There were a couple more zigzags to descend, which never had seemed so long to Will before, and meanwhile the buzz of voices, mingled with shouted orders, grew louder and more confused.
“Shall we never get there?” panted Will.
“Take it coolly, my boy,” cried the artist.
“Steady! Cool! Steady!” snapped out Will. “Who can be cool at a time like this?”
“You,” said Manners, “and you must. We don’t want to get there pumped out and useless in an emergency. We want to help.”
“Ha!” panted Josh, as if satisfied with their friend’s utterance, and feeling that it exactly expressed his feelings.
“Oh, the poor old mill!” cried Will, as the next minute they came full in sight of the long wooden range of buildings, up one end of which, as if striving to reach the bell turret, great tongues of fire were gliding steadily in a ruddy series, licking at board and beam as they pursued their way.
Just then a thought struck Will, and he breathlessly shouted—
“The engine! The engine! Who says my father was foolish now?”
“I say he was a Solomon,” cried Manners. “Hurrah, boys! Let’s have the engine out! Plenty of water! Take it coolly; we’ll soon have her going now.”