it was not to see John Warren's nor Dave Gittan's grave that
Hickathrift led the young men to the one bit of waste land left, and
there pointed to a wooden tablet nailed against a willow tree.

"The squire give me leave, Mester Dick, and Jacob and me buried him
theer when he died. Jacob painted his name on it, rather rough, but the
best he could, and we'd hev put his age on it, as well as the date, if
we'd ha' known."

"How old was he, do you think, Hicky?" said Dick.

"Don't know, sir, but straange and old."

"But why did you take so much interest in him? You never liked the
donkey."

"Nay, bud you did, lad, and that was enough for me."

"Poor old Solomon!" said Dick, smiling at the recollections the rough
tablet evoked; "how he could kick!"

"And so you and young Tom--I beg pardon, sir," said Hicky, "Mester
Tallington--are going to help Mester Marston wi the big dreerning out in
Cambridgeshire, eh?"

"Yes, Hicky, ours is a busy life now; but we're beginning to find people
more sensible about such matters. Mr Marston was laughing over it the
other day, and saying that all the romance had gone out of our
profession now there was no chance of getting shot."

"Weer he, now?" said Hickathrift wonderingly. "Think of a man liking to
be shot at!"

"Oh, he does not like to be shot at, Hicky! By the way, though, who was
it shot Dave Gittan? Come, now, you know."

"Owd Dave Gittan's been buried twenty year, Mester Dick, so let him
rest."

"Rest! Of course; but come--you do know?"

"Yes, Mester Dick," said the wheelwright stolidly. "I do know, but I
sweered as I'd nivver tell, and I'll keep my word."

"Ah, well, I will not press you, Hicky! It was a sad time."

"Ay, my lads, a sad time when a man maks war like that again his
brothers wi' fire and sword, leastwise wi' goon. That theer fen was
like a battlefield in them days, while now it's as pleasant a place to
look upon as a man need wish to see."

"A lovely landscape, Hicky," said Dick, gazing across the verdant plain.

"Ay, lad, and once all bog and watter, and hardly a tree from end to
end."

"A great change, Hicky, showing what man can do."

"Ay, a great change, Mester Dick, but somehow theer are times when I get
longing for the black watter and the wild birds, and all as it used to
be."

"Yes, Hicky," said Dick almost sadly as he saw in memory's mirror the
days of his boyhood; "but this is a world of change, man; we must look
forward and