“Got enough to give Mr Marston a few?”
“Oh, yes, plenty for that! What time’s he coming?”
“About eight, I should think. He’s coming along the river bank after his men have done.”
“And going back, father?”
“Oh no! he’ll sleep here to-night.”
The squire went out to have his customary look round the farmstead before settling down for the night, and Dick followed him. The thrushes were piping; sounds of ducks feeding out in the fen came off the water, and here and there a great shadowy-looking bird could be seen flapping its way over the desolate waste, but everywhere there was the feeling of returning spring in the air, and the light was lingering well in the west, making the planet in the east look pale and wan.
Everything seemed to be all right. There was a loud muttering among the fowls at roost. Solomon laid back his ears and twitched the skin of his back as if he meant to kick when Dick went near the lean-to shed supported on posts, thatched with reeds and built up against an old stone wall in which there were the remains of a groined arch.
Everything about the Toft was at peace, and down toward the wheelwright’s the labourers’ cottages were so still that it was evident that some of the people had gone to bed.
The squire went on down the gravel slope, past the clump of firs, and by the old ivied wall which marked the boundary of the ancient priory, when, after crossing a field or two, they came to the raised bank which kept the sluggish river within bounds.
“Looks cold and muddy, father,” said Dick.