''Ave you, my dear?' said Mrs Clay indifferently.

'Yes; we've got a house for you to live in already.'

'I know, Sarah. Your uncle is very kind. I'm sure I'm very grateful to 'im,' said Mrs Clay.

'Oh, but it isn't Uncle Howroyd; it's Sykes. He wants us to live in his Red House on the top of the hill,' cried Sarah, her face aglow with pleasure at the good news she was imparting.

'Sykes, our butler! I 'aven't come to sharin' my butler's 'ouse,' said Mrs Clay, bridling.

'But he's going to wait on us just as he used to do,' explained Sarah.

'Wat's the good o' talkin' nonsense, Sarah? 'Ow can I order a man about in 'is own 'ouse? An' 'ow can you want your poor father to open 'is eyes an' look upon the ruins o' 'is beautiful mansion? It's downright indecent o' you to be so glad that you've got to live in a poky little 'ouse; but, at least, you sha'n't drag your father an' me to live there, to be reminded o' the beautiful past,' said Mrs Clay.

'Nay, Polly, my dear, you are taking this quite wrong. The children are behaving as well as can be, and Sykes too; and it's not a poky house, by any means. In fact, it's as big as this, and I don't know that it would be a bad idea, after a little while,' urged Mr Howroyd.

'I'm sure, Bill, I don't want to complain; but it's all so strange without Mark, an' to think o' 'im in Syke's 'ouse, after w'at 'e's been used to,' said his sister-in-law.

Sarah restrained her first impulse to reply indignantly, and said, 'I don't think father would mind, and it was partly for his sake I was glad. I thought he could still have his park and grounds, and you forget he could not see the ruins of Balmoral, because the plantations come between.'

'Besides, mother, if things go well we shall perhaps be able to build the house again,' suggested George. But he was no more successful than his sister in cheering his mother.

She answered him, quite shortly for her, 'That you'll never do, George. There'll never be another Balmoral, so don't you think it. There are not many men like Mark, an' there never was a 'ouse like 'is now'ere, not even the King's, so I've 'eard, an' I'm glad an' proud to 'ave lived in it; but I'll try an' be resigned to the will o' Providence; an' if you both wish it, an' your uncle thinks it right, I'll go to Sykes's 'ouse w'en your father is able to be moved.'

Mrs Clay said 'Sykes's 'ouse' in a tone of such contempt that her brother-in-law observed, with his genial laugh, 'One would think it was the workhouse by the way you talk, instead of being as big as many a manufacturer's. But I know you are thinking of the old place, and, of course, after what you've been used to it is a trial; but you must pluck up courage and be thankful that you have your family still and no lost lives to mourn over.'

Mrs Clay shook her head in a melancholy way; she was not to be comforted, and the others gave it up.

'One would think he had been the best and kindest husband in the world, instead of being'——began Sarah after dinner, when her mother had hurried back to her husband's room; but here she checked herself.

'Well, there's one thing—you'll excite no envy, hatred, and malice at the Red House; and you know the proverb, "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith,"' said their uncle.

'Oh!' cried Sarah, and then explained, 'That's just what I said when we lived at Balmoral; but I didn't mean it to come about in this dreadful way.'

'Ay; but things never do come about in the way we want or expect,' said Mr Howroyd as he rose from the table, leaving the brother and sister together.

'George, what are you thinking of?' asked his sister abruptly, after the former had sat for some time smoking a cigarette, and leaning back in his old indolent way.

'Thinking of? I'm thinking that I've undertaken a task too big for me, and that I should do better to accept Uncle Howroyd's offer of winding up affairs,' he replied.

'Then you are a coward! And I only wish I were your age and a man, and I'd carry on the mills myself, and show people.'

George looked at his sister with an amused smile, which was his usual way of treating her outbursts, and which always exasperated her; but he hastened to say, 'Steady there, Sarah! I never said I was going to back out, only that things seem more difficult than they did when I began.'

'Why? After Sykes's offer, and Tom Fox's? I never told mother of him. It didn't seem to be any use, because she doesn't care for anything or feel grateful about anything.'

'I hope I shall have as good a wife; but she will be difficult to find,' observed George.

