"Oh, if they don't light now!" said d.i.c.k to himself. "They're going,"

he sighed half aloud, and then he seized Tom's arm in his excitement, and gripped it so hard that the boy nearly cried out, and would have done so but for the state of eagerness he too was in.

For after farther signs of hesitation and doubt, all of which were in favour of the flock going right away, one of them seemed to give a regular tumble over in the air, as if it were shot, and alighted.

Another followed, and another, and another, till, to the intense excitement of the occupants of the boat among the reeds, the long, low spit of gravel, almost level with the water, became alive with birds running here and there.

It was on d.i.c.k's lips to cry, "Now, Dave, pull!" but he could not speak, only watch the thin, keen, yellow man, whose eye glittered beneath his rough hairy cap as he slowly tightened the line, drawing it up till it was above the surface of the water, which began to ripple and play about it in long waves running off in different directions. There was so great a length that it was impossible to draw it tight without moving the spreader poles; and as the lads both thought of what the consequences would be if the line broke, the movement at the ends of the long net spread the alarm.

There was a curious effect caused by the spreading of the wings of the birds, and the whole island seemed to be slowly rising in the air; but at that moment the water hissed from the punt right away to where the flock was taking flight, and as the line tightened, a long filmy wave seemed to curve over towards them. By one rapid practice-learned drag, the net was s.n.a.t.c.hed over and fell on to the water, while a great flock of green plovers took flight in alarm and went flapping over reed-bed and mere.

"Oh, what a pity!" cried d.i.c.k, jumping up in the boat and stamping his foot with rage.

"And so near, too!" cried Tom.

"Sit down, lads," roared Dave, who was dragging the pole out of the ground, and the next moment he was thrusting the light boat along over the intervening s.p.a.ce, and the more readily that the bottom there was only three or four feet below the surface, and for the most part firm.

"Why, have you caught some?" cried d.i.c.k.

The answer was given in front, for it was evident that the net had entangled several of the unfortunate birds, which were flapping the water and struggling vainly to get through the meshes, but drowning themselves in the effort.

The scene increased in excitement as the boat neared, for the birds renewed their struggles to escape, and the decoys tethered on the island to their pegs leaped and fluttered.

In an incredibly short time the skilful puntsman had his boat alongside the net, and then began the final struggle.

It was a vain one, for one by one the plovers were dragged from beneath and thrust into a large basket, till the net lay half-sunk beneath the surface, and the feeble flapping of a wing or two was all that could be heard.

The boat was dripping with water and specked with wet feathers, and a solitary straggler of the plover flock flew to and fro screaming as if reproaching the murderers of its companions; otherwise all was still as Dave stood up and grinned, and showed his yellow teeth.

"There!" he cried triumphantly; "yow didn't expect such a treat as that!"

"Treat!" said d.i.c.k, looking at his wet hands and picking some feathers from his vest, for he and Tom after the first minute had plunged excitedly into the bird slaughter and dragged many a luckless bird out of the net.

"Ay, lad, treat!--why, there's nigh upon fourscore, I know."

d.i.c.k's features had a peculiar look of disgust upon them and his brow wrinkled up.

"Seems so precious cruel," he said.

Dave, who was rapidly freeing his decoy-birds and transferring them to the cage, stood up with a fluttering plover in one hand.

"Cruel!" he cried.

"Yes, and treacherous," replied d.i.c.k.

"Deal more cruel for me to be found starved to death in my place some day," said Dave. "Pie-wipes eats the beedles and wains, don't they?

Well, we eats the pie-wipes, or sells 'em, and buys flour and bacon.

Get out wi' ye! Cruel! Yow don't like piewipe pie!"

"I did, and roast piewipe too," cried d.i.c.k; "but I don't think I shall ever eat any again."

"Hark at him!" cried Dave, going on rapidly with his task and packing up his stuffed birds neatly in their basket, drawing out his pegs, and then rolling up and wringing the wet net before placing it in the punt, and winding in the dripping line which he drew through the water from the reed-bed. "Hark at him, young Tom Tallington!"--and he uttered now a peculiarly ugly harsh laugh--"young squire ar'n't going to eat any more bacon, 'cause it's cruel to kill the pigs; nor no eels, because they has to be caught; and he wean't catch no more jacks, nor eel-pouts, nor yet eat any rabbud-pie! Ha--ha--ha--ha--ha!"

