It was plain enough that the water had sunk a good deal already, but the farmers had to face the fact that it would be weeks before the fen was in its old state, and that if the breach in the sea-wall were not soon repaired, they might at any time be afflicted with a similar peril.
But notice was sent to those interested, while the farmers here and there who held the patches of raised land round the borders of the fen obeyed the summons, and for about a month there was busy work going on at the sea-wall with spade and basket, clay being brought from pits beneath the sand upon the sea-shore, carried up to the breach, and trampled down, till at last, without further mishap, the gap in the embankment was filled up strongly, and the place declared to be safe.
Of those who toiled hard none showed so well in the front as Dave o’ the ’Coy, and John Warren, and the squire was not stinted in his praise one day toward the end of the task.
“Wuck hard, mester!” said Dave. “Enough to mak’ a man wuck. John Warren here don’t want all his rabbits weshed away; and how am I to manage my ’coy if it’s all under watter.”
“Ah, how indeed!” said the squire, and he went away; but Dick stayed behind with Tom Tallington, and sat upon the top of the embankment, laughing, till the rough fen-man stood resting on his spade.
“Now then, what are yow gimbling (grinning) at, young mester?” he said.
“At yow, Dave,” said Dick, imitating his broad speech.
“Then it arn’t manners, lad. Thowt you’d been to school up to town yonder to larn manners both on you?”
“So we did, Dave, and a lot more things,” cried Dick. “How to know when anyone’s gammoning.”
“Gammoning, lad?” said Dave uneasily.