"What at fend o' June! Nay, nay, theer's no shooting now."

"Not regular shooting, but I thought I might get something curious, perhaps, right away yonder."

"Ay, ay, perhaps so."

"Might see a big pike basking, and shoot that."

"Like enough, my lad, like enough. Squire going to lend you a goon?"

d.i.c.k shook his head, but the wheelwright was busy taking a shaving off a piece of wood, so did not see it, and repeated his question.

"No, Hicky, I want you to lend me one of those new ones."

"What, as squire and Mr Marston left for me and Jacob! Nay, nay, lad, that wean't do."

"Oh, yes, it will, Hicky. I'll take great care of it, and clean it when I've done. Lend me the gun, there's a good fellow."

"Nay, nay. That would never do, my lad. Couldn't do it."

"Why not, Hicky?"

"Not mine. What would squire say?"

"He wouldn't know, Hicky. I shouldn't tell him."

"Bud I should, lad. Suppose thou wast to shoot thee sen, or blow off a leg or a hand? Nay, nay. Yow can hev the boat, bud don't come to me for a gun."

Hickathrift was inexorable, and what was more, he watched his applicant narrowly, to make sure that d.i.c.k did not corrupt Jacob.

His visitor noticed it, and charged him with the fact.

"Ay," he said, laughing, "that's a true word. I know what Jacob is.

He'd do anything for sixpence."

"I hope he wouldn't set fire to the house for that," said d.i.c.k angrily.

Hickathrift started as if stung, and stared at his visitor.

"Nay," he said, recovering himself, "our Jacob nivver did that. He were fast asleep that night, and his bed were afire when I wackened him.

Don't say such a word as that."

"I didn't mean it, Hicky; but do lend me the gun."

"Nay, my, lad, I wean't. There's the poont and welcome, but no gun."

d.i.c.k knew the wheelwright too well to persevere; and in his heart he could not help admiring the man's stern sense of honesty; so making up his mind to be content with some fishing and a good wander in the untrodden parts of the fen, he asked Hickathrift to get him some baits with his cast-net.

"Ay, I'll soon get them for you, my lad," said Hickathrift. "Get a boocket, Jacob, lad."

The next minute he was getting the newly-made circular net with its pipe-leads from where it hung over the rafters of his shed, and striding down to a suitable shallow where a shoal of small fish could be seen, he ranged the net upon his arm, holding the cord tightly, and, giving himself a spin round, threw the net so that it spread out flat, with the pipe-leads flying out centrifugally, and covering a good deal of s.p.a.ce, the leads driving the fish into the centre. When it was drawn a couple of dozen young roach and rudd were made captives, and transferred to the bucket of water Jacob brought.

"Fetch that little bit o' net and a piece o' band, lad," said the wheelwright; and as soon as Jacob reappeared, Hickathrift bound the fine net over the top of the pail, and lowered it by the cord into a deep cold pool close by the punt.

"Theer they'll be all ready and lively for you in the morning, and you'll hev better sport than you would wi' a gun."

Opinions are various, and d.i.c.k's were very different to the wheelwright's; but he accepted his rebuff with as good a grace as he could, and went home.

The next morning was delicious. One of those lovely summer-times when the sky is blue, and the earth is just in its most beautiful robe of green.

"Going on the mere, d.i.c.k?" said his father. "Well, don't get drowned or bogged."

"d.i.c.k will take care," said Mrs Winthorpe, who was busy cutting provender.

"Tom Tallington going with you?" said the squire.

"No, father; I'm going alone."

"I wish you could have come with me, Hicky!" said d.i.c.k, as, laden with his basket of fishing-tackle and provender, he took his place in the punt.

"Ay, and I wish so too," said the wheelwright, smiling, as he drew up and uncovered the pail of bait to set it in the boat. "Bud too busy.

Theer you are! Now, go along, and don't stop tempting a man who ought to be at work. Be off!"

To secure himself against further temptation he gave the punt a push which sent it several yards away; so, picking up the pole, d.i.c.k thrust it down and soon left the Toft behind, while the water glistened, the marsh-marigolds glowed, and the reeds looked quite purple in places, so dark was their green.

d.i.c.k poled himself along, watching the water-fowl and the rising herons disturbed in their fishing, while here and there he could see plenty of small fish playing about the surface of the mere; but he was not in an angling humour, and though the tempting baits played about in the bucket he did not select any to hook and set trimmers for the pike that were lurking here and there.

At last, though, he began to grow tired of poling, for the sun was hot; and, thinking it would be better to wait for Tom before he tried to explore the wild part of the fen, he thrust the punt along, to select a place and try for a pike.

This drew his attention to the baits, where one of the little roach had turned up nearly dead, a sure sign that the water required changing, so, setting down the pole, he took up the bucket, and, lowering it slowly over the side, he held one edge level with the water, so that the fresh could pour in and the stale and warm be displaced.

Trifles act as large levers sometimes. In this case for one, a few drops of water from the dripping pole made the bottom of the punt slippery; and as d.i.c.k leaned over the side his foot gave way, the weight of the bucket overbalanced him, and he had to seize the side of the punt to save himself. This he did, but as he leaned over, nearly touching the water, it was to gaze at the bucket descending rapidly, and the fish escaping, for he had let go.

"What a nuisance!" he cried, as he saw the great vessel seem to turn of a deeper golden hue as it descended and then disappeared, becoming invisible in the dark water, while the punt drifted away before he could take up the pole to thrust it back.

There was nothing to guide him, and the poling was difficult, for the water was here very deep, and though he tried several times to find the spot where the bucket had gone down, it was without success.

"Why, if I did find it," he muttered, "I shouldn't be able to get it up without a hook."

This ended the prospect of fishing, and as he stood there idly dipping down the pole he hesitated as to what he should do, ending by beginning to go vigorously in the direction of Dave Gittan's newly-built-up hut.

"I'll make him take me out shooting," he said; "and we'll go all over that rough part of the fen."

There were very few traces of the past winter's fire visible at Dave's home as d.i.c.k approached, ran his punt on to the soft bog-moss, and landed, securing his rope to a tree, and there were no signs of Dave.

He shouted, but there was no reply, and it seemed evident that the dog was away as well.

A walk across to Dave's own special landing-place put it beyond doubt, for the boat was absent.

"What a bother!" muttered d.i.c.k, walking back toward the hut, a stronger and better place than the one which had been burned. "Perhaps he has gone to see John Warren!"