Will of the Mill | Page 9

"Shall I?"
"Yes."

"Manners!--Ahoy!" shouted Will.
There was no response.
"Perhaps it wasn't he," said Josh.
"Perhaps he's so busy painting something or another that he hasn't been
able to hear."
"Oh, perhaps anything," said Will. "Come on, I am certain now. It's that
big cleft where we found the stonechats. He will have fallen down there,
paint and all."
"Help!" came faintly now. "Help--help!"
"Hear that?" panted Josh, looking scared, and then radiant.
"Yes," said Will; "I hear. He's in danger." And the two lads tore on as
fast as they could up the steep slippery incline.
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE SEARCH PARTY.
"Master Will has not been back, sir," said the servant, when Mr
Willows inquired towards evening as to the whereabouts of his son.
"But," he said to himself, "he was going to fetch that artist. Oh, he will
be all right."
Yet as evening wore on the mill-owner began to feel anxious, and his
anxiety caused him to take his hat and stick and walk up to the
Vicarage.
"Will?" said the Vicar, "No. Isn't he at the mill?"
"No--nor Josh."
"Ah!" said the Vicar. "I have not seen either of them all day."

"Humph! They ought to be able to take care of themselves by this time.
But I shall go on to Drinkwater's cottage and inquire."
"I'll come with you," said the Vicar, eagerly, and he took his hat off its
peg in the square-shaped wainscotted hall. "Our two lads," he said, as
they walked quickly along the road to the cottage, "are so much
together that I always feel that when Josh is out he is sure to be at the
mill. That is why I never feel particularly surprised when he does not
come back to meals."
"Just so; but they are so ready to be up to mischief that I am beginning
to be afraid. Ah! at last," continued Mr Willows, with a sigh, as they
reached the cottage, where lights shone already through the
white-curtained windows.
He passed through the nicely kept garden and knocked at the door,
which was opened by Mrs Drinkwater, who curtseyed when she saw
who her visitors were.
"Have you seen my son, Mrs Drinkwater?" asked Mr Willows. "Did he
come here to-day to see Mr Manners?"
"Yes, sir; this morning," said the woman, making way for the two
visitors to enter the neatly furnished sitting-room, where supper was on
the way.
"Oh! this morning? But I am disturbing you at supper. Evening,
James," he said, as he and his companion entered the room, to see
Drinkwater, who was just finishing his meal.
"Good-evening, sir. Disturbing me? No matter, master," said the man,
rising and standing facing the newcomers, with one hand on the table.
"So Master Will was here this morning, wife?"
"Yes, yes," cried the woman; "as I say. He and Mr Josh came down
together. They were looking for Mr Manners then, and seemed
disappointed-like that he was out."

"Of course," said the mill-owner; "of course. They would be. They
wanted the artist to come to the mill. Well, well! And afterwards what
happened?"
"Well, sir, Mr Manners had gone, and that's all I know, sir. The two
young gentlemen went away together."
"They went to look for him, naturally. But where had he gone?"
"He was going to the Tor, sir. He went away early, with his canvas and
things, to paint a picture."
"You hear, Carlile? Something must have happened, or they would
have been back by now. We must go. Look here, Drinkwater, you will
come with us?"
"Yes, master," said the man, with surly readiness.
"It may be some accident," continued Mr Willows.
"Oh, I pray not, sir," said the woman. "Those two dear lads, and Mr
Manners, who is always so cheerful!"
"Come then," cried Mr Willows. "What are you looking for?"
"Rope, sir," said the man, gruffly. "It may be useful--and a lantern. We
shall want it at least;" and as he spoke the words he pulled out of the
chest over which he had been stooping a coil of hempen rope. He then
took a little lantern from a ledge and lit it. "Now I am ready, master."
"You are an excellent fellow, Drinkwater," said the mill-owner,
clapping his hand on the other's shoulder, as they stepped out.
"Nay, nay, master," said the man. "I have the bad fits on me sometimes,
and bad they are."
"Bad fits?" said Mr Willows, in a puzzled way. "What do you mean?"
The man nodded.

"Yes," he said, "yes. That's what they are. I can't help them, master."
"Oh," said the mill-owner; "you must try."
The bright light from the cottage door, at which the woman stood
watching them, streamed out and lit up their path for a few steps. Then
they were