'You'll probably marry a virago; easy-going people like you generally do, and you'll be henpecked all your life,' was Sarah's consoling remark.

Then they both laughed, which did them good. Not very long after they went to bed, and, being young and full of hope, to sleep.

It seemed to them both that they had just shut their eyes when they heard the clanging of a bell; and, starting up in alarm, they recognised it as the bell of their uncle's mill calling the people to work.

George decided to go down to the mills, and a very short time saw him dressed and at the gates.

''Tis young Clay,' he heard as he passed down the street, through groups of idle men, women, and girls, whom he guessed to be their former employes. They had nothing to get up for; but habit was too strong for them, and they had risen and turned out at the same hour.

'What'll he be going to do at t' old mills?' some of them inquired of each other.

'I be main sorry for him. He's a right good young gentleman, they say,' said one woman.

'I wish he'd run the mills. I'd work for him,' said another.

'If he'd have you; but I doubt he'd not have one of his father's hands after what's happened,' was the retort.

'He's but a youngster; he can't run the mills. They'll have to shut down till the old master comes to, or this one gets old enough,' said a shrewd old hand.

'Yes, 'twould never do for he to start blanket-making without experience; he'd soon run aground. I'd not work for him,' remarked another old man.

Evidently no one had any idea that George intended to try his hand at the business, in spite of inexperience and youth; and, indeed, as he went down the street he found himself wondering how he was to set about it, and whether he had not better brave Sarah's scorn and give it up. But he reasoned with himself, 'I will go on till my private capital is exhausted, and if I have failed by then I'll own it and give up.' With new resolve, he walked briskly on and entered the silent mills.

The clang of the gate as it shut after him struck painfully on his ears, and he went to the office and sat down to think. 'If only I knew what to do! Perhaps this room will inspire me,' he murmured. But the room did not seem to do so; on the contrary, he was oppressed with the sense of the failure in which all the business done in that room had ended.

Suddenly the door opened, and Sarah, dainty and fresh in the muslin Naomi had thoughtfully brought her, almost her only possession in the way of clothes, came in. 'George, I have an inspiration,' she said.

Her brother looked up with a smile. 'That's funny,' he replied, 'for that's just what I was sitting here waiting for.'

'That's a nice, useless thing to do!' said Sarah.

'On the contrary, it appears to have been answered,' he said.

'Oh, well, it wasn't your sitting there that made me come and have that inspiration; it was the clanging of Uncle Howroyd's bell. Why don't you do the same thing?' inquired Sarah.

'Do what?' demanded George, who did not think much of this inspiration.

'Ring the bell—the big bell, I mean—to call the hands in, just as if nothing had happened,' urged Sarah.

'Nothing would happen if I did, except that we should have a gaping crowd round the gate, and the fire-brigade coming to see if we had a fire. So, if that's your inspiration, I'm inclined to agree with you that my waiting for it has been useless,' returned George.

'I wish you'd try, George. I believe the hands would all come back, and we should get the contract done after all,' persisted Sarah. 'They looked at me in quite a friendly way as I passed, and lots of the men touched their hats, a thing they never did before.'

George hesitated. 'But I don't feel that I could take them back again,' he said.

'Then what do you mean to do? You can't run the mills with new hands,' she protested.

'No; but I can't take back the men who have destroyed our property,' he declared.

'They are, or soon will be, taken up; so they won't apply,' began Sarah, when her brother interrupted her.

'Sarah,' he cried with sudden vigour, 'you have inspired me after all! I will have the bell rung, and when the people come, as some are sure to come, out of curiosity, I will make them a speech, and explain that those whom my father dismissed are still dismissed, but that the rest I shall be glad to have back. I'll speak to the manager, and see what he thinks.'

The manager and Ben looked admiringly at George.

'There's pluck for you! Let's hope it will be rewarded. At any rate, we can but try,' they said; and they gave orders for the big mills-bell to be rung, and the few faithful ones stood in the yard, making a kind of bodyguard round George, and waited for the curious crowd to arrive.

Sarah watched from the office window, and her eyes shone with excitement as she heard the sound of clogs and many footsteps coming down the street. 'I was right' she cried. 'It's our old hands! I knew they'd come.'

