Dick o' the Fens Part 82

d.i.c.k laughed, but it was not a merry laugh, for the memory was a painful one, and mingled with recollections of times when everyone was suspicious of him, or seemed to be; and he was fast relapsing into an unhappy morbid state.

"What was the Robinson Crusoe business?" said Marston; and on being told, he laughingly proposed going on.

"Let's have a look at the place, boys," he said. "Why shouldn't we have a summer-house out here to come and stay at sometimes, shooting, fishing, or collecting. We cannot always work."

The pole was vigorously plied, and at the end of half an hour they had landed, to find the place just as they remembered it to have been the year before. There were the bushes, the heath, and heather in the gravelly soil, and the fir-trees flourishing.

"A capital place!" said the engineer. "I tell you what, boys, we'll bring Big Bargle over, and a couple of men; the wheelwright shall cut us some posts, rafters, and a door, and we'll make a great hut, and--"

He stopped short at that point and stared, as they all stood in the depths of the little fir-wood, with the water and reed-beds hidden from sight. For there, just before them, as if raised by magic, was the very building Mr Marston had described, and upon examination they found it very dry and warm, with a bed of heath in one corner.

"Some sportsman has forestalled us," said the engineer. "One of the farmers, I suppose, from the other side of the fen."

They came away, with the lads sharing the same feeling of disappointment, for the little island was robbed of all its romance. It was no longer uninhabited, and the temptation to have a hut there was gone.

"Plenty more such places, boys," said Mr Marston, "so never mind.

We'll hunt one out and make much of it before my drain turns all this waste into fertile fields. Now let's get back, for I have a lot to chat over with the wheelwright."

The next morning Hickathrift was beaming, and he came up to the Toft to catch d.i.c.k, who was feeding Solomon and avoiding his friendly kicks, while he waited for Tom to go over with him to the works.

"Say, Mester d.i.c.k, on'y think of it! Leave that owd a.s.s alone, lad, and listen to me."

"What is it, Hicky?"

"Why, lad, I'm a man full o'--what do you call that when a chap wants to get on in the world?"

"Ambition, Hicky."

"That's it, Mester d.i.c.k. I'm full on it, bud I've nivver hed a chance.

You see I've had to mend gates, and owd carts, and put up fences. I did nearly get the job to build a new barn, bud I lost it, and all my life's been jobs."

"And what now?" said d.i.c.k warmly.

"What now, lad! Why, Mester Marston's set me to mak three sets o' small watter gates for sides o' the dreern, and I'm to hev money in advance for the wood and iron work, and my fortune's about made."

"Hooray, Hicky! I am glad," cried d.i.c.k; and Tom, coming up, was initiated into the great new step in advance, and added his congratulations.

"Why, you're carpenter and joiner to the works now, Hicky!" said d.i.c.k, laughing.

"Ay, lad, that's it, and I don't fear for nowt."

It was less than a fortnight after, that d.i.c.k lay asleep one night and dreaming of being in a boat on the mere, or one of its many additional pools, when he started into wakefulness with the impression that the house was coming down.

"Eh? What is it?" he cried, as there was a heavy thumping on the wall close to his bed's head.

"Get up--fire!" came in m.u.f.fled tones; and bounding out of bed he saw that there was a lurid light on the water, evidently reflected from something burning pretty near at hand, while there was the distant hum of voices, mingled with shrieks and the barking of a dog.

d.i.c.k began hurriedly dressing, and threw open the window, to find that the dog was Grip, who was out in the yard barking frantically, as if to alarm the house.

"What is it, father? Where?" cried d.i.c.k.

"Don't know; not here. Labourers' cottages, I think," replied the squire, who was still dressing. Then, as a burst of flame seemed to rush up skyward, and a cloud of brilliant sparks floated away, he added, "d.i.c.k, my lad, it is poor Hickathrift's turn now."

He was quite right, for as they ran the few hundred yards which separated them from the burning place, it was to find that the poor fellow's house, work-shed, stock of wood, peat-stack, and out-buildings were in a blaze; even his punt, which had been brought up for its annual repair and pitching, blazing furiously.

Hickathrift, Jacob, Mrs Hickathrift, and the farm people were all at work with buckets, which they handed along from the dipping place by the old willows; but at the first glance the squire saw that it was in vain, and that the fire had taken such hold that nothing could be saved. Both he and d.i.c.k, however, joined in the efforts, saying nothing but working with all their might, the squire taking Jacob's place and dipping the water, while the apprentice and d.i.c.k helped to pa.s.s the full buckets along and the empty back, for they were not enough to form a double line.

For about a quarter of an hour this was kept up, the wheelwright throwing the water where he thought it would do most good; but the flames only roared the louder, and, fanned by a pleasant breeze, fluttered and sent up sparks of orange and gold, till a cask of pitch got well alight, and then the smoke arose in one dense cloud.

It was a glorious sight in spite of its horror, for the wood in the shed and the pile without burned brilliantly, lighting up the mere, gilding the reeds, and spreading a glow around that was at times dazzling.

"Pa.s.s it along quick! pa.s.s it along!" Jacob kept saying, probably to incite people to work harder; but it was not necessary, for everyone was doing his or her best, when, just as they were toiling their hardest, the wheelwright took a bucket of water, hurled it as far as he could, and then dashed on the empty vessel and turned away.

"No good," he said bitterly, as he wiped his face. "Fire joost spits at me when I throw in the watter. It must bon down, squire, eh?"

"Yes, my man, nothing could save the place now."

"And all my same [lard] in a jar--ten pounds good," murmured Mrs Hickathrift.

"Ay, moother, and my Sunday clothes," said the wheelwright with a bitter laugh.

"And my best frock."

"Ay, and my tools, and a bit o' mooney I'd saved, and all my stoof. Eh, but I'm about ruined, moother, and just when I was going to get on and do the bit o' work for the dreern folk."

The fire seemed to leap up suddenly with a great flash as if to enlighten the great fellow's understanding, but he did not grasp the situation for a few moments, till his wife, as she bemoaned the loss of a paste-board and a flour-tub, suddenly exclaimed:

"It's them sperrits of the fen as has done it all."

"Ay, so it be!" roared Hickathrift. "Ay! Hey, bud if I could git one of 'em joost now by scruff of his neck and the seat of his breeches, I'd--I'd--I'd roast him."

"Then it was no accident, Hickathrift?"

"Yes, squire," said the man bitterly; "same sort o' axden as bont Farmer Tallington's stable and shed. Hah, here he is!" he added, as the farmer came panting up with Tom. "Come to waarm theesen, farmer? It's my turn now."

"My lad! My lad!" panted the farmer, "I am sorry."

"Thanky, farmer; but fine words b.u.t.ter no parsneps. Theer, bairn," he cried, putting his arm round his wife's waist; "don't cry that away. We aren't owd folks, and I'm going to begin again. Be a good dry plaace after fire's done, and theer'll be some niced bits left for yow to heat the oven when fire's out."

"And no oven, no roof, no fireside."

"Hush! hush! bairn!" said the big fellow thickly. "Don't I tell thee I'm going to begin again! What say, Mester d.i.c.k? Nay, nay, lad, nay."

"What did d.i.c.k say?" said the squire sharply.

"Hush, Hicky!" whispered d.i.c.k quickly.

"Nay, lad, I wean't hoosh! Said, squire, as he's got thretty shillings saved up, and he'd give it to me to start wi'."