"Nay," cried the same voice; "the fire's here." "I know that!" shouted Will, rushing at him and thrusting him aside. "Ah, here's father! Give orders, father; it must be close to the water. The suction-pipe is short." "Yes, of course," cried Willows. "You're wrong, men. Back with her to the pool there below the wheel! Mr Manners, take the lead, please, over getting out and connecting the hose. Will, see to the suction-pipe, and that its rose is well clear of the gravel. Get to work as soon as you can. Josh, my boy, follow and help me. I'm afraid the place is doomed, Mr Manners; I must go to the office and get out the safe and books." "Right, sir; we will do our best," cried the artist. "How did it occur?" "Goodness only knows," was the reply, and each hurried to his appointed task. They worked well, but, as a matter of course, there was little discipline; every worker thought he knew best, gave his opinions, and hindered the progress of the rest; but at last the engine was in the most favourable place for operating, the suction-pipe attached and hanging down in a deep, dark hole, scooped lower year after year by tons of the water falling from the wheel; while forward, under the artist's guidance, length after length of the hose had been unrolled and the gun-metal screws fitted together till it stretched out far in the glowing light towards the burning timbers. Here, as near as it was safe for man to go, the artist stood in shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up over his massive arms, bending down, a picturesque object, like some gladiator fitting his weapon before doing battle with the fiery monster wreathing upwards above his head, as he screwed on the glistening copper branch. "Ready!" he roared, as Will's father and Josh came out of the open office door laden with heavy ledgers. "All right!" shouted Will. "Now, boys, all together--pump!" Cling, clang! Cling, clang! Cling clang! Three times over, the handles rose and fell with a strange, weird sound, and then, as if moved by one impulse, the workers stopped, and, sounding strangely incongruous, a man whose voice was blurred by the north-west country burr shouted-- "Why, t'owd poomp wean't soock!" "Nay," cried another; "I never had no faith in t'owd mawkin of a thing. She's only fit to boon the roads." "What's the matter?" shouted Manners. "I don't know," cried Will, despondently; "it won't go." "Are the pipes screwed on right?" said Manners. "Yes." "Is your end down in the water?" "Yes; three or four feet." "We must have got something screwed on upside down." "No," said Will, firmly; "it's all right, just as old Boil O put it together when it was done." "But it isn't all right," cried Manners; "the suckers or something must have been left out." "Oh, why didn't we try it? Why didn't we try it when it was done?" groaned Will. "I did want to, but Boil O said there was no time for me to be playing my games." At that moment Mr Willows ran up.