The alarm had so spread, carried as the disaster was by the galloping
messenger from the mill, as well as by the flood itself, that help was
pouring in from all quarters, and as soon as the sufferers were borne
dripping and senseless from the water, scores of hands were ready to
bear them into shelter, where doctors soon declared that there was no
further danger to fear.
John Willows, as he lay on a couch grasping his son's hand, hurriedly
explained his action when he had dashed into the flood, for he had
caught sight of Drinkwater for a moment, and seen that he was in peril
of his life, but it was only to nearly lose his own, for he had been
caught between two heavy beams sailing with the rapid current, and been
so crushed that insensibility came on.
As for Drinkwater, he lay calm and sensible, like a man just recovering
from some long illness, and there was a look of pathetic wonder in his
eyes that he was still alive which was pitiful to see.
"No wonder," said one of the doctors; "he's been within an inch of
losing his life; but in a few days he will be all right again;" and his
words proved true.
That same afternoon the man was carried by friendly hands up to his own
cottage, which, of course, lay high above the broken dam, while others
formed a kind of litter upon which Mr Willows was borne up to the
Vicarage, which he was bidden to consider his home. So that, after the
horrors of the morning, as the various employes found shelter or
returned to their uninjured homes, a strange feeling of peace began to
reign.
It was quite evening when Josh and Will descended to Drinkwater's
cottage, Will having declared himself none the worse for all that he had
gone through, and, as his father was sleeping calmly, and the boy was
looking strained and white, Mr Carlile agreed that the fresh air would
do him good.
"Tell Mr Manners," he said, "that we have plenty of room here, and that
I should be glad if he will join us, and so leave the cottage to its
owner, and his wife's hands tree. You understand, Josh. Be insistent,
and tell him that if he does not come I shall feel quite hurt."
"Yes, father, I understand," cried Josh, and the boys set off. "I
wonder," said Josh, "that old Toadstool has not been up."
"Oh, he meant kindly," said Will. "He was afraid of disturbing us, for
I heard the doctor tell him that father must be kept very quiet for a
day or two."
They reached the cottage, which looked as attractive as ever in its nest
of flowers; but, as they approached, they saw no sign of the artist, and
they were about to go up to the door when they heard a voice from one of
the open bedroom windows, and both stopped short as the words struck
their ears.
It was Mrs Drinkwater speaking, and her voice was half-choked with
sobs, so that her words were indistinct. But Will caught this--
"Don't, don't say more. I have nothing to forgive you. It is enough
for me that you are your own dear self again."
The boys stole away on tiptoe, Will saying, huskily: "We can't disturb
them now. Let's go and look at the broken dam."
Josh stopped short to peer into his companion's face.
"Can you stand it, Will?" he said.
The boy was silent for a few moments, and then, after making an effort
to clear his voice--
"Yes," he said, but very huskily. "Everybody has been saved, and I am
going to try and bear it like--well, like a man."
"Hooray!" cried Josh, softly. "But I say, what can have become of old
Manners?" And then, with a hearty laugh, "I say! Oh, just look there!"
He pointed in the direction of a verdant shelf overlooking the
clean-swept vale; and there, beneath his white umbrella, sat the object
of their search, calmly smoking his big black briar pipe, contemplating
the ruins of the dam and a small pile of stones, the only vestige of the
vanished mill.
"Why, here you are," cried Josh.
"Ah, boys," he said, sadly. "But you, Will, ought not you to be in
bed?"
"Bed?" cried the boy, scornfully. "What for? Josh lent me a suit of
his clothes, and I'm quite dry now."
"Oh, yes," said Manners; "so am I, but I feel as if I could make a
handkerchief precious wet by blubbering like a great, weak girl."
"Oh, don't worry about it," cried Will. "Think how we've all been
saved. Father's in the best of heart, and he says as soon as he's well
that he'll set to and build the whole place up bigger and better than it
was before."
"Yes," said Josh, "I heard him; and he said, too, that he could do it
with a better heart in his thankfulness that not a life was lost."
"Ah, yes," said Manners, sadly, "that's quite right, boys; but when you
came I wasn't thinking about that, but about my own loss."
"Oh," said Will. "You mean about the place being so spoiled?"
"No, I don't," said the artist, gruffly. "I was thinking about my
pictures--twelve canvases, a whole year's work, washed right away, dead,
as it were, and buried under some heap of stones. Ah, boys, they were
only so much painted cloth, and I'm afraid they were very bad, but it
was all so much work that was somehow very dear to me, and--bah! Never
say die! I'll begin again like your father, and build up something
fresh."
For some days Will paced about the devastated scene, looking white and
strange--like one who had a burden on his mind.
The Vicar noticed it, and spoke to the doctor when he came to see his
patient.
"Oh, yes," said the doctor; "I saw it at once. Shock, my dear sir--
shock! The poor boy has a deal to bear, but a young, elastic, healthy
chap like that will soon come round."