of sundry occasions at home when he had been awakened by similar sounds.

After a few moments he lay down again, but started up directly, got out of bed, and went to the window to listen.

The next minute he was back at the bed-side.

"Dick," he whispered, shaking him; "Dick!"

"What is it?"

"There's something wrong with the horses."

"Nonsense!"

"There is, I tell you. Sit up and listen."

"Oh, I say, what a nuisance you are! I was having such a dream!"

Dick sat up and listened, and certainly a sound came from the yard.

He jumped out of bed and went with Tom to the open window, but all was perfectly still round the house, and he was about to return to bed when a dim shadowy-looking creature flew silently across the yard.

Dick uttered a peculiar squeak which was so exactly like that of a mouse that the bird curved round in its flight, came rapidly up toward the window, and hovered there with extended claws, and its great eyes staring from its full round face.

The next moment it was flying silently away, but another shrill squeak brought it back to hover before them, staring in wonder, till, apparently divining that it was being imposed upon, it swooped away.

"What a big owl!" said Tom in a whisper. "There! Hear that?"

Dick did hear _that_! A low whinnying noise, and the blow given by a horse's hoof, as if it had stamped impatiently while in pain.

Directly after there was a mournful lowing from the direction of the cow-house, followed by an angry bellow.

"That's old Billy," said Dick. "What's the matter with the things! It's a hot night, and some kind of flies are worrying them. Here, let's get to bed."

He was moving in the direction of the bed; but just then there was another louder whinnying from the lodge where the cart-horses were kept, and a series of angry stamps, followed by a bellow from the bull.

"There is something wrong with the beasts," said Dick. "I'll call father. No, I won't. Perhaps it's nothing. Let's go down and see."

"But we should have to dress."

"No; only slip on our trousers and boots. You'll go with me, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll go," said Tom; "but I don't want to."

"What! after waking me up to listen!"

"Oh, I'll go!" said Tom, following his companion's lead and beginning to dress.

"Tell you what," said Dick; "we'll get out of the window and drop down."

"And how are we to get back?"

"Short ladder," said Dick laconically. "Come along. Ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

The boys moved to the window, and, setting the example, Dick placed one leg out, and was seated astride the sill, when the bed-room door was suddenly thrown open, and the squire appeared.

"Now, then! What does this mean?" he cried angrily.

"We heard something wrong with the beasts, father, and we were going to see," cried Dick.

"Heard something wrong with the beasts, indeed! Yes, and I heard something wrong with them. Now, then, both of you jump into bed, and if I hear another sound, I'll--"

The squire stopped short, for there was a piteous whinny from the stable again.

"There, father! and old Billy's got something the matter with him too," cried Dick eagerly, the bull endorsing his statement with a melancholy bellow.

"Why, there is something wrong, then, my boys!" said the squire, angry now with himself for suspecting them of playing some prank. "Here, let's go down."

He led the way directly, and lit a lantern in the kitchen before throwing back the bolts and going out, armed with a big stick, the boys following close behind, and feeling somewhat awe-stricken at the strangeness of the proceedings.

"Hullo, my lads, what is it then?" cried the squire, entering the rough stable, where three horses were fastened up, and all half lying in the straw.

One of them turned to him with a piteous whinny, and then the great soft eyes of all three of the patient beasts were turned toward them, the light gleaming upon their eyes strangely.

"Why, what's this?" cried the squire, holding down the lantern, whose light fell upon the hocks of the poor beasts. "Oh, it's too cruel! what savage has done this!"

As he held down the light the boys hardly realised what had happened. All they could make out was that the light gleamed horribly on the horses' hind-legs, and Dick exclaimed:

"Why, they must have been kicking, father, terribly!"

"Kicking, my boy!" groaned the squire. "I wish they had kicked the monster to death who has done this."

"Done this! Has anybody done this?" faltered Dick, while Tom turned quite white.

"Yes; don't you understand?"

"No, father," cried Dick, looking at him vacantly.

"The poor beasts have been houghed--hamstrung by some cruel wretch. Here, quick!"

He hurried across to the lodge where a favourite cow and the bull were tethered, and as he saw that these poor beasts had been treated in the same barbarous way--

"Did you hear or see anyone, Dick?" he cried, turning sharply on his son.

"No, father. I was asleep till Tom woke me, and told me that the beasts were uneasy."

"It is too cruel, too cruel," groaned the squire huskily. "What is to happen next? Here, go and call up the men. You, Tom Tallington, go and rouse up Hickathrift. We may be in time to catch the wretches who have done this. Quick, boys! quick! And if I do--"

He did not finish his sentence; but as the boys ran off he walked into the house, to return with his gun, and thus armed he made a hasty survey of the place.

By the time he had done, Dick was back with the men, and soon after, Hickathrift came panting up, with Tom; but though a hot search was carried on for hours, nothing more was found, and by breakfast-time five reports had rung out on the bright morning air, as Squire Winthorpe loaded his old flint-lock gun with a leaden bullet five times, and put the poor helpless suffering brutes out of their misery.

"Three good useful horses, and the best-bred bull and cow in the marsh, squire," said Farmer Tallington, who had come over as soon as he heard the news. "Any idea who it could be?"

"No," said the squire; "thank goodness, no. I don't want to find out the wretch's name, Tallington, for I'm a hot-tempered, passionate man."

"It's the drain, neighbour, the drain," said the farmer, shaking his head. "Let's be content with the money we've lost, and try to put a stop to proceedings before we suffer more and worse. There's them about as hev sworn the drain sha'n't be made, and it's the same hands that fired my stacks and those shots, neighbour."

"I daresay it is, farmer," said the squire sternly; "but do you know what it says in the Book about the man who puts his hand to the plough?"

"Ay, I think I know what you mean."

"And so do you, Dick?" said the squire.

"Yes, father."

"Well, my boy, I've put my hand to the plough to do a good, honest, sensible work, and, knowing as I do, that it's a man's duty to go on with it, I shall stand fast, come what may."

"And not leave me in the lurch, Mr Winthorpe?" said a voice.

"No, Marston, not if they hamstring me in turn," cried the squire, holding out his hand to the young engineer, who had hurried over. "I suppose I shall get a bullet in me one of these days; but never mind, we've begun the drain. And do you hear, all of you?" he shouted; "spread it about that the fen will be drained, and that if they killed me, and a hundred more who took my place, it would still be done." _

Read next: Chapter 15. The Man Of Suspicion

Read previous: Chapter 13. The Shakes

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