“Going on the mere, Dick?” said his father. “Well, don’t get drowned or bogged.”
“Dick will take care,” said Mrs Winthorpe, who was busy cutting provender.
“Tom Tallington going with you?” said the squire.
“No, father; I’m going alone.”
“I wish you could have come with me, Hicky!” said Dick, as, laden with his basket of fishing-tackle and provender, he took his place in the punt.
“Ay, and I wish so too,” said the wheelwright, smiling, as he drew up and uncovered the pail of bait to set it in the boat. “Bud too busy. Theer you are! Now, go along, and don’t stop tempting a man who ought to be at work. Be off!”
To secure himself against further temptation he gave the punt a push which sent it several yards away; so, picking up the pole, Dick thrust it down and soon left the Toft behind, while the water glistened, the marsh-marigolds glowed, and the reeds looked quite purple in places, so dark was their green.
Dick poled himself along, watching the water-fowl and the rising herons disturbed in their fishing, while here and there he could see plenty of small fish playing about the surface of the mere; but he was not in an angling humour, and though the tempting baits played about in the bucket he did not select any to hook and set trimmers for the pike that were lurking here and there.
At last, though, he began to grow tired of poling, for the sun was hot; and, thinking it would be better to wait for Tom before he tried to explore the wild part of the fen, he thrust the punt along, to select a place and try for a pike.
This drew his attention to the baits, where one of the little roach had turned up nearly dead, a sure sign that the water required changing, so, setting down the pole, he took up the bucket, and, lowering it slowly over the side, he held one edge level with the water, so that the fresh could pour in and the stale and warm be displaced.