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"Well, haven't I come for you, lad?" said Dave quietly. "Have you? Oh, Tom, and we've got this old stump to draw away! I can't go now, Dave." "There's plenty o' time, lad. I'm not going back yet Hicky's got to put a bit o' plank in my boat 'fore I go back." "Come on, Tom, and let's get it done," cried Dick. "Here, give us the rope."
"I wish we had Hicky's Grip here; he'd make him scuffle and run." "Think it was a fox?" said Tom. "Sure of it; and it was one of those old mallards he has got. Come on. Why shouldn't the fox have duck for supper as well as other people?" "Ah, why not?" said Tom. "But how do you know the monks were jolly old chaps?" "How do I know! why, weren't they fond of fishing, and didn't they make my ponds?
At first it was so dull and lambent that it suggested thoughts of the will-o'-the-wisp. But this was no dancing flame, being a steady glow in one fixed spot, and Tom expressed his companion's thoughts exactly as he exclaimed: "There's Hicky's old horn lanthorn!" A few minutes more and the big bluff voice of the wheelwright was heard in a loud hail.
"We'd borrow Hicky's punt till we had built one for ourselves." "But could we build one?" "Of course we could, or make one of skins, or a raft of reeds. There are lots of ways." "But what will your father say?" "I don't know," said Dick dolefully; "he thinks I'm fighting against him, so I suppose he'll be glad I've gone." "But how about your mother?" Dick paused a few moments before answering.
Here have I been thinking for years how nice it would be, when we'd done school to have all the run of the fen, and do what we liked, netting, and fishing and shooting, and helping Dave at the 'coy, and John Warren among the rabbits." "And getting a hare sometimes with Hicky's Grip," put in, Tom. "Yes; and now all the place is going to be spoiled. I say, are we going right home with you?"
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