oss."

That pie, in spite of the rough surroundings, was delicious; and Dick
forgot to pity the poor rabbits, and he did not refuse to take his dozen
lapwings home for a welcome addition to the next day's dinner.

"You see, Tom," he whispered, "I think I was a little too particular.
Good-night, Dave, and thank you!" he shouted.

"Good-night, lads--good-night!" came off the water. Then there was a
splash of the pole, and Dave disappeared in the moonlit mist which
silvered the reeds, while the boys trudged the rest of their way home.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE DRAIN PROGRESSES.

The number of workers increased at the sea-bank, quite a colony growing
up, and Dick paid several visits to the place with his father to see how
busily the men were delving, while others built up what was termed a
_gowt_--a flood-gate arrangement for keeping out the sea at high water,
and opening it at low, so as to give egress to the drain-water collected
from the fen-land.

Both lads were eager enough to be there to witness the progress of the
works at first; but after going again and again, they voted the whole
thing to be uninteresting, and no more worth seeing than the digging of
one of the ditches on the farms at home.

And certainly there was no more difference than in the fact that the
ditches at home were five or six feet wide, while the one the
adventurers were having cut through the fen-land would be forty feet,
and proportionately deep.

So the big drain progressed foot by foot, creeping on as it were from
the sea-shore, an innocent-looking channel that seemed valueless, but
which would, when finished, rid the land of its stagnant water, and turn
the boggy, peaty soil of the fen into rich pasture and corn-land,
whereas its finest produce now was wild-fowl and a harvest of reeds.

"We're getting on, neighbour," said the squire to Farmer Tallington one
evening.

"Ay, but it's slow work," said Tom's father. "It'll be years before
that lode is cooten."

"Yes, it will be years before it is finished," said the squire,
"certainly."

"Then, what's the good of us putting our money in it, eh? It'll do us
no good, and be robbing our boys."

"Then why don't you leave off, father?" said Tom stoutly. "Dick
Winthorpe and I don't want the fen to be drained, and we don't want to
be robbed. Do we, Dick?"

The two elders laughed heartily, and the squire was silent for a few
minutes before he began to speak.

"The drain's right, n