“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, 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 Dick 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.”