'Oh no, he isn't,' said Sarah a few minutes later; 'he's done them, somehow. Look!'
George looked out of the window. 'The mills are working!' he exclaimed. 'How has he done it?'
CHAPTER XXII.
'FURRINERS' IN OUSEBANK!
The young Clays stood and stared at each other in blank amazement. Then they looked out again at the cluster of tall chimneys which belonged to Clay's Mills, and which were belching forth great volumes of smoke as if in contemptuous defiance of those who had dared to try to stop their mighty engine.
'It is our mills!' repeated Sarah, as if she had almost disbelieved her eyes.
'Yes, there's no mistake about it; they are our mills; and yet I could have vowed I saw some of the hands pass by the park-gate this morning when I went to speak to the park-keeper. They were going away from Ousebank in search of work, I supposed.'
'I expect you are mistaken. How could the mills work without the hands? Unless they climbed down, and I'm sure they won't do that. Besides, you don't know their faces, do you?' asked Sarah.
'I guessed who they were by the way they glared at me; it made me pretty uncomfortable,' said George.