And now, Lord, Thou knowest what we need even before we ax it, but there's no harm in mentionin' one or two things. There's bin a shortage o' water at Wrigley Mill this last summer, an' we'n had a job to keep th' wheel turnin'. Oh, Lord, when th' dog days come round in due season, open Thy heavens and let the waters fall. We know, Lord, they fall upon the just and the unjust alike, but, Lord, if Thou wilt Thou canst lean a bit. Lord, forget not Thy servants at Wrigley Mill, an' Thine shall be all the glory…." Now how long Matthew continued in this strain I cannot tell, for at about this point a stentorian voice from the bottom of the stairs, which were just as packed as the room, shouted: "Is Abel Holmes theer?" "Aye, up i' th' corner, bi th' stove," a young lass at the top of the steps shouted down to the doorway. "Tell him he's wanted very pertickler." Matthew stopped short, and every eye was turned to the corner where Jim and I were sweltering. "There'll be something wrong at home," I cried in quick alarm. "Mak' way, theer," said Jim. "I'm wi thee, Abe. Yo'll excuse us, Mr. and Mrs. Wrigley, but we're feart there's summat wrong at th' Poll." Standing by the counting house door we found the man who had come in quest of me, assuredly no messenger from my father or Ruth, a man known to me from my earliest days, and once not a little feared, a Burnplatter known through all the countryside as, Daft Billy. He was generally supposed to have what was lightly and unfeelingly spoken of as "half a slate off," and as such was the butt of all the boys of the valley, whose delight it was to follow him at a safe distance, shouting at him all the silly gibes they could lay their tongues to. Billy usually pursued his way unheeding, only the fierce gleam of his eyes and the malignant scowl on his face betraying that the words had reached his ears. But at rare times an ungovernable fury would seize upon him. His face then was a fearsome thing to look upon; he would bellow like a wounded bull, and rush after the scattering lads, and woe betide the urchin that fell into his hands. He was the terror of the matrons for miles around, and women expecting to become mothers dreaded meeting Daft Billy as they walked abroad. He was counted the cunningest cow doctor anywhere our abouts, and the farmers sent for him when at their own wits' end. It was generally allowed that Billy could see further into the innards of a horse or "beast" than any vet, in Huddersfield or Oldham, and he made a pretty penny by advising the local gentry in their dealings in horseflesh. But, unlike all other vets I've ever come across, he was the most unsociable of human beings. I don't remember ever to have seen him smile or laugh, and, as Jim complained, good liquor was fair thrown away on him, for the more he drank the more morose he waxed. He had no known kith and kin whose lad he was or whence he came none could tell, and he seemed to have a special aversion for the gentler sex.