nowing as I do, that it's a man's duty to go on
with it, I shall stand fast, come what may."

"And not leave me in the lurch, Mr Winthorpe?" said a voice.

"No, Marston, not if they hamstring me in turn," cried the squire,
holding out his hand to the young engineer, who had hurried over. "I
suppose I shall get a bullet in me one of these days; but never mind,
we've begun the drain. And do you hear, all of you?" he shouted;
"spread it about that the fen will be drained, and that if they killed
me, and a hundred more who took my place, it would still be done."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE MAN OF SUSPICION.

There was a good deal of inquiry made about the houghing of Squire
Winthorpe's horses, and there was a great deal of excitement before the
poor beasts were skinned, for their hides to go to town to the tanyard
and their carcasses were carted away.

People came from miles in all directions, including all the men who were
at work for Mr Marston--every one to stand and stare at the poor dead
beasts and say nothing.

Small farmers, fen-men, people from the town, folk from the shore where
the cockle-beds lay, and the fisher-people who were supposed to live
upon very little fish and a great deal of smuggling.

Even Dave and John Warren punted themselves over, both looking yellow
and thin, and so weak that they could hardly manage their poles; and
they too stared, the former frowning at the bull and shaking his head at
the horses, but wiping away a weak tear as he stood by the cow.

"Many's the drop of good fresh milk the missus has given me from her,
Mester Dick," he said with a sigh; "and now theer's no cow, no milk, no
nothing for a poor sick man. Hey, bud the ager's a sad thing when you
hev it bad as this."

There was a visit from a couple of magistrates, who asked a great many
questions, and left behind them a squinting constable, who took very bad
snuff, and annoyed Dick by looking at him suspiciously, as if he
believed him to be the cause of all the mischief. This man stopped in
the village at a cottage next to Hickathrift's, from which place he made
little journeys in all directions, evidently full of the belief that he
was going to discover the people who did all this mischief in the
neighbourhood.

This constable's name was Thorpeley, and he did a great deal of business
with a brass box and a short black clay-pipe, in which he smoked short
black tobacco.

"I don't know," said Dick one day as he stoo