"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."