“An earthquake!” laughed Frankie.
“It’s the sails!” yelled Dave, starting for the ladder. “What are you doing down there, Ferd?”
The groaning and shaking continued. The arms of the windmill were going round and round–every revolution increasing their speed.
“Stop that, Ferd!” shouted Dave again, starting to descend the ladder.
“Isn’t that just like a boy?” demanded Bess, in disgust. “He just had to fool with the machinery.”
“What do you suppose the miller will say?” queried Wyn, anxiously.
The roar of the whirling arms almost drowned their voices. The wind had increased to a brisk breeze. With the sails so well filled the arms turned at top-notch speed. The tower shook as though it were about to tumble down.
“Oh, dear me!” moaned Mina, the timid one. “Let us get out of here.”
“Why doesn’t Dave make him stop it?” shouted Frankie.
“Why doesn’t the foolish Ferd stop it himself?” was Wyn’s demand.