“Ahoy, there! Drinkwater!” shouted the north-country man. “Come on! Here’s lots to do. This is bigger job than putting t’fire oot.”
The man addressed heard the appeal, shaded his eyes for a moment with his hand, and as if influenced by the strong man’s words, came slowly down from his place of vantage to join the group, which now set to work loosening the stones near the top of the dam, to carry them to the wall end and pitch or roll them down into the weakened part.
For a full half-hour all worked as men had never worked before, conscious the while that those they loved were gathered at each end of the threatened wall high up in safely, and watching their efforts to save the mill. But at the end of that half-hour Willows suddenly stepped to where the Vicar and Manners were toiling like the rest, the latter, with dripping face, displaying his giant strength.
“Stop!” he cried. “The dam is bound to go! Labour in vain! We are sure to have some warning. All follow to the mill. Let’s save there all we can.”
There was a hearty cheer at this, and the jocose weaver shouted—
“Now, them’s the words I like. We’d have stopped till the old dam burst, but speaking for self and family, ah’d say I’d reather not.”
There was another good-humoured roar at this, but it was mingled with a sigh of relief, and a swift walk was soon hastened into a run, till all were gathered in a fairly safe position above the mill, where they paused to breathe.
Willows and his friends came last, the former standing smiling to see the stack of household treasures Will and his helpmates had piled up.
“Well done, my lads!” he cried. “We’ve come to help you now.”
“Have you saved the dam, father?” cried Will, excitedly.