Dick o' the Fens Part 22

"Well, yes, you've heard what we've been talking about--what neighbour Tallington came over for."

"Yes, father," said d.i.c.k, taking the piece of paper, and feeling very serious, since he knew that it contained a threat. But as soon as he grasped its contents--looking at them as a well-educated lad for his days, fresh from the big town grammar-school--he slapped his thigh with one hand, and burst into a roar of laughter, while his father looked on with a grim smile.

"What is it, d.i.c.k?" cried Tom eagerly.

"Here's a game!" cried d.i.c.k. "Just look!"

There was not much on the paper, and that was written in a clumsy printing-letter fashion, beneath a rough sketch, and with another to finish.

"Why, here's a hollow turnip and two sticks!" cried d.i.c.k aloud; "and-- and what is it, Tom?"

'stope the d.y.k.e or yow hev 2 dighe'

"Stop the d.y.k.e or you'll have to dig," said Tom eagerly. "You'll have to dig! Does he mean dig the ditch?"

"No!" roared d.i.c.k; "that's the way he spells die, and that long square thing's meant for a coffin."

"Yes, d.i.c.k, and that's the spirit in which to take such a cowardly threat--laugh at it," said the squire, replacing the letter in his pocket-book. "I only wish I knew who sent it. Who's this coming?"

"Why, it's Dave!" cried Tom eagerly, as the man came slowly along one of the winding lanes of water in his punt.

"Oh, yes, I remember!" said the squire; "he was here yesterday and said he would come and fetch you, d.i.c.k, if you liked to go, over to the decoy."

"And you never said a word about it, father! Here, come along, Tom."

The latter glanced at his father, but read consent in his eyes, and the two lads dashed off together.

"Seems to be letting him idle a deal," said Farmer Tallington thoughtfully.

"Not it," said the squire. "They're both very young and growing. Let them enjoy themselves and grow strong and hearty. They've had a long turn at school, and all this will do them good."

"Ay, it'll mak 'em grow strong and l.u.s.ty if it does nowt else," said the farmer.

"And as to the big drain," said the squire; "we're farmers, neighbour, even if I do work my land as much for pleasure as for profit."

"Ay, but what's that to do with it?"

"This," said the squire, smiling; "a man who puts his hand to the plough should not look back."

"That's true," said Farmer Tallington; "but when he gets a letter to say some one's going to kill him, and draws coffins on the paper, it's enough to mak' him look back."

"It's all stuff, neighbour! Treat it as I do--with contempt."

"Ah! you see you're a gentleman, squire, and a bit of a scholar, and I'm only a plain man."

"A good neighbour and a true Englishman, Tallington; and I'm glad my son has so good and frank a companion as your boy. There, take my advice: treat all this opposition with contempt."

"Theer's my hand, squire," said Farmer Tallington. "You nivver gave me a bad bit of advice yet, and I'll stick to what you say--but on one condition."

"What's that?" said the squire, smiling.

"You'll let me grumble now and then."

Long before Farmer Tallington had parted from the squire at the beginning of the rough track which led from the Priory to Grimsey, d.i.c.k and Tom were down by the water's edge waiting for Dave, who came up with a dry-looking smile upon his face--a smile which looked as if it were the withered remains of a last year's laugh.

"How are you, Dave?" cried d.i.c.k. "We only just knew you were coming.

Are there plenty of ducks?"

"Mebbe. Few like," said Dave in the slow way of a man who seldom speaks.

"_Wuph_! _wuph_!" came from the boat.

"What! Chip, boy! how are you?" cried d.i.c.k, patting the dog, which seemed to go half mad with delight at having someone to make a fuss over him, and then rushed to Tom to collect a few more friendly pats and words.

"Shall we get in, Dave?" cried Tom.

"Get in, lad! Why, what for?"

"Now, Dave, don't go on like that," cried d.i.c.k impatiently. "Let's get on, there's a good fellow. I do want to see you work the decoy."

"Oh, you don't care for that! 'Sides, I want to go to Hickathrift's to see his dunky pigs."

"Nonsense! What do you want to see the dunks for?"

"Thinking o' keeping a pig o' my own out thar, lads. It's rayther lonesome at times; and," he added quite seriously, "a pig would be company."

The boys looked at one another and smothered a laugh for fear of giving offence.

"What, with a place like a jolly island all to yourself, where you live like a Robinson Crusoe and can keep tame magpies and anything you like, and your boat, and your dog, and eel-spear?"

"And nets," put in Tom.

"And fishing-lines," said d.i.c.k.

"And gun," said Tom.

"Ay, lads," said Dave gravely; "seems aw reight to you, but it be lonesome sometimes when the bootherboomps get running out o' the reeds in the dark evenings and then go sailing high up and round and round."

"Oh, I should like that!" said d.i.c.k.

"Nay, lad, yow wouldn't. It would scar yow. Then o' soft warm nights sometimes the frogs begins, and they go on crying and piping all round you for hours."

"Pooh!" said Tom; "who'd mind a few frogs?"

"And then o' still nights theer's the will o' the wipses going about and dancing over the holes in the bog."

"I say, Dave, what is a will o' the wisp really like?"

"What! heven't you niver seen one, lad?" said Dave, as he seated himself on the edge of the boat.