So they chatted on till they reached the farm called Waldegraves, and there Phœbe alighted.
"I shall not be long," she said, at the door, turning and giving him a look which might mean a great deal or nothing, according to the character of the woman who cast it.
When she came up she said, "There, George, I cut my business as short as possible. Now what do you say to showing me the Decoy? I have never seen it, but I have heard a great deal of it, and I cannot understand how it is contrived."
"It is close here," said De Witt.
"I know it is, the little stream in this dip feeds it. Will you show me the Decoy?"
"But your foot—Phœbe. You have sprained your ankle."
"If I may lean on your arm I think I can limp down there. It is not very far."
"And then what about the horse?"
"Oh! the boy here will hold it, or put it up in the stable. Run and call him, George."
"I could drive you down there, I think, at least within a few yards of the place, and if we take the boy he can hold the horse by the gate."
"I had rather hobble down on your arm, George."
"Then come along, mate."
The Decoy was a sheet of water covering perhaps an acre and a half in the midst of a wood. The clay that had been dug out for its construction had been heaped up, forming a little hill crowned by a group of willows. No one who has seen this ill-used tree in its mutilated condition, cut down to a stump which bristles with fresh withes, has any idea what a stately and beautiful tree it is when allowed to grow naturally. The old untrimmed willow is one of the noblest of our native trees. It may be seen thus in well-timbered parts of Suffolk and occasionally in Essex. The pond was fringed with rushes, except at the horns, where the nets and screens stood for the trapping of the birds. From the mound above the distant sea was visible, through a gap in the old elm trees that stood below the pool. In that gap was visible the war-schooner, lying as near shore as possible. George
