"At all events, Jim Hutchings won't come back!" And he chuckled to
himself.
Will proved right. The dike was no more molested. By the middle of October
it was within two or three yards of completion. At the gap the ground
was high, so that at ordinary tides there was small outflow and inflow.
Two or three days more of satisfactory work, and the new marsh would be
an accomplished fact Will and Ted were in a fever of anxiety, day and
night, lest something should happen at the last to mar their plans.
Above all, they had a vague dread of some sinister move on the part
of Mr. Hand.
Just at this time it happened that old Jerry lost a shoe. Ted was away
in the woods looking for a stray cow, so Will had to take the horse
down into the village to the blacksmith.
On his return, about the middle of the forenoon, he passed a field in
which Will Hen Baizley was at work digging a ditch. Along the foot of
the field ran a clear trout brook, into which it was evidently the
intention to drain a little swamp which lay further up the slope. Near
where Baizley was digging, the brook widened out into a sandy-bottomed,
sunny pool, in which the minnows were always darting and flickering.
Not far off stood the house of Mr. Israel Hand, where he guarded
the one being he was supposed to love, his little four-year-old orphan
grandson. Whether or not he cared for anyone else, it would be hard
to say; but there was no questioning the fact that he absolutely
worshiped Toddles, as the baby was called.
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