Dick o' the Fens Part 3

"Oh! I say, Tom, you are a chap," cried his companion. "I know you believe in ghosts."

"No, I don't," said Tom stoutly; "but I shouldn't like to live in your old place all the same."

"What! because it's part of the old monastery?"

"Yes. The old fellows were all killed when the Danes came up the river in their boats and burned the place."

"Well, father and I aren't Danes, and we didn't kill them. What stuff!"

"No, but it's not nice all the same to live in a place where lots of people were murdered."

"Tchah! who cares! I don't. It's a capital old place, and you never dig anywhere without finding something."

"Yes," said Tom solemnly, "something that isn't always nice."

"Well, you do sometimes," said d.i.c.k, "but not often. But I wouldn't leave the old place for thousands of pounds. Why, where would you get another like it with its old walls, and vaults, and cellars, and thick walls, and the monks' fish-ponds, and all right up on a high toft with the river on one side, and the fen for miles on the other. Look at the fish."

"Yes; it's all capital," said Tom. "I like it ever so; but it is precious monky."

"Well, so are you! Who cares about its being monky! The old monks were jolly old chaps, I know."

"How do you know? s.h.!.+ what's that?"

"Fox. Listen."

There was a rush, a splash, a loud cackling noise, and then silence save for the wind.

"He's got him," cried Tom. "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 fis.h.i.+ng, and didn't they make my ponds? I say, let's have a try for the big pike to-morrow. I saw him fly right out of the water day before yesterday, when it rained.

Oh, I say, it is a shame!"

"What's a shame?" said Tom.

"Why, to do all this draining. What's the good of it?"

"To make dry fields."

"But I don't want any more dry fields. 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 fis.h.i.+ng 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?"

"I suppose so," said Tom. "There's the light. Old Boggy'll hear us directly. I thought so. Here he comes."

There was a deep angry bark at a distance, and this sounded nearer, and was followed by the rustling of feet, ending in a joyous whining and panting as a great sheep-dog raced up to the boys, and began to leap and fawn upon them, but only to stop suddenly, stand sniffing the air in the direction of the old priory, and utter an uneasy whine.

"Hey, boy! what's the matter?" said Tom.

"He smells that fox," said d.i.c.k triumphantly. "I say, I wish we'd had him with us. There! he's got wind of him. I wish it wasn't so dark, and we'd go back and have a run."

"Have a run! have a swim, you mean," said Tom. "Why, that was in one of the wettest places between here and your house. I say, how plainly you can hear the sea!"

"Of course you can, when the wind blows off it," said d.i.c.k, as he listened for a moment to the dull low rus.h.i.+ng sound. "Your mother has put two candles in the window."

"She always does when father's out. She's afraid he might get lost in the bog."

"So did my mother once; but it made father cross, and he said, next time he went out she was to tie a bit of thread to his arm, and hold the end, and then he would be sure to get home all right. Why, there's a jack-o'-lantern on the road."

"That isn't a jacky-lantern," replied Tom, looking steadfastly first at the two lights s.h.i.+ning out in the distance, and then at a dim kind of star which seemed to be jerking up and down.

"Tell you it is," said d.i.c.k shortly.

"Tell you it isn't," cried Tom. "Jacky-lanterns are never lame. They never hop up and down like that, but seem to glide here and there like a honey-bee. It's our Joe come to meet us with the horn lantern. It's his game leg makes it go up and down."

"d.i.c.k!" came from ahead.

"Yes, father," shouted the lad; and they ran on to where the squire and Farmer Tallington were awaiting them.

"We'll say 'good-night' now," said the squire. "Here, d.i.c.k, Farmer's Joe is coming on with the lantern. Shall we let him light us home?"

"Why, we should have to see him home afterwards, father," said d.i.c.k merrily.

"Right, my lad! Good-night, Tallington! You are in for your two hundred, mind."

"Yes, and may it bring good luck to us!" said the fanner. "Good-night to both of you!"

"Good-night!"

d.i.c.k supplemented his "good-night" with a pat on the head of the great sheep-dog, which stood staring along the track, and snuffing the wind; and then he and his father started homeward.

"I shall come over directly after breakfast, d.i.c.k," shouted Tom.

"All right!" replied d.i.c.k as he looked back, to see that the lantern had now become stationary, and then it once more began to dance up and down, while the two lights shone out like tiny stars a few hundred yards away.

"They've got the best of it, d.i.c.k," said the squire. "Why, we were nearly there. Let's make haste or your mother will be uneasy. Phew!

the wind's getting high!"