Dick o' the Fens Part 41

"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. d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k'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 d.i.c.k 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.

To which John Warren a.s.sented, and said it was "amaazin'."

"And who do you think it weer?" said Dave, as he stood scratching his ear; and upon being told the squire's opinion, he shook his head, and said there was no knowing.

"It's a bad thing, Mester d.i.c.k, bringing straangers into a plaace. Yow nivver know what characters they've got. Why, I do believe--it's a turruble thing to say--that some of they lads at work at big dree-ern hevven't got no characters at all."

"Here be Hickathrift a-coming wi' doctor," said John Warren.

And sure enough there was the doctor on his old cob coming along the fen road, with Hickathrift striding by his side, the man of powder and draught having been from home with a patient miles away when Hickathrift reached the town, and not returning till five o'clock.

"He'll do right enough, squire," said the doctor. "Young man like he is soon mends a hole in his flesh. You did quite right; but I suppose the bandaging was young d.i.c.k's doing, for of all the clumsy bungling I ever saw it was about the worst."

d.i.c.k gave his eye a peculiar twist in the direction of his father, who was giving him a droll look, and then they both laughed.

"Very delicately done, doctor," said the squire. "There, d.i.c.k, as he has put it on your shoulders you may as well bear it."

"Ah, let him!" said the doctor. "Now, what are you going to do?" he said aloud; "catch the scoundrel who shot Mr Marston, and get him transported for life?"

"That's what ought to be done to him," said John Warren solemnly, as he looked straight away over the fen.

"Ay," said Dave. "How do we know but what it may be our turn or Hickathrift's next? It's a straange, bad thing."

"I must talk it over with Mr Marston," said the squire, "when he gets better, and then we shall see."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE PATIENT'S FRIENDS.

Mr Marston declared that he had not the most remote idea of having given any of his men offence, and then looked very serious about the question of bringing over the constables from the town to investigate the matter.

"It may have been an accident, Mr Winthorpe," he said; "and if so, I should be sorry to get any poor fellow into trouble."

"Yes, but it may not have been an accident," said the doctor.

This was in the evening, the doctor having ridden over again to see how his patient was getting on.

"Heaven forbid, sir," said Marston warmly, "that I should suspect any man of such a cowardly cruel deed! Impossible, sir! I cannot recall having done any man wrong since I have been here. My lads like me."

"How do you know that?" said the squire dryly. "Men somehow are not _very_ fond of the master who is over them, and makes them fairly earn their wages."

"Well, sir, I don't know how to prove it," said Marston, who was lying on a dimity-covered couch, "but--"

"Hallo!" cried the squire, leaping up and going to the window, as a loud and excited buzzing arose, mingled with the trampling of feet, which sounded plainly in the clear cold spring evening.

"Anything wrong?" said the doctor.

"Why, here's a crowd of a hundred fellows armed with sticks!" cried the squire. "I believe they've got the rascal who fired the shot."

"No!" said the doctor.

"Father! Mr Marston!" cried d.i.c.k, rushing up stairs and into the visitor's bed-room; "here are all the drain-men--hundreds of them--Mr Marston's men."

"Not hundreds, young fellow," said Marston smiling, "only one, if they are all here. What do they want? Have they caught anyone?"

"No, sir. They want to see you. I told them you were too bad; but they say they will see you."

"I'll go and speak to them and see what they want," said the squire.

"Is it anything about paying their wages?"

"Oh dear, no!" said Marston. "They have been paid as usual. Shall I go down to them, doctor?"

"If you do I'll throw up your case," cried the doctor fiercely. "Bless my soul, no! Do you think I want you in a state of high fever. Stop where you are, sir. Stop where you are."

"I'll go," said the squire, "before they pull the house down."

For the men were getting clamorous, and shouting loudly for Mr Marston.

The squire descended, and d.i.c.k with him, to find the front garden of the old farm-house full of great swarthy black-bearded fellows, everyone armed with a cudgel or a pick-axe handle, some having only the parts of broken shovels.

"Well, my lads, what is it?" said the squire, facing them.

A tremendous yell broke out, every man seeming to speak at once, and nothing could be understood.

"Hullo, Hickathrift! You're there, are you?" said the squire. "What do they want?"