“But I could not use an eel-spear,” said the young engineer, smiling.
“But Tom and I could do the spearing, and you could put the eels in the basket.”
“When you caught them,” said Marston, laughing.
“Oh, we should be sure to catch some! Shouldn’t we, Dave?”
“Ay, theer’s plenty of ’em, mester.”
“Let’s go, then,” cried Dick excitedly; “and if we get a whole lot, we’ll take them over to your men, Mr Marston. Come on!”
“Nay, but yow weant,” said Dave, with a dry chuckle.
“Why not?”
“Mester Hickathrift has got the stong-gad to mend. One of the tines is off, and it wants a noo ash pole.”
“Here, stop a moment,” said Marston, laughingly interrupting a groan of disgust uttered by the boys; “what, pray, is a stong-gad?”