"Now clear out!" was Will's peremptory direction.
Hutchings started back toward the dike to get his spade.
"No, you don't," laughed Ted. "That's confiscated!'"
"Never mind the spade!" said Will, firmly, as Hutchings hesitated. "We'll keep it and try and find some use for it!"
The fellow would have liked to contest the point, but he remembered the feeling of Will's grip. With an oath he turned on his heel and made for the uplands. Then the boys went back to the dike, possessed themselves of the spade, and repaired the slight damage that had been done.
"Shall we stay any longer?" asked Ted, again getting sleepy.
"No, I fancy we won't be bothered this way any more!" answered Will. "At all events, Jim Hutchings won't come back!" And he chuckled to himself.
Will proved right. The dike was no more molested. By the middle of October it was within two or three yards of completion. At the gap the ground was high, so that at ordinary tides there was small outflow and inflow. Two or three days more of satisfactory work, and the new marsh would be an accomplished fact Will and Ted were in a fever of anxiety, day and night, lest something should happen at the last to mar their plans. Above all, they had a vague dread of some sinister move on the part of Mr. Hand.
Just at this time it happened that old Jerry lost a shoe. Ted was away in the woods looking for a stray cow, so Will had to take the horse down into the village to the blacksmith.
On his return, about the middle of the forenoon, he passed a field in which Will Hen Baizley was at work digging a ditch. Along the foot of the field ran a clear trout brook, into which it was evidently the intention to drain a little swamp which lay further up the slope. Near where Baizley was digging, the brook widened out into a sandy-bottomed, sunny pool, in which the minnows were always darting and flickering.