And they did come, till the mill-yard was packed, and then George made them a speech.

'My father is stricken down by the misdeeds of some of his former employes, and in his absence I am going, with the help of my good friends here, to run my father's mills. Those of you who voluntarily left his employ are welcome to return to it; those he discharged will not be admitted.'

Such, in brief, was the young man's speech. The hands noticed that he had not called them 'friends,' nor, indeed, had his tone been friendly, but only business-like and curt, in marked contradiction to the way he had spoken of 'my good friends here,' alluding to those who had remained at their posts. But they were just men, and they respected the young man all the more for bravely and boldly 'standing up to them,' and showing his loyalty to his father and those who had stood by his father.

Some few slunk away. They were those Mr Clay had discharged—an act which had brought about the strike. But this time their discharge was accepted. Without exception the hands took up their old places; the engine, which had stopped, went on again; the fires, which had not yet gone out, were replenished; and before William Howroyd could get down to see what new misfortune this was, Clay's Mills had ceased to 'play.'

'Nay, my lass, you can't be serious. Men are not a flock of sheep to come back to you just because the bell rings,' he protested when Sarah told him the tale.

'Just go into the rooms and see for yourself,' she said. 'They are all setting to work with a will.'

'But I meant to have a talk with George and try to arrange things,' objected Mr Howroyd. 'One can't restart a business like this in this hap-hazard manner.'

'It's not hap-hazard; it's just natural. They're sorry for us and for everything, and they've just come back as if nothing had happened. I really think George is a born business man; he's quite left off being half-asleep all the time,' cried Sarah.

'It's my belief he's been more wide awake than we knew "all the time,"' quoted her uncle.

'Anyway, he's quite wide awake now. And, oh! it's so funny to hear him when they come and ask him some questions he doesn't know anything about. He puts up his pince-nez, looks very wise, and says, "You had better go on as you have always done for the present."'

Mr Howroyd pinched her cheek. 'You are far too wide awake, especially when it comes to criticising other people. Well, I expect I can go back to my own mill. I'm not wanted here. I shall soon be coming to your George for advice. Dear, dear! who would have thought it? He looked as if it was too much trouble to live. This bad business has done you both good—you as well as him, and you badly wanted some improvement, my lass. It'll be a proud day for your father when he hears what you have both done,' said Mr Howroyd as he went off, looking bright and cheery again.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

SARAH BECOMES A BUSINESS WOMAN.

Mr Howroyd had not been gone very long when George came in, his usually calm, unruffled brow puckered, and his face wearing a worried look. 'I say, Sarah, I'm afraid I've been very presumptuous in undertaking to carry on my father's business,' he said.

'What has happened? Aren't they behaving all right?' inquired Sarah, looking anxiously at him.

'Oh, the hands? Yes. Hurst, the manager, says they have come back in a good spirit, and are working all they know to get the contract done. He says he never saw smarter work,' George told her.

'Then I don't see what you are worrying about,' said Sarah, laughing, as she added, 'I expect they want to show that they are as good as any "Frenchies," as they call the foreigners.'

'But that isn't the trouble; it's father's customers and the people he has done business with. Some of them have called in and intimated pretty plainly that they don't mean to have any dealings with me,' he observed.

'How horrid of them! They might at least have waited to see how you got on,' exclaimed Sarah in great indignation.

'Well, it was rather my own fault. I suppose they can't afford to wait and see how things go in business. They began talking about business deals, and using all sorts of terms which, I suppose, are current in the wool-trade, and I let them see that I didn't understand anything about it,' said George.

His face was so melancholy and his forehead so wrinkled that Sarah burst into a hearty laugh.

'It's no laughing matter; it spells ruin to us if our clients—customers, I mean—fight shy of us, and we shall be worse off than if I had never meddled with the matter,' he said severely.

'I am very sorry, George; but I could not help it; it is so funny for you to be so worried and fidgety. Why didn't you say Uncle Howroyd would stand surety, and refer them to Hurst? He has been manager for years, and father used to say that Hurst knew as much about the business as he did himself. If I were you I'd get him to write a circular-letter to all those people, and say that in father's temporary absence from business he is managing for you by Mr Howroyd's advice.'

