“And thank God for sparing all our lives!” said the squire, taking off his hat.
“Amen!” said Farmer Tallington, and for a time there was nothing heard but a sob from Mrs Tallington and the splashing of the poles.
But two boys could not keep silence long with the sun shining and the place around wearing so novel a guise; and Dick soon burst out with:
“Look, Tom; look at the teal!”
He pointed to a flock forming quite a patch upon the water some hundreds of yards away.
“Ay,” said the squire; “it’s good for the wild-fowl, but bad for us. The sooner the place is drained now, neighbour, the better, eh?”
“Ay, squire, you’re right; but how are we to get rid of all this watter?”
“Ah, we must see,” said the squire; and Dave and John Warren exchanged glances and shook their heads. “The sooner the draining works are commenced the better.”
“Toft Fen wean’t niver be drained, mester,” said Dave in a low voice, as he rested his pole in the punt and stood there looking as if he believed himself to be a prophet.
“Oh, you think so, do you, Dave?” said the squire quietly. “I daresay hundreds of years ago, before the sea-wall was made, some men said that no farming could be done in the fen, but the sea has been kept out for all these years.”