“Yes, gammoning. You don’t want the flood done away with.”
“Not want the flood done away wi’!”
“No; and you don’t want the fen drained and turned into fields.”
“Do yow?” said Dave fiercely, and he took a step nearer to the lad.
“No, of course not,” cried Dick. “It would spoil all the fun.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Dave, as his yellow face puckered up with a dry smile, and in a furtive way which fitted with his fox-skin cap he turned and gave John Warren a peculiar look.
“When may we come over to the ’coy, Dave?”
“When you like, lads. Soon as the watter’s down low enough for us to work it.”
“It’s sinking fast, Dave,” said Tom. “It’s all gone from our garden now, and the rooms are getting dry.”
“Ay, but my pipes are covered still, and it’ll be a good month, my lads, ’fore we can do any good. But I might ha’ took you both out in the punt for a bit o’ shooting if you hadn’t played that game on me, and spoiled my horn and wasted all my powder.”