“Yes; keeps one back, my lad. Two strings to one’s bow arn’t enough. Say, Master Lee, you’re a clever sort of chap, and make all kinds of ’ventions; can’t you set me going with a steam engine thing as ’ll make my stones run, when there’s no water?”
“I think I could,” said Vane, eagerly.
“I thowt you’d say that, lad,” cried the miller, laughing; “but I’ve heard say as there’s blowings-up—explosions—over your works sometimes, eh?”
“Oh, that was an accident,” cried Vane.
“And accidents happen in the best regulated families, they say,” cried the miller. “Well, I must think about it. Cost a mint o’ money to do that.”
By this time they had reached the long, low, weather-boarded, wooden building, which spanned the river like a bridge, and looked curiously picturesque among the ancient willows growing on the banks, and with their roots laving in the water.
It was a singular-looking place, built principally on a narrow island in the centre of the stream, and its floodgates and dam on either side of the island; while heavy wheels, all green with slimy growth, and looking grim and dangerous as they turned beneath the mill on either side, kept up a curious rumbling and splashing sound that was full of suggestions of what the consequences would be should anyone be swept over them by the sluggish current in the dam, and down into the dark pool below.
“Haven’t seen you, gents, lately, for a day’s fishing,” said the miller, as he entered the swing-gate, and held it open for the lads to follow, which, having nothing else to do, they did, as a matter of course.
“No,” said Macey; “been too busy over our books.”
The churchwarden laughed.