d.i.c.k felt directly that it was impossible, for the man would be beyond pursuit long before he could find his boat; and after listening again he began to creep cautiously back to where he had lain down and slept and left Dave Gittan's gun.

The dawn was spreading, and it showed the watcher which was the east, and hence taught him that the fire must have been somewhere in the direction of the Toft, for the glare in the sky was certainly north of where he now stood.

The dawn spread faster, and the reeds and alders about him began to be visible; and--yes, there was the gun, all cold to the touch and wet with dew.

"Not much shooting," thought d.i.c.k as he mentally planned getting back to the boat, and hurrying across to Dave's hut to replace the piece and suffer a good scolding.

"Never mind; I'll give him a pound of powder. What's that?"

Splashing--the rustling of reeds--voices.

There was no concealment here, and besides the sounds came in a contrary direction to that taken by the fleeing man.

"Hoi!" shouted d.i.c.k loudly.

"Hoi! hallo!" came back; and then a well-known voice cried: "Is that you, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes, father. Here! Ahoy!"

There was more splashing, more talking, and d.i.c.k's heart leaped as he felt that his father had come in search of him, and that he would have an easier task than he had expected in finding his boat.

As the sounds approached the light increased, and d.i.c.k had no difficulty in going to meet them, picking his way carefully through the bog till he found himself close to a broad channel of reedy water, and here he had to pause.

"Where are you?" came from about a hundred yards away. And as he shouted to guide the search party he soon saw through the dim light a crowded punt propelled by two polers, and that there was another behind.

The next minute the foremost punt was within reach, and d.i.c.k stepped from a clump of rushes on board.

"Got anything to eat?" cried d.i.c.k, obeying his dominant instinct, and his voice sounded wolfish and strange.

"To eat!--no, sir," cried his father sternly. "What are you doing here?"

"I lost myself, father, and went to sleep--woke up in the darkness, and couldn't stir. Morning, Hicky!"

"Wheer's my poont?" said the wheelwright.

"Close round here somewhere," said d.i.c.k. "Go on and we shall find it.

But where was the fire?"

The squire drew a hissing breath between his teeth as if in pain, and yet as if in relief; for it seemed to him that once more he was suspecting wrongfully, and that if his son had been mixed up with the past night's outrage he would never have spoken so frankly.

"The fire, boy!" he said hoa.r.s.ely; "at the Toft. The place is nearly burned down."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k; and there was so much genuine pain and agony in his voice that the squire grasped his son's hand.

"Never mind, d.i.c.k; we'll build it up again."

"Ay, squire, we will," cried Hickathrift; "and afore long."

"And what is better, my boy, we saw the wretch who stole off the mere last night and fired the big reed-stack."

"Yes, father," cried d.i.c.k excitedly. "And I heard him come stealing by here."

"You did, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes, father--not an hour ago."

"Marston!" cried the squire, hailing the other boat.

"Yes."

"We're right. He came by here an hour ago. d.i.c.k heard him."

"You did, d.i.c.k?" cried Mr Marston.

"Yes, but it was all in the dark, and I couldn't see who it was."

"That does not matter, my lad," said the squire. "We know him now, and we only want to run him down."

"Know him, father?"

"Yes, boy. It was Dave Gittan."

"Nonsense!"

d.i.c.k burst into a laugh.

"Why, father, his place was burned too!"

"Yes, boy, to throw us off the scent--the scoundrel! but we shall have him now."

d.i.c.k sat down in the punt like one astounded, while Hickathrift poled along the channel till he came to open water, where, just as the sun rose above the horizon, they caught sight of the tied-up boat.

"We're too many in this," said Hickathrift, making for the other punt.

"You pole this here, and I'll tak' mine. Will you come, squire?"

"Yes," said d.i.c.k's father; and the change being made, the three boats were now propelled over the sunlit water, where, as the lad gladly applied himself to the food he had left behind, he learned something of what had taken place during the night.

Hickathrift was his informant, for the squire was very stern and silent, and Mr Marston was in one of the other boats, which were manned by drain-men and farm-labourers, and had for leaders Farmer Tallington and the engineer, while many were armed with muskets.

"Is Tom there?" said d.i.c.k in a whisper.

"Ay, lad, he's theer," said the big wheelwright, "along o' Mr Marston."

And then in answer to questions he related that Mr Marston had been over at the Toft, and stopped up watching with the squire for d.i.c.k's return, dropping asleep at last, and then awakening suddenly to hear a strange noise among the fowls.

The squire went out, followed by Mr Marston, and the truth was before them.

"The big stack was afire!" whispered Hickathrift, "and burning so as they knew it would be impossible to put it out, and just as they realised the terrible state of affairs there was the sound of a shot, and then of another and another from somewhere down among the cottages, and directly after the beating of feet, and a party of the labourers hurried up, startled from their beds.