ut looked round from one to the
other, and gave Mrs Winthorpe a grateful smile.

"Do you recollect where you left your gun?" said Dick eagerly, for the
thought of the rust and mischief that would result from a night in the
bog troubled him.

"Left my gun!" he said.

"Never mind now, Mr Marston," said the squire kindly. "Your things are
wet, and we'll get you to bed. It's a nasty wound, but it will soon get
right again. I'm not a doctor, but I know the bone is not broken."

"I did not understand you at first," said the young engineer then. "You
think I have been carrying a gun, and shot myself?"

"Yes, but never mind now," said Mrs Winthorpe, kindly. "I don't think
you ought to talk."

"No," was the reply; "I will not say much; but I think Mr Winthorpe
ought to know. Some one shot me as I was coming across the fen."

"What!" cried Dick.

"Shot you!" said the squire.

"Yes. It was quite dark, and I was carefully picking my way, when there
was a puff of smoke from a bed of reeds, a loud report, and I seemed to
feel a tremendous blow; and I remember no more till I came to, feeling
sick and faint, and managed to crawl along till I saw the lights of the
farm here, and cried for help."

"Great heavens!" cried the squire.

"Didn't you see any one?" cried Mrs Winthorpe.

"No, nothing but the smoke from the reeds. I feel rather faint now--if
you will let me rest."

With the help of Dick and his father the young engineer was assisted to
his bed, where he seemed to drop at once into a heavy sleep; and,
satisfied that there was nothing to fear for some time, the squire
returned to the parlour looking very serious, while Dick watched him
intently to see what he would say.

"This is very dreadful, my dear," whispered Mrs Winthorpe at last.
"Have we some strange robber in the fen?"

"Don't know," said the squire shortly. "Perhaps some one has a spite
against him."

"How dreadful!" said Mrs Winthorpe.

"One of his men perhaps."

"Or a robber," cried Dick excitedly. "Why, father, we might get Dave
and John Warren and Hicky and some more, and hunt him down."

"Robbers rob," said the squire laconically.

"Of course, my dear," said Mrs Winthorpe; "and it would be dreadful to
think of. Why, we could never go to our beds in peace."

"But Mr Marston's watch and money are all right, my dear. Depend upon
it he has offended one of the rough drain diggers, and it is an act of
revenge."

"But the man ought