“May I read it—and Tom?” he added, for he saw his companion’s eager looks.
“Well, yes, you’ve heard what we’ve been talking about—what neighbour Tallington came over for.”
“Yes, father,” said Dick, taking the piece of paper, and feeling very serious, since he knew that it contained a threat. But as soon as he grasped its contents—looking at them as a well-educated lad for his days, fresh from the big town grammar-school—he slapped his thigh with one hand, and burst into a roar of laughter, while his father looked on with a grim smile.
“What is it, Dick?” cried Tom eagerly.
“Here’s a game!” cried Dick. “Just look!”
There was not much on the paper, and that was written in a clumsy printing-letter fashion, beneath a rough sketch, and with another to finish.
“Why, here’s a hollow turnip and two sticks!” cried Dick aloud; “and—and what is it, Tom?”
‘stope the dyke
or yow hev 2
dighe’
“Stop the dyke or you’ll have to dig,” said Tom eagerly. “You’ll have to dig! Does he mean dig the ditch?”
“No!” roared Dick; “that’s the way he spells die, and that long square thing’s meant for a coffin.”