He walked away, leaving Dick with his companion Tom Tallington.
“I say,” said the latter, “you caught it.”
“Well, I can’t help it,” said Dick, who felt irritated and ashamed. “It does seem a pity to spoil all the beautiful pools and fishing places, and instead of having beds of reeds full of birds, for there to be nothing but fields and a great ugly drain. Why, the flowers, and butterflies, and nesting places will all be swept away. What do we care for fields of corn!”
“My father cares for them, and he says it will be the making of this part of the country.”
“Unmaking, he means,” said Dick; and they went on to watch the proceedings of the strange men who had come—big, strong, good-tempered-looking fellows, armed with sharp cutting spades, and for whose use the lads found that a brig had come into the little river, and was landing barrows, planks, and baskets, with a variety of other articles to be used in the making of the drain.
“I’m afraid we shall have some trouble over this business, Tallington,” said the squire as they went back.
“Well, we sha’n’t be the only sufferers,” said the farmer good-humouredly. “I suppose all we who have adventured our few pounds will be in the people’s black books. But we must go on—we can’t stop now.”
The next day Tom came over, and the lads went down towards the far-stretching fen, now once more losing a great deal of the water of the flood.
They passed the Solemn one apparently none the worse for his bath, for he trotted away from the gate to thrust his head in the favourite corner by the old corbel in the wall, and look back at them, as if as ready to kick as ever.
“Poor old Solomon!” said Dick laughing, “I should have been sorry if he had been lost.”