"Well," he cried, "why don't you pump?" "We did, father, but it won't go." "Then don't waste time. Here, Manners!" "Catch hold," shouted the artist, thrusting the copper branch into the nearest man hands and running up. "Yes!" he said. "Ladders and buckets," continued Mr Willows. "Right, and form a double line. I say," he whispered; "here's treachery." "I fear so; I fear so," said Willows, in the same tone. "It's revenge, and the engine has been purposely left out of gear. No," he cried, as if in agony, his words having given him intense pain; "I won't believe a man could be so base." There was the scuffling rush of feet just then, and the object of his thoughts, wild and weird-looking from his dwarfish aspect, glistening head, and staring eyes, dashed up. "Here, fools! Idiots! Are you going to let the poor old mill burn down?" "Hurrah!" shouted Will; "here's Boil O! Here, old fellow, what is there wrong? I can't get the thing to go." "Stand aside!" cried the man, fiercely; and the next moment he was down on his knees, rapidly examining the connections, valve, piston, and rod. "Yah!" he roared, savagely. "The pins are left out here." Clang went a box, as he threw up a lid in the front, snatched out a screw hammer and a copper pin, and then, tap, tap, tap, some half-dozen sharply given blows were heard, the hammer was thrown with a crash back into the box, and the man's hoarse, harsh voice rose in an angry roar. "Now, then, put your backs into it! Pump!" _Clink, clank_! _Clink, clank_! _Clink, clonk_! _Clink, clunk_! There was a whistling sound as the water forced the wind out of the leather tubes, rushed along spurting in fine threads out of a score of tiny holes, and from the joints where they were not tightly screwed up, and then, just as, seeing what was about to happen, Manners rushed forward and grasped the copper branch, a fountain as of golden rain darted out of the glistening branch, rose higher and higher, making the flames hiss and steam, and a roar of triumph rose above the thudding, steady clank of the engine, now doing well its work, while the north-country man who had spoken jeeringly before shouted lustily-- "Three cheers, boys, for good old Boil O!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN. IT'S A MYSTERY.