“He seems a wonderful beast,” said Mr Marston, smiling.
“I don’t know about being wonderful. He’s a rum one, and as cunning as a fox. Why, he’ll unfasten any gate to get into a field, and he’ll get out too. He unhooks the doors and lifts the gates off the hinges, and one day he was shut up in the big barn, and what do you think he did?”
“I know,” said Tom; “jumped out of the window.”
“Yes, that he did,” said Dick. “He climbed up the straw till he got to the window, and then squeezed himself through.”
That evening, after tea, the squire was seated in the orchard where the stone table had been built up under the big gnarled apple-tree, and the engineer was talking to him earnestly as Dick came up from going part of the way home with his companion.
“Shall I go away, father?” asked the lad, as he saw how serious his father looked.
“No, my boy, no. You are getting old enough now to think seriously; and this draining business will be more for you than for myself—better for your children than for you. Mr Marston has some more ugly news about the work.”
“Ugly news, father?”
“Yes, Dick,” said Mr Marston; “that was no accident this afternoon, but a wilful attempt made by some miserably prejudiced person to destroy our work.”
“But it did no harm, Mr Marston.”