“Well done, industrious!” cried Uncle Bob, who opened the gate to me. “You are first.”
“That’s right,” I said. “No, it isn’t. Where’s Uncle Dick? Why, you look pale.”
“Uncle Dick isn’t awake,” he said quickly. “Fact is, Cob, I’ve had a scare. As you say, I found that they’d been at Piter again. The poor dog has been drugged, and that must mean something wrong.”
Sure enough, poor Piter lay fast asleep and breathing heavily; but after our last experience we did not feel so despondent about bringing him to again, so, leaving him in his kennel where he had crept, we roused Uncle Dick and told him.
“We can’t look round now,” he said. “The men are coming in to their work, but we shall soon hear if there is anything wrong. The bands again, I expect.”
Just then we heard the noise made by the drawing of the sluice, the wheel went plashing round, the shaft rumbled, connections were being made, and in a very few minutes the first grindstone was sending forth its loud churring noise.
Then there was more and more, and at last the works were in full swing.
“There’s nothing wrong, then, with the bands,” said Uncle Dick; and then we waited, wondering what trick had been played, till about an hour had passed, during which the same remedies as were tried before were put into force with poor old Piter, and he recovered sufficiently to wag his tail.
Just about that time Uncle Jack arrived, and was put in possession of our fresh trouble.
“And you can find nothing wrong?” he said.