Dick o the Fens | Page 3

he turned to go for some more wood, when he was checked by a hollow growl from Dave, which came out of the pot.
But Jacob knew what it meant, and stopped, waiting patiently till Dave took the brown jug from his lips, and passed it to the apprentice, letting off the words now:
"Finish it."
Jacob was a most obedient apprentice, so he proceeded to "finish it," while the wheelwright and Dave went to the workshop, and as he was raising the vessel high Tom Tallington stooped, picked up a chip of wood from a heap, gave Dick a sharp look, and pitched it with so good an aim that it hit the jug, and before the drinker could lower it, Tom had hopped back against the cart, striking against the gun, and nearly knocking it down.
"I see yow, Masr' Dick," said Jacob, grinning; "but yow don't get none. Ale arn't good for boys."
"Get out!" cried Dick; "why, you're only a boy yourself. 'Prentice, 'prentice!"
"Not good for boys," said Jacob again as he finished the last drop perseveringly, so that there should be none left; and then went indoors with the jug.
"Dick--I say," whispered Tom as, after slipping one band into the big open pocket of the hanging coat, he drew out a well scraped and polished cow-horn with a cork in the thin end.
Chip, the dog, who was watching, uttered a remonstrant bark, but the boys paid no heed, being too intent upon the plan that now occurred to one, and was flashed instantaneously to the other.
"Yes, do," whispered Dick. "How much is there in it?"
"Don't know; can't see."
"Never mind, pitch it in and let's go, only don't run."
"It would be too bad," said Tom, laughing.
"Never mind--we'll buy him some more powder. In with it."
"No," said Tom, hesitating, though the trick was his suggestion.
Dick snatched the powder-horn from his companion, gave a hasty glance at the workshop, from which came the clink of pincers, and pitched the horn right into the middle of the blaze.
Chip gave a sharp bark, and dashed after it, but stopped short, growling as he felt the heat, and then went on barking furiously, while the two boys walked off toward the rough road as fast as they could, soon to be beyond the reach of the wheelwright's explosion of anger, for they regretted not being able to stop and see the blow-up.
"What's your Chip barking at?" said the wheelwright, as the two men walked out, armed with great iron pincers, the wheelwright holding a pair in each hand. "What is it, Chip?"
The dog kept on barking furiously, and making little charges at the fire.
"There's summat there," said Dave in a low harsh voice. "Where's they boys?"
"Yonder they go," said the wheelwright.
"Then there's summat wrong," said Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and scratching his head.
An idea occurred to him, and he ran to his coat.
"Hah!" he ejaculated in a voice that sounded like a saw cutting wood and coming upon a nail; "keep back, Chip! Here, Chip, boy; Chip! They've throwed in my powder-horn."
"Eh!" cried the wheelwright.
Pop! went the horn with a feeble report, consequent upon there being only about a couple of charges of powder left; but it was enough to scatter the embers in all directions, and for a few moments all stood staring at the smoking wood in the midst of which lay the great iron tire, rapidly turning black.
Dave was the first to recover himself.
"Come on," he shouted, and, pincers in hand, he seized the heated ring, the wheelwright followed suit, the apprentice joined, and lifting the glowing iron it was soon being hammered into its place round the smoking wheel, the soft metal bending and yielding, and burning its way till, amidst the blinding smoke, it was well home and cooling and shrinking, this part of the business being rapidly concluded by means of buckets of water brought by Jacob, and passed along the edge of the wheel.
"I say, Tom, it wasn't half a bang," said Dick as the two lads ran towards home with the wind whistling by their ears.
"No," was the panted-out reply; "but I say, what will old Dave say?"
"I don't care what he says. I shall give him a shilling to buy some more powder, and he can soon make himself another horn."
CHAPTER TWO.
THE GREAT FEN DRAIN.
"Yes, it's all right, Master Winthorpe," said Farmer Tallington; "but what will the folks say?"
"Say! What have they got to do with it?" cried Squire Winthorpe. "You boys don't make so much noise. I can't hear myself speak."
"Do you hear, Tom, howd thy row, or I'll send thee home," said the farmer; "recollect where you be."
"Yes, father," said, the lad.
"It wasn't Tom; it was me," said Dick quietly.
"Then hold your tongue, sir," cried the squire. "Now look here, Master Tallington. If