“Nay, I don’t say that. I hev ketched rabbuds that ways, but not often. Rabbud always makes for his hole.”
As he spoke he walked back to where he had left his pole standing in the bog earth, and they trudged on again to where a lane of water impeded their further progress.
“Too wide for you, lads?” said Dave.
“No,” replied Dick, “if it’s good bottom.”
“Good bottom a little higher up here,” said Dave, bearing off to the left. “Now, then, over you go!”
Dick, pole in hand, took a run without the slightest hesitation, for Dave’s word was law. He said there was good bottom to the lane of water, and he was sure to know, for he had the knowledge of his father and grandfather joined to his own. If it had been bad bottom Dick’s feat would have been impossible, for his pole would have gone down perhaps to its full length in the soft bog; as it was, the end of the pole rested upon gravel in about three feet of water, and the lad went over easily and describing a curve through the air.
“Look out!” shouted Tom, following suit, and landing easily upon the other side; while Dave took off his basket of plovers’ eggs by slipping the hide band over his head, then, hanging it to the end of his pole, he held it over the water to the boys, who reached across and took it together on their poles, landing it safely without breaking an egg.
The next minute, with the ease of one long practised in such leaps, Dave flew over and resumed his load.
Several more long lanes of water were cleared in this way, Dave leading the boys a good round, and taking them at last to his house, pretty well laden with eggs, where he set before them a loaf and butter, and lit a fire.
“Theer, you can boil your eggs,” he said, “and mak’ a meal. Mebbe you’re hungry now.”