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Will of the Mill, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 7. The Rescue |
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_ CHAPTER SEVEN. THE RESCUE "That you, boys?" came from somewhere far above, out of the darkness, and it was Josh who answered, while Will said in a low tone: "I say, Mr Manners, I am glad. Now don't you think you could get up? It's father and Mr Carlile." The artist made a brave attempt. "I could stand on one leg," he said, "but that's about all I'm good for. My ankle gives way at once." "Then we must just wait," said Will. "That's the only thing to do. It was my father who called. Say, Josh!" "Hallo!" "That you, my boy?" came from above. "Yes, father." "I must sit down again," said the artist, in a low tone, for he had been standing supporting himself against the wall of the ledge. "No, sir," said Drinkwater, as he flashed his lantern round. "If Mr Manners has hurt himself and can't walk, as Mr Josh says he has, we shan't be able to haul him up. The rope I brought wouldn't do it; and besides, we should have no purchase here." "Then what are we to do?" said Mr Willows, impatiently. "Tell me what you advise." "There's another way down," said the man, sturdily. "We couldn't pull him up there. I know the place he's on. We can get to it if we go along here; there's a zig-zag path." "Capital!" said the mill-owner. "Come along." The path the man referred to was a roundabout one, but it led them to the place where the artist lay. "It's a good job we came, sir," said Mr Willows. "Not a nice place to spend the night in. You fell down here?" "Yes," said the artist; "unfortunately." "Humph!" said the mill-owner. "Now we have got to get you up." "What a pity he's such a heavy-weight," said Will to Josh, in a whisper. "Drinkwater has found a special way down here. You will have to lean on two of us and manage it somehow. Mr Carlile, take the lantern, will you, please? Now, Drinkwater, get hold of Mr Manners' other arm." "Right, master." "Do you think you can do it?" said Mr Willows. "Don't know," said the artist; "but I will try." "That's the style," said the mill-owner. "There, lean heavily on me. You, Drinkwater, get firm hold of his other arm. Slowly does it!" And the little procession started. "It took me a long while to get here," said the artist, "but as for getting back--" "Don't you worry about that," said the Vicar. "We shall manage all right, never fear." It was after about an hour that the Vicar went up to Mr Willows. "Now let me have a turn, Drinkwater," he said. "We are getting along so well that I think we had better not change," said the mill-owner. Mr Carlile nodded. "Remember," he said, "that I am ready to act as relief directly I am needed." "I'll remember that," said Mr Willows. "Here, Will, what are you doing?" "Carrying Mr Manners' tackle," said the lad. "Oh! then you, Josh. Take the lantern for a bit." "Not at all," said the Vicar, stoutly. "That little bit of duty I do cling to, and I am not going to surrender the light to any one. How are you feeling, Mr Manners?" "Fairly, thank you," was the response; "but I am thankful that the journey is not twice as far." "Well, yes," said Mr Willows, dryly. "We can do with it as short as it is. Have a rest now, sir?" "No, no," said the artist; "not for a bit." It was a slow march home indeed, and later frequent rests had to be indulged in. "I say," said Will to Josh, "it's a pretty holiday, isn't it! Here, you take these things. Catch hold." "All right." The march was resumed. "Drinkwater is a trump," said Will at last. "Rather a surly one," said Josh. "Why can't he be amiable?" "I don't know." "Whatever he says has got a sort of a sting in it." "Hush! He'll hear." "I wish he had." "Look here, my man," said Mr Carlile at last, "have a rest now for a bit. I will go on the other side of Mr Manners." "No, no, sir; I can manage, thank ye," said Drinkwater. "I am a strong one, you know, and it comes easy to such as me." "So I see. But even the strong need rest, you know." The man shook his head. "I don't need no rest," he said. "I have worked hard all my life, and it won't hurt me to do a bit more." "Hark at that," said Josh. "Old grumpus!" "Better leave him alone," said Willows. "He will have his own way. Don't interfere." "Oh, very well," said the Vicar. "Want a rest, Mr Manners?" "No, no. We had better get on. What time is it?" "Midnight--just after," said the mill-owner. "Your wife will be anxious about you, Drinkwater," said the artist. "Not she," was the response. "My wife knows me." "Old stupid!" said Will. "As if we didn't know that! How could she help knowing him when she's his wife?" "I wonder your father puts up with him as he does," said Josh. "Yes; I often wonder that," said Will. "But then old Boil O does know such a lot. Look at to-night, for instance. Where should we have been without him?" "That's why he thinks he can be disagreeable, I suppose," said Josh. The cottage was reached at last, and evidently Mrs Drinkwater had been waiting anxiously all the time. She came hurriedly down the garden path to meet the travellers. "Oh, Mr Manners," she said, "you have hurt, yourself!" "A trifle," he answered. "But you will know how to treat an injured ankle, Mrs Drinkwater." "I think I do, sir," said the woman, brightly, as she preceded the little party into the cottage, and hastily put a cushion in the dark brown Windsor chair which stood sentry-like by the fire. Into this the artist was helped. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said, with a smile, as he gazed at his rescuers. "Thank you, boys, and you, Drinkwater--very sincerely, one and all. I am grateful. Astonishing how helpless an accident like this makes a man. Now with a cold compress and a rest I ought soon to be all right again." "I trust so," Mr Willows, with a smile, looking down at him; "only don't be in too much of a hurry to think you are well. It is a case for one remedy, and that is r-e-s-t. How are you going to get to bed? Shall I remain and assist?" "It's only up two stairs, sir," said Mrs Drinkwater, "and my man will help." "Of course he will," said the artist. "I shall be quite all right. Good-night, friends, and a thousand thanks. One day may I be able to do as much for you." "I'll take good care you don't," said Willows, with a laugh; and then as they started for home he clapped Will on the shoulder. "Your artist's a splendid fellow," he said. _ |
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