Dick o' the Fens Part 66

It was not a particularly cleanly place, but everything there, dealing as it did with Dave's pursuits, had its attraction, from the gun hanging upon a couple of wooden pegs to the nets and lines above the rough bed-place, with its sheep-skins and dingy-looking blanket.

"I should like to take the gun and have a turn by ourselves," said d.i.c.k, gazing at the long rusty piece longingly.

But it remained untouched, and, returning to the boat, the boys pushed off and made for the more remote portion of the fen, pa.s.sing from one open lake to another as they followed the long meandering lanes of water, in and out among reed-beds and alder patches, islands of bog-plants, islets of sedge, and others where the gravel and sand enabled the purple heather and lavender ling to blow profusely, in company with here and there a little gorgeous orange-yellow furze.

The hours went by, and the sun was declining fast as they neared at length a spot which had attracted them for some time past. It was either a little promontory or an isthmus, where the ground was strong enough for fir-trees to flourish, and this promised dry ground, wood, and a good site for a little hut if they set one up.

d.i.c.k brightened at the sight, for there was a cheering notion in his mind that he was going to find rest, peace, and happiness here in a little home of his own making, to which he could retire from the world to fish, shoot, and eat the fruits he would be able to gather in the season.

In short, d.i.c.k Winthorpe, being in a marsh, was suffering from a sharp fit of goose, such as attacks many boys who, because matters do not go exactly as they like at home, consider that they are ill-used, and long for what they call their freedom--a freedom which is really slavery, inasmuch as they make themselves the bond-servants of their silly fancies, and it takes some time to win them back.

The clump of firs here, which they had before seen at a distance, surpa.s.sed their expectations, for it was a good-sized island, far from the sh.o.r.e, and promised fis.h.i.+ng, fowling, and security from interruption, for it was not likely that any one would venture there.

But the evening was rapidly coming on, and the punt's head was turned homewards, the distance they had come proving startling, as they began now to feel that they were very hungry, and that they had hours of work before them before they could reach the Toft.

"Not many fish to land," said d.i.c.k rather dismally.

"Why, you wouldn't fis.h.!.+" replied Tom. "Never mind, we've found the island. Shall we build a place?"

d.i.c.k's reply was in the affirmative, and for the next two hours they debated on the subject of what they should take over, and how soon, and so pa.s.sed the time away till after dark, when, being still quite a mile from home, there came the sharp report of a gun, and then they fancied that they heard a cry.

"Why, who can be shooting now?" said d.i.c.k in an awe-stricken whisper.

"Is anything wrong?"

"I don't know. Look! look!"

Tom whispered these words, and pointed in the opposite direction, to a lambent light which seemed to be moving slowly over the marshy edge of the mere.

The light was in a portion of the sh.o.r.e where the mere narrowed; and the two lads let the boat drift as they sat and watched, each thinking of the place in the light of experience.

"Why, Tom, that can't be a boat," whispered d.i.c.k.

"Boat! No, it's land there."

"Land! It's soft bog that n.o.body could walk on!"

"Then it couldn't be a boat. Why, it's a will-o'-the-wisp."

"Yes," said d.i.c.k, after a sceptical pause, during which he watched the lambent light as it played about in a slow fantastic way, just as if it were a softly-glowing lantern carried by a short-winged moth, which used it to inspect the flowering plants as it sought for a meal. "Let's go over and look at it."

"No, no! no, no!" whispered Tom excitedly.

"Why not? Are you afraid?"

"No, not a bit; but I don't want to go. I'm tired and hungry. I don't believe you want to go either."

"Yes, I do," said d.i.c.k eagerly. "I feel as if I wanted to go, but my body didn't."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Tom, but very softly, as he kept his eyes fixed on the distant light. "That's a nice way of backing out of it. Why, you're as much afraid as I am, only I'm honest and you're not."

"Yes, I am," whispered d.i.c.k. "I'm as honest as you are, and I'll show you that I am. There, I should feel afraid to go by myself."

"Will you go if I go with you?"

Before d.i.c.k could answer there was a long, low, piteous cry from the other direction, that from whence they had heard the shot.

"I say, what's that?" whispered Tom in an awe-stricken tone.

"I don't know. It sounds very queer. There it is again."

"Is it a bird?" whispered Tom.

"No. I never heard a bird cry like that."

"What is it then--a fox trapped?"

"n.o.body would trap the foxes, and it can't be a rabbit, because that would be a squeal."

The cry came again over the dark water of the mere, and sounded so strange and weird that d.i.c.k s.h.i.+vered.

"It's something queer," said Tom huskily. "Take the pole and let's get away. Don't make a noise."

"But--"

"No, no; don't stop. We don't know what it is. Perhaps it's one of those things Hicky talks about that he has heard sometimes."

"Father says it's all nonsense, and there are no such things in the fens."

"He'd better say there are no will-o'-the-wisps to lead people astray,"

whispered Tom.

"He doesn't say that. He says there are jack-o'-lanterns, but they don't lead people astray--people go astray to try and catch them."

"Hist! there it is again!" said Tom, gripping his companion's arm, as the long piteous cry came faintly over the water. "It is something horrible!"

"It isn't," said d.i.c.k. "It's someone in distress."

"People in distress never cry out like that."

"Why, Tom, it's that Thorpeley stuck in the mud somewhere; and it's our doing."

"It's his own if he is stuck there. But I don't believe it is. Why, it's two miles nearer home than where we left him."

"Then it's somebody else in trouble," said d.i.c.k excitedly.

"It isn't. Let's go home."

Tom was, as a rule, no coward; but he was faint and tired, and the very fact of being seated out on the dark waters with the gloom so thick that they could see but a short distance, and with an unnatural-looking light on one side and a strange marrow-thrilling cry coming on the other, was enough to startle stouter-hearted lads than he, and he held more tightly to his companion as d.i.c.k seized the pole.