“But you’ll take us one day to the ’coy, Dave?” said Dick.
“Nay, I don’t think I can,” said Dave.
“But it’s my father’s ’coy,” said Dick.
“Ay, I know all about that,” said the man harshly; “but it wean’t be much good to him if he dree-erns the fen.”
Dave’s voice was growing loud and excited, but he dropped it directly and thrust away without making the slightest splash with his iron-shod pole.
As they came near one bed of reeds several coots began to paddle away, jerking their bald heads as they went, while a couple of moor-hens, which as likely as not were both cocks, swam as fast as their long thin unwebbed toes would allow them, twitching their black-barred white tails in unison with the jerking of their scarlet-fronted little heads, and then taking flight upon their rounded wings, dragging their long thin toes along the top of the water, and shrieking with fear, till they dropped into the sheltering cover ahead.
Snipes flew up from time to time, and more curlews and green plovers were seen, offering plenty of opportunities for the use of the gun, as the punt progressed till a long low spit of heathery gravel, about forty feet in length and five wide, was reached, with a patch of reeds across the water about a couple of hundred yards away.
“Is this the place?” cried Dick excitedly; and upon being answered in the affirmative—“Now, then, what shall we do first?”
“Sit still, and I’ll tell you, lads,” was the stern reply, as Dave, now all eagerness, secured the boat and landed his net and poles.
“Don’t tread on her, my lads,” he said. “Now help me spread her out.”