'I never thought of it. I'm very unfit for all this. I like the dyeing and the chemical part of the business; but what all these men said was Chinese to me. I wish you'd just tell me what some of these words mean,' he said, as he sat down to the table and began questioning his sister.

'I can tell you a good deal, because, you see, I am always down at Uncle Howroyd's, and he lets me go into his office and talk to him while he is working. I've often seen the other merchants and buyers come in; but it seemed quite simple; they just ordered what they wanted, and Uncle Howroyd put the pieces on.'

'Put the pieces on what?' inquired George. 'Don't laugh; tell me what that means.'

'Put the pieces to be made on to the machines—the lengths of blanketing or cloth,' said Sarah.

'Excuse me, Mr George, but Mr Blakeley is here,' said Ben the gate-keeper, coming into the office.

'Who is Mr Blakeley?' inquired George.

'He's one of our buyers, sir,' replied the man.

'Oh George, I know him! Do have him shown in here,' entreated Sarah. 'He is such a nice, good-humoured man.'

But circumstances alter cases, and Sarah was surprised to find that the good-natured Mr Blakeley, whom she always saw smiling and ready to complete a deal with her Uncle Howroyd, became a brusque, serious business man with her brother.

'I have an order on hand here, Mr Clay; but I should prefer if you will allow me to cancel it. I understand that there are changes in the mills, and it is rather particular that it should be woven exactly as it was,' he said, after having made some curt and perfunctory inquiries after Mr Mark Clay's health.

George evidently did not understand what he meant, and was just saying, with his usual courtesy, 'Oh, certainly; we should not, of course, hold you to your word.'

But Sarah broke in. She had been used to talk to these men when they came to see her uncle, and they had all admired the handsome girl, and showed her attention to please her uncle, who was evidently very fond of her and proud of his niece. So she felt no shyness with Mr Blakeley, and said, 'What difference do the changes make, Mr Blakeley? My father did not weave the cloth, and the manager and foremen who looked after these things are still here.'

Mr Blakeley looked at her, and an amused smile crept over his face at her business-like tone. 'Quite true, Miss Sarah; but the weavers of this particular cloth have left, I understand, and I would rather not trust it to new ones.'

'Of course not,' began George.

But Sarah interrupted again. 'You'd better hear what our manager has to say. Father won't be pleased if he finds we have sent good customers away.'

'There's a good business woman for you!' cried Mr Blakeley with a laugh. ''Tis a pity you are not a man; you could go into partnership with your brother and father.'

Meanwhile George had acted on Sarah's advice, and sent for Mr Hurst, who came at once. 'There's no call for you to withdraw your order, Mr Blakeley. We've got the wools you asked for, and there's one of the weavers who has done your cloth before, so I think you may be easy in your mind about its being done as well as ever. We're turning out some fine work, and there's a new shade you might find useful, which perhaps you'd like to see.'

Mr Blakeley pricked up his ears at the news of a new shade, and went off quite eagerly with the manager.

George heaved a sigh of relief. 'You pulled us through that time, Sarah; but it won't always go like that. I can't push.'

'You must, or you'll get pushed to the wall; but I have had another inspiration since I came down. Why don't you weave a lot of coat-lengths of that new shade? It's much more suitable for that than for blankets.'

'I thought the same thing when I saw it, and said something of the kind to father, and he said he should try samples. They were almost the last words he said to me that day before he left me.'

'It was only yesterday,' observed Sarah.

George stared at her. 'So it was! I can hardly believe it. It seems weeks ago; but I am glad you reminded me of it, for it will please father to find we have carried out his wishes, and I think it might "catch on," as he said.'

'The fact is, you've got dazed with the shock. I believe you felt it more than I did. I am very sorry for father being ill, and I think the hands who burnt our house behaved disgracefully, and I'm glad they were turned off; but I can't help feeling that it was father's own fault, and that perhaps it will do him good.'

'It's not our business to judge his treatment of his employes. He was a very liberal father to us,' said George.

'You are not so hard-hearted'——began Sarah; but a prolonged ringing at the telephone interrupted her.

