Dick o the Fens | Page 6

Dave will be so savage. Next time we go over to his place he'll send us back, and then there'll be no more fun at the duck 'coy, and no netting and shooting."
"Oh, I say, Tom, what a fellow you are! Now is Dave Gittan the man to look sour at anybody who takes him half a pound of powder? Why, he'll smile till his mouth's open and his eyes shut, and take us anywhere."
"Well, half a pound of powder will make a difference," said Tom thoughtfully.
"I'll take him a pound," said Dick magnificently.
"How are you going to get it?"
"How am I going to get it!" said Dick. "Why, let Sam Farles bring it from Spalding; and I tell you what, I won't give him the pound. I'll give him half a pound, and you shall give him the other."
"Ah!" cried Tom eagerly; "and I tell you what, Dick--you know that old lead?"
"What! that they dug up when they made the new cow-house?"
"Yes, give him a lump of that, and we'll help him melt it down some night, and cast bullets and slugs."
"Seems so nasty. Father said it was part of an old lead coffin that one of the monks was buried in."
"Well, what does that matter? It was hundreds of years ago. Dave wouldn't know."
"And if he did he wouldn't mind," said Dick. "All right! we'll take him the lead to-morrow."
"But you haven't got the powder."
"No, but Hicky goes to Ealand to-morrow, and he can take the money to the carrier, and we can tell Dave we've sent for it, and he knows he can believe us, and that'll be all right."
There was another pause, during which the wind shrieked, and far overhead there came a confused gabbling noise, accompanied by the whistling of wings, a strange eerie sound in the darkness that would have startled a stranger. But the boys only stood still and listened.
"There they go, a regular flight!" said Dick. "If Dave hears them won't he wish he'd got plenty of powder and lead!"
"Think the old monks'll mind?" said Tom.
"What! that flock of wild-geese going over?"
"No-o-o! Our taking the lead."
"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 Dick, "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? Sh! 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 fishing, 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 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,