Will of the Mill Part 14

"He won't like it. Father says that he told him once that he was sadly disappointed that he had not had more success with the pictures he sent to town."

"Poor old chap!" said Will. "Well, I suppose they were not very good."

"That's what father thinks," said Josh.

"How does he know?" said Will.

"Oh, he says that if they were good they wouldn't all come back."

"Well, RA goes on painting them all the same," said Will. "Coo-ee! Mr Manners, ahoy!"

This time the artist looked up, rose from his seat, stretched himself, and waved his palette in the air.

"Hollo, young 'uns," he said, as they came up; "off fis.h.i.+ng again?"

"Yes," said Will, "and I've brought your rod."

"Very much obliged to you," said the artist, sarcastically. "But not this time, thank you; I would rather paint."

"Oh--oh!" cried Will. "Do come! I've brought your basket too."

"To put nothing in, eh? No, not this time, thanks."

"But it's a good evening, Mr Manners, and the fish are rising splendidly."

"Honour?" cried the artist, with a searching look.

"Bright!" cried Josh, earnestly.

"All right, then. Here, I want to put in that little bit of sunlight, and then I'll come. How do you think it looks?" he said, resuming his seat and beginning to paint once more.

The boys were silent for a few moments, as they examined the picture critically.

"Lovely," said Will, at last.

"Yes," said Josh; "I like it better than that last you did."

"Mean it, boys?"

"Why, of course!" said the lads together.

"Hum! Hum! Yes, it isn't so bad as usual," said the artist, sadly. "I may say it is pretty. But that's all. I have tried very hard, but there is nothing great in my stuff. I suppose I haven't got the right touch in me. But never mind; painting has given me many a happy day amongst the most beautiful scenes in creation, and I suppose that I oughtn't to grumble if it gives me honest pleasure instead of coin.

Why, it has made me friends, too, with a pair of as reckless young ruffians as ever gloried in playing a trick. My word, Josh, I must be a good man! If I hadn't a better temper than your friend Drinkwater, Master Will, I should have loosened both your skins with a good licking more than once."

"Well, don't do it now," said Will, grinning. "Mine feels quite loose enough, and I want you to come and fish."

"Brought my rod, then, have you? But what am I to do with my traps?"

"Fold up the umbrum," said Will, "and I'll climb up here and stuff them into the cave. Then they'll be out of the wet when the rain comes."

"Ah, to be sure," said the artist. "Capital! But it isn't going to rain."

"It is," said Will, decisively. "Look yonder: the old Tor's got his nightcap on."

"So he has," cried the artist, eagerly, as he looked up at the mountainous top, miles away, nearly hidden by a faint white mist.

"Here, hold hard a minute; I must dash that in my picture."

"No, no," cried the boys, in a breath. "You can do that any time. Come on."

"Well, it seems a pity," said the artist, "but somehow you two always make me feel quite a boy again and ready to take holiday and play.

There, put away my traps."

A few minutes later, umbrella, easel, and colour-box were safely stowed away in a narrow opening in the face of the limestone rock, and the three were trudging on upwards to a mighty bend. There a great rift opened out into a wide amphitheatre, where, shallow and bright with flas.h.i.+ng stickle, the stream danced among the stones, to calm down directly after in deep pool after pool, which looked like so many silvery mirrors netted by the rings formed by the rising fish.

"Now, Mr Manners," cried Josh, "what do you say to that? Are there any trout in Willows' waters?"

"Yes, splendid! We ought to get some fish to-night. Here, where are your creels?"

"Haven't brought them," said Will. "We are going to help fill yours."

And they did, for the fish rose to nearly every cast, quarters and half-pounders, the artist to his great delight landing two both well over a pound, for it was one of those evenings when, as if warned by their natural instinct of a fast to come, the trout rose at every fly, taking in their heedless haste the artificial as well as the true, and only finding their mistake when gasping out their brief life upon the bracken laid at the bottom of the artist's creel.

The trio fished on till the creel was nearly full, so intent upon their sport that they paid no heed to the gathering clouds, Nature's harbingers of the storm about to break among the hills, till a bright flash of light darted down the vale, followed almost instantaneously by a mighty crash, which went roaring and rumbling on in echoes, to die distantly away.

"Hold on!" shouted Will. "Look sharp; we shall have to run. It'll be wet jackets as it is. I say, Mr M, lucky I put away your traps!

Wasn't I right?"

"Right you were, young 'un," cried the artist, making a whizzing noise as he wound up his multiplying winch. "But I'm not going to bark my s.h.i.+ns running amongst these stones. Now then, boys. 'Tention!

Shoulder rods! Right face! March!" And he led off at a rapid rate down by the side of the stream. "Here, lads, that's heavy," he cried at the end of a few minutes, just as the rain began to make chess p.a.w.ns upon the surface of the pools. "I'll carry it now."

"No, no," cried Will. "But let's shelter here for a few minutes. It's only going to be a shower now."

He ran into where a great ma.s.s of slatey-looking rock stood out from the perpendicular side of the gorge, heedless of the fact that it necessitated splas.h.i.+ng in through the shallow water, which nearly covered his boots.

"Nice dry spot this," said the artist, laughing, as they stood in the ample shelter.

"Oh, it is only wetting one's feet," said Will. "We are quite dry upstairs."

"Oh, I don't mind," said the artist. "My word! It is coming down. How it hisses! But you are right: it won't last long."

In less than half an hour the sky was nearly clear again, but water enough had fallen to make the stream which rushed by their feet rise full five inches, bringing forth the remark from Josh that they were getting it warmly higher up in the hills.

Possibly he alluded to the lightning, for flash after flash divided the heavens in zig-zag lines, though none seemed to come near them, and they were soon after tramping on, wet-footed only, back towards Vicarage, cottage, and mill.

"I say, hark at the fall!" cried Will, as they neared the spot where they had picked up their friend.

"Yes, it is coming down," said Josh. "Well, your father wanted it."

"Yes," said Will; "the dam was getting low. I say, Mr Manners, I told old Mother Waters to get her frying-pan ready, for there'd be some fish."