“It’s up to my chin,” cried Tom with a shiver, “and I’m holding on by the ice.”
Hickathrift did not hesitate, but waded towards him, breaking opposing sheets of ice with a thump of his fist, and at last, with some little difficulty, all got ashore.
“Theer, both of you, run for it to the Toft and get to bed. The missus knows what to do better than I can tell her. Nivver mind your pattens.”
If they had stopped to get them off it would have been a terribly long job with their rapidly-numbing hands, so they did not pause, but scuffled over the ground in the best way they could to the house, where hot beds and a peculiar decoction Mrs Winthorpe prepared had a double property, for it sent them into a perspiration and off to sleep, one of the labourers bearing the news to Grimsey that the heir to the house of Tallington would not return that night, consequent upon having become “straänge and wet.”
The next morning the boys came down to breakfast none the worse for their wetting, to find that Mr Marston was already there looking very serious.
He had been told of the burning-out of poor Dave, and he had other news of his own, that three of the cottages had been fired during the past night.
“And the peculiar part of the business is,” said Mr Marston, “that big Bargle saw the person who fired the last of the houses.”
The engineer looked at Dick as he spoke.
“Why didn’t he catch him then?” said Dick sharply, for Mr Marston’s look annoyed him; “he is big enough.”
“Don’t speak pertly, Dick!” said his father sternly.