The great, black cloud of smoke which hung over from side to side began to turn from ruddy orange to a dull lead colour, and at last the word was given to cease pumping.
“There’s nothing to do now, my lads, but to carry a few buckets inside and look out for sparks,” cried Willows. “I thank you all! You’ve worked grandly, and you have saved our old mill.”
“There’ll be a big sore place upon it to-morrow, master,” said one of the men.
“Nothing but what James Drinkwater and three or four workmen,” said Willows, speaking meaningly, “can put right within a month. The machinery at this end seems to be uninjured.”
“I hope so,” said Manners, “but the lads here and I have given it a tremendous washing where we sent the stream in through yon hole and those broken windows. What about the silk? Will it be spoiled?”
“There was little there to signify, and the loss will be comparatively small. Now then, everyone round to the big office, and let’s see what we can do in the way of finding you all something to eat and drink.”
There was another burst of cheers, and soon after, while the men and women were partaking of the mill-owner’s cheer, he and his friends had been making such examination as the smoke, the darkness, and the water which had flooded the drenched part of the building would allow.
“Terrible damage, Carlile,” he said. “Still nothing compared to what might have been. But what has become of Drinkwater? Who saw him last?”
“I think I did, father,” cried Will. “He was busy with a lantern down there by the engine, wiping and oiling the different parts. I asked him to come in, but he only grunted and shook his head.”
“That’s where I found him,” chimed in Josh, “when you sent me with a message, father.”