means?" said the wheelwright.

"Perch," said Dick, shortly. "A big chap too, and he has got one," he
added excitedly, as a large fish rose, made a tremendous splash, and
then seemed to be working its way among the bending reeds. "Might have
got him perhaps if we had had a line."

Mr Marston made no reply, for he was watching the slow heavy flap-flap
of a heron as it rose from before them with something indistinctly seen
in its beak.

"What has it got?" he said.

Dick turned sharply, and made out that there seemed to be a round knob
about the great bird's bill, giving it the appearance of having thrust
it through a turnip or a ball.

"Why, it's an eel," he cried, "twisting itself into a knot. Yes: look!"

The evening light gleamed upon the glistening skin of the fish, as it
suddenly untwisted itself, and writhed into another form. Then the
heron changed its direction, and nothing but the great, grey beating
pinions of the bird were visible, the long legs outstretched like a
tail, the bent back neck, and projecting beak being merged in the body
as it flew straight away.

Hickathrift worked hard at the pole, and soon after rounding one great
bed of reeds they came in sight of the rough gravelly patch with a
somewhat rounded outline, which formed the Warren, and upon which was
the hut inhabited by John o' the Warren, out of whose name "o'-the" was
generally dropped.

The moment they came in sight there was a loud burst of barking, and
Snig, John Warren's little rabbit-dog, came tearing down to the shore,
with the effect of rendering visible scores of rabbits, until then
unseen; for the dog's barking sent them scurrying off to their holes,
each displaying its clear, white, downy tuft of a tail, which showed
clearly in the evening light.

The dog's bark was at first an angry challenge, but as he came nearer
his tone changed to a whine of welcome; and as soon as he reached the
water's edge he began to perform a series of the most absurd antics,
springing round, dancing upon his hind-legs, and leaping up at each in
turn, as the visitors to the sandy island landed, and began to walk up
to the sick man's hut.

There were no rabbits visible now, but the ground was honey-combed with
their holes, many of which were quite close to the home of their tyrant
master, who lived as a sort of king among them, and slew as many as he
thought fit.

John Warren's home was not an attractive one, being merely a hut built
up of