“No.”
“Then they must have got away; but they’ve took some swan-shot wi’ ’em, whoever they be.”
“But, Dave, were there two?”
“Don’t know, lad. I only see one, and fired sharp. Look ye here,” he continued, pointing to the glowing remains of his hut, “I nivver made no dreerns. They might have left me alone. Now they’ll come back some day and pay me back for that shot. All comes o’ your father makkin dreerns, Mester Dick, just as if we weren’t reight before.”
“It’s very, very sad, Dave.”
“Ay, bairn, and I feel sadly. Theer’s a whole pound o’ powder gone, and if I’d happened to be happed up i’ my bed instead of out after they geese, I should hev gone wi’ it, or been bont to dead. Why did they want to go meddling wi’ me?”
“They’ve been meddling with every one, Dave,” said Tom.
“’Cept you two,” grumbled Dave. “Theer was my sheepskin coat and a pair o’ leggin’s and my new boots.”
“Were the nets there, Dave?” asked Dick.
“Course they weer. Look, dessay that’s them burning now. All my shot too melted down, and my tatoes, and everything I have.”