“Why, you’re not trying, Dave.”
“Not trying, lad! Nay, but I am, and I shall find him yet some day. Look here, boys. If you want to find out anything like that, you mustn’t go splashing about among the reeds, or tug-slugging through the bog-holes, or he hears you coming, and goos and hides. You must sit down among the bushes, and wait and wait quiet, like a man does when he wants to get the ducks, and by-and-by him as did it comes along. Dessay I shall catch him one of these days, and if I do, and I’ve got my pole with me, I’ll throost him under water and half-drownd him.”
“Never mind about all that, Dave. What are you going to do to-day?” cried Dick.
“Me, lad! Oh, nowt! I’ve brote a few eggs for the missus, and I shall tak’ that can o’ powder back wi’ me, and then set down and go on makkin soom new coy-nets.”
“That’s his gammon, Mr Marston,” cried Dick.
“Nay, nay, mester, it’s solemn truth.”
“’Tisn’t; it’s gammon. Isn’t it, Tom?”
“Every bit of it. He’s come on purpose to ask us to go out with him.”
“Nay, nay, nay, lads,” said Dave in an ill-used tone. “I did think o’ asking if Mester Marston here would like to try for some eels up in the long shallows by Popley Watter, for they be theer as thick as herrin’, bubblin’ up and slithering in the mud.”
“Let’s go, then, Mr Marston. Eel-spearing,” cried Dick.