It was a few days after the conversation with the squire that Tom proposed a turn after the fish in Hickathrift’s boat.
“We could pole ourselves without Dave; and let’s ask Mr Marston to come. It’s a long time since he has had a holiday.”
Dick’s brow was overcast, and he wore generally the aspect of a boy who had partaken of baking pears for a week, but his face cleared at this, and he eagerly joined in the plan.
“We’ll get Hicky to lend us his boat, and pole down as far as we can, and then run across to Mr Marston.”
Their preparations did not take long, and though they were made before they knew whether they could have the punt, they did not anticipate any objections, and they were right.
Hickathrift was busy sawing, but he looked up with a broad grin, and leaving his work went down with them to the water side.
“Course I’ll lend it to you, lads,” he said. “Wish I could come wi’ you.”
“Do, then, Hicky. It’s a long time since we’ve had a fish.”
“Nay; don’t ask me,” was the reply. “I wean’t leave the work. Ay, bud it’s nice to be a boy,” he added, with a smile.
“Couldn’t you do your work afterward?” cried Tom.