"Old Boil O's in a regular rage," said Josh, laughing.
"Well, but he hasn't been talking to you about it, has he?" replied
Will.
"Yes; said your father must be getting off his head to go and buy up
such a miserable ramshackle piece of rubbish. It was only fit to knock
to pieces and sell for old copper."
"Old Drinkwater had better keep his tongue quiet," said Will, shortly,
"or he'll make my father so much off his head that he will give him what
he calls the sack."
"Nonsense! Your father would not turn away such an old servant as
that."
"He wouldn't like to, of course," said Will, loftily; "but Boil O has
grown so precious bumptious, and he doesn't care to do this, and he
doesn't care to do that. I believe he thinks he's master of the whole
place."
"Well, he always was so ever since I can remember; but--tchah!--your
father would not turn him away. My father says he is the most useful
man he ever knew. Why, he's just like what we say when we count the
rye-grass: soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor--you know."
"Oh, yes, I know," said Will, "and he isn't soldier nor thief; but he
can do pretty well everything, from making a box, plastering and
painting, to mending a lock or shoeing a horse. But such impudence! My
father mad, indeed! I think it was a very wise thing for him to do, to
buy that engine so cheaply. The old mill's nearly all wood. Suppose it
were to catch fire?"
"Bother!" said Josh. "Why hasn't it caught fire all these two hundred
years since it was built?"
"Because everybody's been so careful," said Will. "But it might catch
fire any day."
"Pigs might fly," said Josh. "Well, suppose it did. Haven't you got
plenty of water to put it out?"
"Yes, but how are you going to throw it up to the top? Why, with that
engine hose and branch, now old Boil O's put the pump suckers right, you
could throw the water all over the place a hundred feet, I daresay, in a
regular shower. Ha, ha, ha! I say, Josh, what a game!"
"What's a game?"
"Shouldn't I like to have the old thing out, backed up to the dam, with
some of the men ready to pump--a shower, you know."
"Well, I suppose you mean something, but I don't understand."
"A shower--umbrella."
"Well, everybody puts up an umbrella in a shower."
"Yah! What an old thick-head you are!--old Manners sitting under his
umbrella, and we made it rain."
Josh's face expanded very gradually into the broadest of grins,
wrinkling up so much that it was at the expense of his eyes, which
gradually closed until they were quite tightly shut.
"Oh, no," he said at last. "It would be a game, but,"--he began to rub
himself gently with both hands--"the very thought of it makes me feel as
if my ribs were sore. He was such a weight."
"Yes, we mustn't play any more tricks; he's such a good chap. But about
old Boil O--I don't like his turning so queer. He went on at me like a
madman--I felt half frightened--said all sorts of things."
"What sort of things?"
"Oh, that father imposed upon him because he was a poor man, and set him
to do all kinds of dirty jobs about the place because he was willing.
Said he'd repent it some day. When you know father picks out those jobs
for him because he's such a clever old chap and does the things better
than the clumsy workmen from the town. But as for imposing upon him,"
said the boy, proudly, "father would not impose upon anybody."
"No, that he wouldn't. My father says he's the most noble-hearted,
generous man he ever knew; he's always ready to put his hand in his
pocket for the poor."
"So he is," cried Will. "Impose! Why, do you know what he pays old
Boil O every week?"
"No."
"Then I shan't tell you, because that's all private; but just twice as
much as he pays any of the other men."
"And he has that cottage rent-free, hasn't he?"
"Yes, and Mrs Drinkwater makes a lot every year by letting her rooms to
the artists who come down. She charges just what she likes, and the
people are glad to pay it, because it's such a nice place, and Mrs
Waters makes them so comfortable. Why, look at old Bad Manners--this is
the third year he's been down to stay a couple of months. Now what has
old Boil O got to grumble about."
"Nothing," said Josh; "only against himself. My father says that he was
born in a bad temper. Why, he won't even say `Good-morning' sometimes,
only gives you a surly scowl or a snap as if he were going to bite."
"`Let dogs delight to bark and bite, for 'tis their nature to'--that's
poetry. Hollo! What's the matter now?"
The two lads looked sharply round in the direction of the mill-yard,
from whence a loud, strident voice was heard, saying something in angry
tones, which rose at last to a passionate outburst, drowning the deep
voice of someone responding, and echoing strangely from the high,
cliff-like walls above the picturesque old mill.
"It's old Drink in one of his fits," said Josh. "Come on; let's see
what's the matter."
