“Seems rather horrible,” said Dick.
“More horrible for your father to be shot, Dick, and for people to be burned in their beds, eh!”
“Ever so much,” cried Tom. “You shoot ’em all, Mr Marston.”
“Precaution is better than cure, Tom,” said the engineer smiling. “Now that we are prepared, you will see that we shall not be interfered with, and my arming the men will save bloodshed instead of causing it.”
“Think so, sir?”
“I am sure of it, my lad. Besides, if I had not done something, my men would not have stayed. Even Bargle said it was getting too warm. He said he was not afraid, but he would not stay. So here we are ready for the worst: self-defence, my lads. And now let’s go and get a few ducks for dinner. They are pretty plentiful, and my men like them as well as I.”
The result was a long walk round the edge of the fen and the bringing back of a fairly miscellaneous bag of wild-fowl, the engineer having become a skilful gunner during his stay in the wild coast land.
Mr Marston was right; the preparations made by him and all the farmers round who had an interest in the draining of the fen had the effect of putting a stop to the outrages. The work went on as the weeks glided by, and spring passed, and summer came to beautify the wild expanse of bog and water. There had been storm and flood, but people had slept in peace, and the troubles of the past were beginning to be forgotten.
There were plenty of fishing and fowling expeditions, visits to the decoy with good results, and journeys to John Warren’s home for the hunting out of rabbits; but life was beginning seriously for the two lads, who found occupation with Mr Marston and began to acquire the rudiments of knowledge necessary for learning to be draining engineers. Sometimes they were making drawings, sometimes overlooking, and at others studying works under their teacher’s guidance.
But it was a pleasant time, for Marston readily broke off work to join them in some expedition.