'It's mother,' she announced, 'and she's calling for you.'

George went and listened. 'Father is conscious, and has asked for us,' he cried, and his face lightened.

'I'm very glad,' replied Sarah quietly; but her face showed no such joy as her brother's. It is to be feared that where her father was concerned Sarah was somewhat hard-hearted.

'We must go at once,' said her brother, taking up his hat.

'I don't think you ought to leave the mill till the dinner-hour. The bell will ring in a quarter of an hour. Can't you wait till then?' objected Sarah, who, as is seen, was more business-like than her brother, thanks to her intercourse with her uncle Howroyd.

'Perhaps you are right. Then you had better go, and say I will be there almost directly,' he suggested.

Sarah started with mingled feelings. She was glad, really glad, that her father had recovered consciousness, and was therefore, she supposed, getting better; but the fact was, Sarah felt very resentful and sore that he had made himself so hated, and she walked very slowly along the streets that separated her father's mills from Mr Howroyd's.

''E knows me, Sarah!' cried her mother, whose face was transfigured with joy. 'Thanks be to God, 'e knows me, my dear 'usband!'

For the life of her, Sarah could not show any great joy, but only inquired, 'Has he asked for me, or is it only George he wants to see, mother?'

''E mentioned you both, an' asked w'ere Sally was,' said her mother, forgetting, in her great relief, the small detail that Sarah disliked being called so.

'Then I'd better go to him and tell him George will come in as soon as he can leave the mills,' said Sarah, preparing to go into the sitting-room, which was still being used as the stricken man's bedroom.

'Don't you say any such thing! Don't you breathe a word about the mills or Balmoral or anything. 'E's not to be excited, the doctor says. I've 'alf a mind to tell 'im 'e shall see you by-and-by; it would be a dreadful thing if you were to upset 'im. You don't always get on too well with your father, Sarah,' Mrs Clay wound up reproachfully.

'I sha'n't say anything to upset father while he is lying there so ill. I only meant to explain why George did not come at once,' explained Sarah.

'You needn't explain. Sick folk don't want explanations,' objected Mrs Clay. 'Say George is out.'

'Very well,' agreed Sarah, and she went into the sick-room. It was a relief not to see her father lying there with unseeing eyes and breathing so heavily; but, somehow, Sarah felt very uncomfortable under his keen glance to-day. Still, she managed to say, 'I am glad you are better, father.'

'Ay, I'm going to get better; but I'll never be the man I was. I've made a mess of it, Sally, and I shall not leave you the big fortune I meant you to have to match your pretty face, my little lass. I've not done right, and I shall never be able to do it now,' said the sick man.

'Yes, you will, father. You will be all right in a few weeks, and you can make another fortune, and build Balmoral again,' cried Sarah eagerly, as she impulsively took her father's hand, and then started on finding that it lay limp in hers.

A spasm passed over the invalid's face at her words; and if Mrs Clay had not been too much afraid of her husband she would have stopped Sarah and sent her away. As it was, she gave a little groan from the background, as much as to say, 'You've done the very thing I told you not to do.'

'There'll never be another Balmoral. It would take me too long, and I doubt if Clay's Mills will ever be themselves again. I'd like those fellows to be sent off the minute the contract's done. It'll take them another week; but I'll be glad to see the backs of them. I wish they'd never come,' said Mr Clay, who seemed to have a feverish desire to talk.

'They've gone, father,' said Sarah.

But this was too much for Mrs Clay's patience. 'That'll do, Sarah. Your father's not got to talk business w'ile 'e's so bad.—There, Mark, don't you worry; everything's going on as well as can be expected,' she said, in what she thought was a soothing tone.

Her husband waved her aside. 'Let be, Polly! Let the lass speak; I must know the worst.—So they've gone, the villains! When they thought I was done for, the rats forsook the sinking ship. Ay, 'twas a bad day for us, was yon. Well, that ends it! The credit of Clay's Mills has gone for ever. I'd best not get better. You'll have a little something to live on; and that's all I've done with my toiling and moiling. I'm best dead,' he said.

Mrs Clay grasped Sarah's arm in a convulsive grip. 'Don't breathe another word. I forbid you!'

