better send us away."

He looked longingly across the fen with its gleaming waters, waving
reeds, and many-tinted flowers; and as he gazed in the bright afternoon
sunshine it seemed as if it had never looked so beautiful before. To an
agricultural-minded man it was a watery waste; but to a boy who had
passed his life there, and found it the home of bird, insect, fish, and
flower, and an ever-changing scene of pleasure, it was all that could be
called attractive and bright.

"I'm ready to go," said Tom sturdily; "only I don't know which to do."

"Which to do!" cried Dick, with his face growing red, and his eyes
flashing. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Whether to go for a soldier or a sailor."

"Haw! haw!"

Hickathrift's was a curious laugh. At a distance it might have been
taken for a hail; but a fine heron standing heel-deep in the shallow
water took it to be a cry to scare him, so spreading his great flap
wings, and stooping so as to get a spring, he flew slowly off with
outstretched legs, while the squire and Farmer Tallington looked back to
see if they had been called.

"What are you laughing at?" said Tom angrily.

"Yow, lad, yow. Why, you arn't big enew to carry a goon; and as for
sailing, do you think a ship's like a punt, and shoved along wi' a
pole!"

"Never mind," grumbled Tom. "I'm not going to stop here and be
suspected for nothing."

"Nay, nay, don't you lads talk nonsense."

"It's no nonsense, Hicky," said Dick bitterly. "I've made up my mind to
go."

"Nay, nay, I tell thee. Thou wean't goo, lads."

"Indeed but we will," cried Dick energetically.

"What, goo?"

"Yes."

"Height awayer?"

"Yes, right away."

"Then what's to become of me?" cried the wheelwright excitedly.

"Become of you! Why, what's it got to do with you?" cried Tom surlily.

"Do wi' me! Why, iverything. What's the good o' my punt? what's the
good o' me laying up a couple o' good ash-poles for you, and putting a
bit o' wood up chimney to season, so as to hev it ready for new soles
for your pattens [skates] next winter. Good, indeed! What call hev you
to talk that clat?"

"You're a good old chap, Hicky," said Dick, smiling up at the big
fellow; "but you can't understand what I feel over this."

"Hey, bud I can," cried the wheelwright quickly; "you feel just the same
as I did when Farmer Tallington--Tom's father here--said I'd sent him in
his bill after he'd sattled it; and as I did when my missus said I'd