CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE SHAKES.
The time glided on.

Bargle grew better; Mr Marston's wound healed; and these troubles were forgotten in the busy season which the fine weather brought.

For the great drain progressed rapidly in the bright spring and early summer-time.

There were stoppages when heavy rains fell; but on the whole nature seemed to be of opinion that the fen had lain uncultivated for long enough, and that it was time there was a change.
The old people scattered here and there about the edge shook their heads, especially when they came over to Hickathrift's, and said it would all be swept away one of these fine nights--_it_ being the new river stretching week by week farther into the morass; but the flood did not seem to have that effect when it did come.

On the contrary, short as was the distance which the great drain had penetrated, its effect was wonderful, for it carried off water in a few days which would otherwise have stayed for weeks.
Dick said it was a good job that Mr Marston had been shot.
Asked why by his crony Tom, he replied that it had made them such good friends, and it was nice to have a chap who knew such a lot over at the Toft.
For the intimacy had grown; and whenever work was done, reports written out and sent off, and no duties raised their little reproving heads to say, "You are neglecting us!" the engineer made his way to the Toft, ready to join the two boys on some expedition--egg-collecting, fishing, fowling, or hunting for some of the botanical treasures of the bog.
"I wish he wouldn't be so fond of moss and weeds!" said Tom.