"Look here, Dave!" cried d.i.c.k pa.s.sionately, "if you laugh at me I'll shy something at you! No, I won't," he shouted, seizing the cage; "I'll drown all your decoys!"

"Ay, do!" said Dave, beginning to use the pole. "You're such a particular young gentleman! Only, wouldn't it be cruel?"

"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Tom.

"Do you want me to punch your head, Tom?" roared d.i.c.k, turning scarlet.

"Nay, lads, don't spyle a nice bit o' sport by quarrelling," said Dave, sending the boat rapidly homeward. "I wean't laugh at you no more, Mester d.i.c.k. I like you for it, lad. It do seem cruel; and sometimes when I weer younger, and a bud looked up at me with its pretty eyes, as much as to say, 'don't kill me!' I would let it go."

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k with a sigh of relief.

"But what did that bud do, lad? If it was a piewipe, go and kill hundreds o' worms, and snails, and young frogs; if it was a heron, spear fish and pick the wriggling young eels out of the mud. No, lad, it wean't do; buds is the cruellest things there is, pretty as they are-- all except them as only eats seeds. Everything 'most is cruel; but if they wasn't the world would get so full that everything would starve.

We've got say fourscore pie-wipes--not for fun, but for wittles--and what's fourscore when there's thousands upon thousands all about?"

"Why, Dave, you're a philosopher!" said d.i.c.k, who felt relieved.

"Yes," said Dave complacently, but with a very foggy idea of the meaning of the word; "it's being out so much upon the water. Now, there's a nice couple o' ducks swimming just the other side o' them reeds, as a lad might hit just as they rose from the water when we come round the corner; and I'd say hev a shot at 'em, Mester d.i.c.k--on'y, if I did, it would hurt your feelings."

d.i.c.k was silent for a moment or two as he tried to keep down his human nature. Then he spoke out:

"I beg your pardon, Dave, after what you did for us. May I take up the gun?"

"Ay. Steady, lad!--keep her head over the stem, and I'll turn the boat round and send you along gently. Now you lie down on your chesty and rest the barr'l on the net, for she's too heavy for you to handle. Then wait till the ducks rise, and let go at 'em."

There was another interval full of excitement; the punt was sent quietly toward the end of the reed-bed; and in obedience to his instructions d.i.c.k knelt ready to fire--Tom watching him enviously, and wishing it were his turn.

Nearer, nearer, with the punt allowed to go on now by the force of the last thrust given to it, till the last patch of reed was cleared; and there, not twenty yards away, swam a fine shieldrake and four ducks.

As the punt glided into sight there was a splashing and whirring of wings, a great outcry, and away went the birds.

"Now, lad!" cried Dave; and the gun was fired with a deafening report.

But no feathers flew--no unfortunate duck or drake dropped, broken-winged, into the water. The only living being injured was d.i.c.k, who sat up rubbing his shoulder softly.

"I say," he said, "how that gun kicks!"

"Yes," said Dave dryly, "I put a big charge in her, my lad; but it was a pity to waste it."

"I couldn't help missing," said d.i.c.k. "They were so quick."

"Nay, you wouldn't try to hit 'em, lad, because you thought you'd hot 'em," said Dave, chuckling; and Tom laughed, while d.i.c.k sat and nursed the gun in silence, till the punt was poled ash.o.r.e and its contents landed.

"Now," said Dave, "I've got a rabbud-pie as I made mysen. Come and hev a bit, lads; and then you shall take home a dozen pie-wipes apiece.

It'll be moonlight, and I'll soon punt you across."

That pie, in spite of the rough surroundings, was delicious; and d.i.c.k forgot to pity the poor rabbits, and he did not refuse to take his dozen lapwings home for a welcome addition to the next day's dinner.

"You see, Tom," he whispered, "I think I was a little too particular.