"I say, Marston," said the squire, "you'd like to see your great band of ruffians at work excavating here, eh?"

"Mr Winthorpe," said the young man, "I'd give anything to be allowed to search the ruins."

"Yes, and turn my place upside down, and disturb the home of the poor old monks who used to live here! No, no; I'm not going to have my place ragged to pieces. But when we do dig down, we come upon some curious old stones."

"Like your tobacco-jar?" the engineer said, pointing to the old carven corbel.

The squire nodded.

"You've got plenty of digging to do, my lad," he said, laughing.

"Finish that, and then perhaps I may let you have a turn my way. Who's going over to see John Warren?"

"Ah, I wish you would go," said Mrs Winthorpe, "and take the poor fellow over some things I have ready, in a basket!"

"I'll go," said d.i.c.k. "Hicky will take us in his punt. There'll be plenty of time, and it's moonlight at nine."

"I'll go with you, d.i.c.k," said Marston. "What's the matter with the man?"

"Our own particular complaint, which the people don't want you to kill, my lad," said the squire. "Marsh fever--ague. Years to come when it's swept away by the drainage, the people will talk of it as one of the good things destroyed by our work. They are rare ones to grumble, and stick to their old notions."

"But the people seem to be getting used to us now."

"Oh yes! we shall live it down."

d.i.c.k sat and listened, but said nothing. Still he could not help recalling how one old labourer's wife had shaken her head and spit upon the ground as his father went by, and wondered in his mind whether this was some form of curse.

"Tak' you over to the Warren, my lad?" said Hickathrift, as they reached the wheelwright's shed, where the big fellow was just taking down a hoe to go gardening.

"Why, of course I will. Straange niced evening, Mr Marston! Come along. I'll put on my coat though, for the mist'll be thick to-night."

Hickathrift took his coat from behind the door, led the way to the place where his punt was floating, fastened to an old willow-stump; and as soon as his visitors were aboard he began to unfasten the rope.

"Like to tak' a goon, sir, or a fishing-pole?"

"No: I think we'll be content with what we can see to-night."

Hickathrift nodded, and d.i.c.k thought the engineer very stupid, for a gun had a peculiar fascination for him; but he said nothing, only seated himself, and trailed his hand in the dark water as the l.u.s.ty wheelwright sent the punt surging along.

"Why, Hickathrift," cried Mr Marston, "I thought our friend Dave a wonder at managing a punt; but you beat him. What muscles you have!"

"Muscles, mester? Ay, they be tidy; but I'm nowt to Dave. I can shove stronger, but he'd ding [beat] me at it. He's cunning like. Always at it, you see. Straange and badly though."

"What, Dave is?" cried d.i.c.k.

"Ay, lad; he's got the shakes, same as John Warren. They two lay out together one night after a couple o' wild swans they seen, and it give 'em both ager."

It was a glorious evening, without a breath of air stirring, and the broad mere glistened and glowed with the wonderful reflection from the sky. The great patches of reeds waved, and every now and then the weird cry of the moor-hen came over the water. Here and there perfect clouds of gnats were dancing with their peculiar flight; swallows were still busy darting about, and now and then a leather-winged bat fluttered over them seeking its insect food.

"What a lovely place this looks in a summer evening!" said Mr Marston thoughtfully.

"Ay, mester, and I suppose you are going to spoil it all with your big drain," said the wheelwright, and he ceased poling for a few moments, as the punt entered a natural ca.n.a.l through a reed-bed.

"Spoil it, my man! No. Only change its aspect. It will be as beautiful in its way when corn is growing upon it, and far more useful."

"Ay, bud that's what our people don't think. Look, Mester d.i.c.k!"

d.i.c.k was already looking at a shoal of fish ahead flying out of the water, falling back, and rising again, somewhat after the fashion of flying-fish in the Red Sea.

"Know what that means?" said the wheelwright.

"Perch," said d.i.c.k, shortly. "A big chap too, and he has got one," he added excitedly, as a large fish rose, made a tremendous splash, and then seemed to be working its way among the bending reeds. "Might have got him perhaps if we had had a line."

Mr Marston made no reply, for he was watching the slow heavy flap-flap of a heron as it rose from before them with something indistinctly seen in its beak.

"What has it got?" he said.

d.i.c.k turned sharply, and made out that there seemed to be a round k.n.o.b about the great bird's bill, giving it the appearance of having thrust it through a turnip or a ball.

"Why, it's an eel," he cried, "twisting itself into a knot. Yes: look!"

The evening light gleamed upon the glistening skin of the fish, as it suddenly untwisted itself, and writhed into another form. Then the heron changed its direction, and nothing but the great, grey beating pinions of the bird were visible, the long legs outstretched like a tail, the bent back neck, and projecting beak being merged in the body as it flew straight away.

Hickathrift worked hard at the pole, and soon after rounding one great bed of reeds they came in sight of the rough gravelly patch with a somewhat rounded outline, which formed the Warren, and upon which was the hut inhabited by John o' the Warren, out of whose name "o'-the" was generally dropped.

The moment they came in sight there was a loud burst of barking, and Snig, John Warren's little rabbit-dog, came tearing down to the sh.o.r.e, with the effect of rendering visible scores of rabbits, until then unseen; for the dog's barking sent them scurrying off to their holes, each displaying its clear, white, downy tuft of a tail, which showed clearly in the evening light.

The dog's bark was at first an angry challenge, but as he came nearer his tone changed to a whine of welcome; and as soon as he reached the water's edge he began to perform a series of the most absurd antics, springing round, dancing upon his hind-legs, and leaping up at each in turn, as the visitors to the sandy island landed, and began to walk up to the sick man's hut.

There were no rabbits visible now, but the ground was honey-combed with their holes, many of which were quite close to the home of their tyrant master, who lived as a sort of king among them, and slew as many as he thought fit.

John Warren's home was not an attractive one, being merely a hut built up of bricks of peat cut from the fen, furnished with a small window, a narrow door, and thickly thatched with reeds.

He heard them coming, and, as they approached, came and stood at the door, looking yellow, hollow of cheek, and shivering visibly.

"Here, John Warren, we've brought you a basket!" cried d.i.c.k. "How are you? I say, don't you want the doctor?"

"Yah! what should I do with a doctor?" growled the man, scowling at all in turn.

"To do you good," said d.i.c.k, laughing good-humouredly.

"He couldn't tell me nothing I dunno. I've got the ager."

"Well, aren't you going to ask us in?"

"Nay, lad. What do you want?"

"That basket," said d.i.c.k briskly. "Here, how is Dave?"