Sarah felt sure she should do more good by speaking; but she remained obediently silent.

'It's strange—a sick man's fancy, I suppose—but I thought I heard our bell. There's no mistaking it. And, hark! there it is again. Am I light-headed, Polly, or what's that bell I heard?' he asked.

'No, Mark, no, you're not light-headed; it is your own bell. All's goin' as well as can be expected,' replied poor Mrs Clay.

'What does she mean? Speak up, my lass; why are they ringing my bell? Speak, I tell you!' he commanded.

So Sarah spoke, and told him what her brother had done.

The mill-owner listened in silence, and Sarah scarcely recognised her father's voice when he said, 'Thank God, my credit's saved! I don't deserve such children; but you take after your mother, and she's brought you up right. I've been a hard man, and I'd have been your ruin if you hadn't prevented it.' Then he shut his eyes, only to open them and say, 'Tell the hands I'm glad they've come back;' and with a sigh he went off into a refreshing sleep.

'And, oh George! he was so different, so humble and gentle. It did make me feel so ashamed of myself,' cried Sarah to her brother when he came in to lunch.

'I'm glad to hear it. It's about time you were,' announced George.

'You needn't say that now,' said Sarah, 'just when everything is going all right.'

'I don't know that everything is going all right; in fact, I'm rather glad I did not come in time to talk to father, for I should not have given such a glowing account of everything as you have,' he remarked.

'You are dreadfully pessimistic. Of course there are ups and downs in business; it's only that you are not used to it,' insisted Sarah.

'It's mostly downs at present unfortunately,' said George; and he was to repeat the remark only too often in the weeks that followed.



CHAPTER XXIX.

'A MIRACLE.'

It was some weeks after the events related in the last chapter, and George was looking years older, so his mother told him.

'Nay, lad, you must let me help you,' said Mr Howroyd. 'I've a few thousands lying idle, and you'll want them to keep the mills going for the next few weeks.'

'Do you mean to say it costs a thousand a week to keep the mills going?' cried Sarah.

'It does that, lass, and I hear you've no orders coming in,' replied her uncle.

'Then what's the good of their doing work if no one will buy it?' said Sarah, whose enthusiasm had died out, and who was now as pessimistic as her brother.

'Have it done ready for buyers. We often have to fill our warehouses in bad times till we can find a market for our goods; and as George won't go and ask for orders'——began his uncle.

'I really could not, Uncle Howroyd. I should feel like a beggar,' protested George.

'Then you must sit here and wait till buyers come; it's only a case of holding out long enough. Hurst is a good man, and a first-rate manager. I don't know why the buyers have left you. I'm afraid it's some mischief that's been made over the trial of the young men for firing the house, and their heavy sentence. It has not done Clay's Mills any good.'

'I know that, uncle, and that's why I don't want to take your money. It's only throwing good money after bad,' said George.

'Haven't I got any money?' inquired Sarah.

Mr Howroyd laughed as he said, 'Not yet. You'll have all that and more when I'm dead and gone.'

'And I hope that will be never!' cried Sarah impetuously.

'Then you'd better take this money now. I've neither chick nor child, so it's yours,' he said with his cheery smile.

'George, I think you'd better. Taking it from Uncle Howroyd is not taking charity,' said Sarah.

'I should think not,' put in her uncle.

George let himself be persuaded, in spite of his firm conviction that feeling was so strong against Clay's Mills and their owners, and that they were practically being boycotted by the buyers.

And he was right. The weeks dragged on, and since the big contract, which had been finished and sent off to time, thanks to the goodwill of the hands, no order of any importance had come in, and George heard of them being placed elsewhere in the town.

'It's no good, Sarah,' he said one day. 'I knew we were done for when I read that article in the paper about ill-gotten gains, and there have been others since.'

'Is Uncle Howroyd's money gone?' inquired Sarah.

'Practically, and the warehouses are full. I mind more for father and the hands; they've come back to us, and everything is going well in the mills, and Hurst is a good business man; but it's no use making good cloth if people won't buy it.'

'Hasn't the new dye taken at all?' inquired Sarah.

