“By the way, have you any light on this recent activity of Mr. Mangles?” the Grey Cat asked. “He seems to be building small houses on the far side of the tail-race. Believe me, I don’t ask from any vulgar curiosity.” “It affects our Order,” said the Black Rat simply but firmly. “Thank you,” said the Wheel. “Let me see if I can tabulate it properly. Nothing like system in accounts of all kinds. Book! Book! Book! On the side of the Wheel towards the hundred of Burgelstaltone, where till now was a stye of three hogs, Mangles, a freeman, with four villeins, and two carts of two thousand bricks, has a new small house of five yards and a half, and one roof of iron and a floor of cement. Then, now, and afterwards beer in large tankards. And Felden, a stranger, with three villeins and one very great cart, deposits on it one engine of iron and brass and a small iron mill of four feet, and a broad strap of leather. And Mangles, the builder, with two villeins, constructs the floor for the same, and a floor of new brick with wires for the small mill. There are there also chalices filled with iron and water, in number fifty-seven. The whole is valued at one hundred and seventy-four pounds…. I’m sorry I can’t make myself clearer, but you can see for yourself.” “Amazingly lucid,” said the Cat. She was the more to be admired because the language of Domesday Book is not, perhaps, the clearest medium wherein to describe a small but complete electric-light installation, deriving its power from a water-wheel by means of cogs and gearing. “See for yourself—by all means, see for yourself,” said the Waters, spluttering and choking with mirth. “Upon my word,” said the Black Rat furiously, “I may be at fault, but I wholly fail to perceive where these offensive eavesdroppers—er—come in. We were discussing a matter that solely affected our Order.” Suddenly they heard, as they had heard many times before, the Miller shutting off the water. To the rattle and rumble of the labouring stones succeeded thick silence, punctuated with little drops from the stayed wheel. Then some water-bird in the dam fluttered her wings as she slid to her nest, and the plop of a water-rat sounded like the fall of a log in the water. “It is all over—it always is all over at just this time. Listen, the Miller is going to bed—as usual. Nothing has occurred,” said the Cat. Something creaked in the house where the pig-styes had stood, as metal engaged on metal with a clink and a burr. “Shall I turn her on?” cried the Miller. “Ay,” said the voice from the dynamo-house. “A human in Mangles’ new house!” the Rat squeaked. “What of it?” said the Grey Cat. “Even supposing Mr. Mangles’ cats’-meat-coloured hovel ululated with humans, can’t you see for yourself—that—?”