“Oh, I say, isn’t it soft?” cried Dick.
“Never mind: some people like it soft,” said Tom. “Follow me.”
He had arranged his plan so deftly that while keeping the patch of reeds between them and their pursuer, Tom managed, with no little risk of going through, to reach a second patch of the marsh growth, behind which he dodged, and threw himself down, Dick following closely; and they were well hidden and lay panting as the constable came round the first patch, glanced round, and then made for a third patch still more to the left, and beyond which was quite a copse of scrubby firs.
“Ho—ho—ho!” laughed Tom in a low voice, as he nearly choked with mirth, for all at once there was a splash, a shout, a strange wallowing noise, and as the lads parted and peered through the rushes they could see that the constable was down and floundering in the bog.
“Oh, Tom,” cried Dick, struggling up, “he’ll be smothered!”
“Sit down; he won’t. It’ll be a lesson to him.”
“But suppose—”
“No, don’t suppose anything. He’ll get out right enough.”
The constable had a hard struggle for a few minutes, and doubtless would have got out sooner if he had worked a little more with his brains; but finally he crawled to firmer ground, just as a scuffle began between Dick and Tom, the former being determined to go to his enemy’s help, the latter clinging to him with all his might to keep him back.
“Now, come along down to the boat. We can get nearly there before he sees us,” whispered Tom.