Will had already started off at a dog trot, and the boys ran side by
side towards the mill-yard, where quite a little group of the
silk-weavers and their wives and daughters were hurrying out to
ascertain the cause of the trouble.
"Why, there's father there," said Josh.
"What is the matter now?" cried Will.
The next minute they knew, for, as they readied the spot where
grave-looking John Willows stood looking like a patriarch amongst his
people, beside his friend the gray-headed Vicar, a short, almost
dwarfed, thick-set, large-headed man, with a shiny bald head fringed by
grisly, harsh-looking hair,--and whose dark, wrinkled face was made
almost repellent by the shaggy brows that overhung his fierce, piercing,
black eyes--took a step forward menacingly, and holding out his left
hand, palm upwards, began beating it with his right fist, fiercely
shouting in threatening tones--
"It's been so from the first, John Willows, ever since I came to this
mill as a boy. You've been a tyrant and a curse to all the poor,
struggling people who spent their days under you, not as your servants,
but as your slaves."
"Oh! Oh! Oh! No! No! No!" rose from the hearers, in a murmured
chorus of protest.
"Silence there!" yelled the man, furiously.
"You cowardly fools! You worms who daren't speak for yourselves!
Silence, I say, and let one who dares speak for you."
The Vicar stepped forward and laid his hand on the speaker's shoulder.
"Drinkwater, my good fellow! My good friend! Pray be calm. You don't
know what you are saying!--you don't know what you are saying!"
"Oh, yes, I do, Parson. Don't you interfere," added the man, fiercely.
"But, my dear sir--"
"Oh, yes, I know! I know you, too, better than you know yourself. You
belong to his set. You side with the money. Make friends with the
mammon of unrighteousness, as you'd say, with that with which he grinds
down all these poor, shivering wretches--money, money, money! Piling up
his money-bags, and making us slaves!"
"Drinkwater, I cannot stand and listen to this without raising my voice
in protest."
"Because it gives you a chance to preach," said the man, with a bitter
sneer.
Will's father stepped forward, but the Vicar raised his hand.
"One moment, Mr Willows," he said, quietly. "No, James Drinkwater," he
went on, gravely, "I raise my voice in protest, because everyone who
hears you knows that what you say is utterly false. They are the angry
words of an over-excited man. You are not yourself. You have let your
temper get the better of you through brooding over some imaginary
grievance, and to-morrow when you are calm I know from old experience
that you will bitterly regret the insults you have heaped upon the head
of as good and true-hearted a man as ever stepped this earth."
Drinkwater was about to reply, but he was checked by a fresh speaker,
for Will suddenly threw up his cap high in the air with as loud a hurrah
as he could utter, acting as fugleman to the group around, who joined in
heartily, helped by Josh, in a cheer, strangely mingled, the gruff with
the shrill of the women's voices.
"Well done!" whispered Will, half-bashfully shrinking back, and gripping
his comrade's arm. "Oh, Josh, I never knew your father could preach
like that!"
"Cowards! Pitiful, contemptible worms! That's right; put your necks
lower under his heel. I'll have no more of it. From this day, after
the words he's said to me this morning, never another stroke of work I
will do here."
"Stop, James Drinkwater," cried Will's father, firmly; "as the Vicar
says, you are not yourself. Don't say more of the words of which you
will bitterly repent, when you grow calm--when this fit has passed--and
can see that the fault I found this morning was perfectly justified by
your neglect, in a fit of temper, of a special duty--a neglect that
might have resulted in a serious accident to the machinery, perhaps loss
of life or limb to some of the people here."
"It's a falsehood," shouted the man. "If I left out those screws it was
because I was dazed--suffering from overwork--work forced upon me that I
was not fit to do, but heaped upon me to save your pocket and the
blacksmith's bill."
"No," said John Willows, gravely; "I asked you to repair that engine
because I knew it was a mechanical task in which you delighted to
display your skill--because you would do it better than the rough smith
of the town."
"Nay, it was to save your own pocket."
"That is untrue," said Mr Willows, "and, if any of your fellow-workers
like to go into the office, the clerk will show them that a liberal
payment, to show my satisfaction over the way the work was done, has
been added as a bonus to your weekly wage."
Another cheer arose at this, which seemed to add fresh fuel to the angry
fire blazing in the half-demented man's breast.
"Bah!" yelled Drinkwater, more furious than ever. "Oil! To smooth me
down. But it's too late now. It has meant years of oppression, and the
end has come. But don't think I mean to suffer like these cowardly
worms. I too have been your worm for years, and the worm has turned at
last--a worm that means to sting the foot that has trampled upon it so
long. Here, what do you want, boy?" For Will had stepped forward, and
thrust his hand through the man's arm.
