“Yes, not tempting for a bathe, Dick; but some day I hope to see a river nearly as big as that draining our great fen.”
“But don’t you think it will be a pity, father?”
“Yes, for idle boys who want to pass their lives fishing, and for men like Dave and John Warren. Depend upon it, Dick, it’s the duty of every man to try and improve what he sees about.”
“But natural things look so beautiful, father!”
“In moderation, boy. Don’t see any sign of Mr Marston yet, do you?”
“No, father,” replied Dick after taking a long look over the desolate level where the river wound between its raised banks toward the sea.
“Can’t very well miss his way,” said the squire, half to himself.
“Unless he came through the fen,” said Dick.
“Oh, he wouldn’t do that! He’d come along by the river wall, my boy; it’s longer, but better walking.”
The squire walked back toward the house, turning off so as to approach it by the back, where his men were digging for a great rain-water tank to be made.