re there was a
perceptible lightening on their left; and as soon as he saw that, though
the mist was as thick as ever, Hickathrift rose and began to work with
the pole, for he knew his bearings now by the position of the rising
moon, and working away, in half an hour the little party emerged from
the mist as suddenly as they had dived in, but they were far wide of
their destination, and quite another hour elapsed before they reached
the old willow-stump, where the wheelwright made fast his boat, and
assuring his companions that there was nothing much wrong he went to his
cottage, while Mr Marston gladly accompanied Dick to the Toft, feeling
after the shock they had had that even if it had not been so late, a
walk down to the sea-beach that night would neither be pleasant nor one
to undertake.

Dick was boiling over with impatience, and told his father the news the
moment they entered the room where supper was waiting.

"A shot from close by!" cried the squire, excitedly.

"Yes, Mr Winthorpe," said the engineer; "and I'm afraid, greatly
afraid, it was meant for me."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HICKY'S OPINIONS.

"Nay, lads, I don't say as it weer the will-o'-the-wisps, only as it
might have been."

"Now, Hicky," cried Dick, "who ever heard of a will-o'-the-wisp with a
gun?"

"Can't say as ever I did," said the wheelwright; "but I don't see why
not."

"What stuff! Do you hear what he says, Tom? He says it may have been
one of the will-o'-the-wisps that shot and broke his finger."

"A will-o'-the-wisp with a gun!" cried Tom. "Ha! ha! ha!"

"Why shouldn't a will hev a goon as well as a lanthorn?" said
Hickathrift, stolidly.

"Why, where would he get his powder and shot?" said Dick.

"Same place as he gets his candle for his lanthorn."

"Oh, but what nonsense! The will-o'-the-wisp is a light that moves
about," cried Dick. "It is not anybody."

"I don't know so much about that," said the wheelwright, lifting up his
bandaged hand. "All I know is that something shot at me, and broke my
finger just the same as something shot at Mester Marston. They don't
like it, lads. Mark my words, they don't like it."

"Who don't like what?" said Tom.

"Will-o'-the-wisps don't like people cootting big drains acrost the fen,
my lads. They don't mind you fishing or going after the eels with the
stong-gad; but they don't like the draining, and you see if it don't
come to harm!"

"Nonsense!" cried Dick. "But I say,