Will of the Mill

by George Manville Fenn

The Story Told.

The alarm had so spread, carried as the disaster was by the galloping messenger from the mill, as well as by the flood itself, that help was pouring in from all quarters, and as soon as the sufferers were borne dripping and senseless from the water, scores of hands were ready to bear them into shelter, where doctors soon declared that there was no further danger to fear.

John Willows, as he lay on a couch grasping his son’s hand, hurriedly explained his action when he had dashed into the flood, for he had caught sight of Drinkwater for a moment, and seen that he was in peril of his life, but it was only to nearly lose his own, for he had been caught between two heavy beams sailing with the rapid current, and been so crushed that insensibility came on.

As for Drinkwater, he lay calm and sensible, like a man just recovering from some long illness, and there was a look of pathetic wonder in his eyes that he was still alive which was pitiful to see.

“No wonder,” said one of the doctors; “he’s been within an inch of losing his life; but in a few days he will be all right again;” and his words proved true.

That same afternoon the man was carried by friendly hands up to his own cottage, which, of course, lay high above the broken dam, while others formed a kind of litter upon which Mr Willows was borne up to the Vicarage, which he was bidden to consider his home. So that, after the horrors of the morning, as the various employés found shelter or returned to their uninjured homes, a strange feeling of peace began to reign.

It was quite evening when Josh and Will descended to Drinkwater’s cottage, Will having declared himself none the worse for all that he had gone through, and, as his father was sleeping calmly, and the boy was looking strained and white, Mr Carlile agreed that the fresh air would do him good.

“Tell Mr Manners,” he said, “that we have plenty of room here, and that I should be glad if he will join us, and so leave the cottage to its owner, and his wife’s hands tree. You understand, Josh. Be insistent, and tell him that if he does not come I shall feel quite hurt.”

“Yes, father, I understand,” cried Josh, and the boys set off. “I wonder,” said Josh, “that old Toadstool has not been up.”

“Oh, he meant kindly,” said Will. “He was afraid of disturbing us, for I heard the doctor tell him that father must be kept very quiet for a day or two.”