“Let it rest,” said Mr Willows. “I don’t concern myself about that now. I have something else on my mind. I shall not rest, Carlile, till I have thanked that man for all he has done, and shaken him by the hand.”
“Oh, he’ll turn up soon, I daresay,” said Manners. “Here, I know! he must have got himself drenched with water.”
“Of course!” cried Will. “I saw him lower himself down into the hole to move the suction-pipe.”
“That’s it,” said Manners, “and he’s gone up to the cottage to have a change.”
“At any rate,” said the Vicar, “I feel thankful that the trouble has passed, and I shall be seeing him back at his work to-morrow; eh, Mr Willows?”
“I hope so,” was the reply. “Now then, we must have three or four watchers for the rest of the night, and those of you who are wet had better see about a change.”
“Well, I’m one,” said Manners, “for I feel like a sponge. I’m off to my diggings, but I shall be back in half an hour to join the watch.”
“No, no,” cried Mr Willows, “you’ve done enough. I’ll see to that.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the artist; “I want to come back and think out my plan for a new picture of the mill on fire. It’ll be a bit of history, don’t you see, and I want to get the scene well soaked into my mind.”
“It ought to be burned in already,” said Will, laughing.