“Ay, that’s it, lad. Folk talks o’ draäning fen, and such blather. Can’t be done.”
“I say, John, I don’t want the fen drained,” whispered Dick.
“Good lad!” growled John Warren; and then Dave shook his head at the ale-mug, sighed, and drank.
“But don’t let father hear what you say, because he won’t like it.”
“Nay, I sha’n’t say nowt,” said Dave.
“Nay, nor me neither, only natur’s natur, and floods is floods,” added John Warren; and he too shook his head at the ale-mug, and drank.
“Now, then,” cried the squire, coming quickly to the door, “Hickathrift and I are going in the big punt to see if we can help the Tallingtons; the stream isn’t so strong now. Are you men going to try to help us?”
“Get Farmer Tallington out?” said Dave. “Ay, we are coming.”
“Let me come too, father,” cried Dick.
“No, my lad, I’m afraid I—”