“Well—well—well! ’tis true-ly won’erful. An’ what a power o’ dirt! It come over me now looking at these lights, that I’ve never rightly seen my own mill before. She needs a lot bein’ done to her.” “Ah! I suppose one must make oneself moderately agreeable to the baser sort. They have their uses. This thing controls the dairy.” The Cat, pincing on her toes, came forward and rubbed her head against the Miller’s knee. “Ay, you pretty puss,” he said, stooping. “You’re as big a cheat as the rest of ’em that catch no mice about me. A won’erful smooth-skinned, rough-tongued cheat you be. I’ve more than half a mind——” “She does her work well,” said the Engineer, pointing to where the Rat’s beady eyes showed behind the sacking. “Cats and Rats livin’ together—see?” “Too much they do—too long they’ve done. I’m sick and tired of it. Go and take a swim and larn to find your own vittles honest when you come out, Pussy.” “My word!” said the Waters, as a sprawling Cat landed all unannounced in the centre of the tail-race. “Is that you, Mewsalina? You seem to have been quarrelling with your best friend. Get over to the left. It’s shallowest there. Up on that alder-root with all four paws. Good-night!” “You’ll never get any they rats,” said the Miller, as the young Engineer struck wrathfully with his stick at the sacking. “They’re not the common sort. They’re the old black English sort.” “Are they, by Jove? I must catch one to stuff, some day.” Six months later, in the chill of a January afternoon, they were letting in the Waters as usual. “Come along! It’s both gears this evening,” said the Wheel, kicking joyously in the first rush of the icy stream. “There’s a heavy load of grist just in from Lamber’s Wood. Eleven miles it came in an hour and a half in our new motor-lorry, and the Miller’s rigged five new five-candle lights in his cow-stables. I’m feeding ’em to-night. There’s a cow due to calve. Oh, while I think of it, what’s the news from Callton Rise?” “The waters are finding their level as usual—but why do you ask?” said the deep outpouring Waters. “Because Mangles and Felden and the Miller are talking of increasing the plant here and running a saw-mill by electricity. I was wondering whether we——” “I beg your pardon,” said the Waters chuckling. “_What_ did you say?” “Whether _we_, of course, had power enough for the job. It will be a biggish contract. There’s all Harpenden Brook to be considered and Batten’s Ponds as well, and Witches’ Fountain, and the Churt’s Hawd system. “We’ve power enough for anything in the world,” said the Waters. “The only question is whether you could stand the strain if we came down on you full head.” “Of course I can,” said the Wheel. “Mangles is going to turn me into a set of turbines—beauties.” “Oh—er—I suppose it’s the frost that has made us a little thick-headed, but to whom are we talking?” asked the amazed Waters. “To me—the Spirit of the Mill, of course.” “Not to the old Wheel, then?”