"You, James, old chap. You come away. Mr Carlile was right; you don't
know what you are saying, or you wouldn't talk to father like that."
"Let go!" cried the man, fiercely trying to shake the boy off; but Will
clung tightly.
"No--come and take his other arm, Josh--here, come on up to the cottage,
Jem. What's the good of going on--"
Will did not finish his sentence, for a heavy thrust, almost a blow,
sent him staggering back towards Josh, who had hurried up, and was just
in time to save his companion from a heavy fall.
This was too much for Will's father, whose calm firmness gave way.
"Yes," he said, angrily, "it does now come to that! You talk of putting
an end to the oppression under which you seem to writhe. It shall be
so. I, as your employer, tell you most regretfully, James Drinkwater,
that from this day your connection with the mill must cease--I will not
say entirely, for it would cause me bitter regret to lose so old and
valued a servant; but matters cannot longer go on like this. In justice
to others, as well as myself, this must come to an end. You have always
been a difficult man with whom to deal, but, during the past six months,
a great change has come over you, and I am willing to think that much of
it is due to some failing in your health. There: I will say no more.
This shall not be final, James. I speak for your wife's sake as well as
your own. Go back to the cottage, and, if you will take advice, you
will go right away for a month, or two, or three. You are not a poor
man, as you have proved to me by your acts, by coming to your bitter
tyrant to invest your little savings again and again. Now, sir, speak
out as you did just now, so that all your fellow-workers may hear. Are
not these words true?"
James Drinkwater stood alone out there in the bright sunshine, which
glistened on his polished bare crown as he glared at his employer,
whilst his hands kept on opening and shutting in company with his lips.
"Yes," he uttered, at last, in a low, fierce growl, "that's true enough.
Why shouldn't I? Do you think I want to end my days in the Union when
you kick me off like a worn-out dog? Yes, yes, I'll go; but look out.
Long years of work have not crushed all the spirit out of your slave.
Look out! Look out! The worm has turned, and the days are coming when
you will feel its sting."
He snatched himself fiercely round, and made for the stony slope--
half-rugged steps--which led upwards towards the dam, and the Vicar
hurried after him; but hearing his steps, the man turned and waved him
back, before striding along till he stopped suddenly in the middle of
the great stone dam, raised his clenched hands towards the sunlit
heavens, and then shook them at the group below.
The next minute he made a rush towards the path leading upward towards
his cottage, passing Mr Manners, who was hurrying down, and disappeared
amongst the trees.
"Why, hollo!" shouted the artist. "What's the matter with my landlord?
I was going to strip for a swim. Has he turned mad? I thought he was
going to jump in."
"I'm afraid that he ought to see a doctor," said the Vicar, gravely.
"He is evidently suffering from a terrible fit of excitement," and as
they joined Mr Willows and the murmuring group of work-people below, he
continued; "You see a great deal of him, Mr Manners. Have you noticed
anything strange in his ways?"
"Strange?" said the artist, bluffly. "Well, yes, he's always strange--a
silent, morose sort of fellow. But I don't dislike him; he's a very
straightforward, good man, who rather looks down on me. We hardly ever
speak, but I have noticed that his wife has seemed a little more
troubled than usual lately. I left her crying only just now, and asked
what was the matter; but all I could get was that her husband was not
well. What's been going on here? I heard him shouting as soon as I
came outside."
"Ah! That sounds bad," continued the artist, as soon as the Vicar had
related the incident that had passed. "Poor fellow! He doesn't drink,
I know: sober as a judge. Temper--that's what it is."
"I don't like to hear those threats," said the Vicar.
"Pooh! Wind! Fluff! People say all sorts of things when they are in a
passion, and threaten high jinks. I do sometimes, don't I, boys? Take
no notice, Mr Willows. We are not going to have the peace of our happy
valley spoiled because somebody gets in a fantigue. Well, boys, how
does the fire-engine go?"
"Haven't tried it yet," said Will.
"H'm! Can't we have a bit of a blaze? I should like to come and help
to put it out."
"I think we ought to have got it out to play on poor old Boil O, for
he's been quite red-hot."
"Look here, young fellow, you're rather fond of those little games, as I
well know."
The boys both looked very guilty, and turned scarlet.
"You take a little bit of advice. Don't you try such a trick as that on
him. It wouldn't do."