'Yes, to a certain extent, and it is the only thing we are selling; but it wants some fashionable person to take it up, and I really couldn't push it or ask any of my friends,' he observed.

'I might ask Horatia to get her mother to have a costume that colour,' said Sarah doubtfully; 'but she hasn't written lately. She said they were coming up north in their motor, and should call and see us all. But I expect they've read those things that have been written, and don't want to have anything to do with us now we're ruined, or going to be.'

'In that case you can't possibly write to her. But I wish I knew what to do. I have even been to see some of the buyers, only to be refused,' said George a little bitterly.

'Oh, have you really? That was plucky of you, because I know you hate it so. I do wish something would happen. I hate going into father's room and having to tell him that things are rather slack. You know the doctor says he will soon be able to go down to the mills himself, and then he'll know the truth,' said Sarah, who, it will be observed, had quite changed in her feelings towards her father.

'Well, they say when things come to the worst they will mend, and things have come to about the worst with us, so let's hope they will mend,' said George, rousing himself and trying to speak cheerfully.

'That proverb is rubbish,' said Sarah, with some of her old violence; 'things often come to the worst and just end there.'

'We've done our best, anyway, so we shall have that consolation,' remarked George.

'How much longer can you hold out?' inquired the practical Sarah.

'Practically I'm at the end of my tether, and was thinking of warning the hands that the mills may have to shut down at the end of next week.'

'Oh, wait a day, George, and don't do anything without asking father first; he ought to be asked, and he may think of a way out of the difficulty,' entreated his sister.

'All right; but a day won't make any difference, unless a miracle happens,' observed George.

'Father will have been out for his first drive, and will be stronger, for one thing,' said Sarah. 'And, who knows? a miracle may happen.'

'Lady Grace and Mr and Miss Cunningham to see you, Miss Sarah,' announced Sykes.

Sarah gave a little cry of joy, and looked significantly at her brother. 'Oh George'——she began.

But he said hastily, 'Don't ask a favour, Sarah. When people come to pay a call of civility they don't want to be bothered about business.'

'Very well,' said Sarah, who was not so self-willed as she used to be.

Horatia rushed at her. 'Oh Sarah! I am so glad to see you, and so sorry to see Balmoral—I mean, not to see it. Father wants to look over your mills, and I want to see your father,' she cried, bubbling over with high spirits as ever.

Meanwhile Lady Grace and Mr Cunningham were shaking hands with George, and congratulating him upon his energy and plucky attempt to keep on his father's business.

'Let's all go down to the mills,' cried Horatia.

'It's dinner-hour now; but if you will stop and have lunch with us we shall be very glad, and we will go after lunch. It won't be a Balmoral lunch,' said George, smiling at her.

'All the better; we shall be finished the sooner,' said Horatia,' and the mills take an awfully long time to see.'

'Then will you come and see father? He does not come down yet, and mother has her lunch with him; she can't bear to leave him,' said Sarah.

Horatia accordingly went off with Sarah, and found the mill-owner looking very different; but it was Mrs Clay who seemed the most changed. She looked years younger, and so quietly happy. Horatia could not understand it at all, not being given to troubling her head about people's characters.

After lunch—which, after all, was a very good one, and served in Sykes's best style, to do honour to the guests—the party drove down to the mills.

Sarah could not help thinking what a good thing it would be if Lady Grace Cunningham should take a fancy to this new cloth, she was such a striking-looking woman, and a well-known figure in society; but the girl determined not to suggest it, though her heart beat a little quicker when they were coming to the dyeing-rooms.

Before this they passed the warehouses, and George good-naturedly opened the doors to let Horatia see more blankets than she would ever see again in her life.

'How full it is! This place was quite empty when I last came,' she cried innocently.

George blushed like a girl. 'It's a slack time with us,' he said, and hastily shut the door.

But Mr Cunningham stopped a moment. 'They are not sold, then?' he inquired.

'No,' said George; 'but let me show you something more interesting.'

'Then it's rather fortunate I called, for I fancy I know a buyer. It's a large line of steamers I have a share in that are starting, and want a big consignment of blankets to be numbered and delivered by a near date,' said Mr Cunningham; and he began to go into figures with George.

The two went off with the manager to do some telephoning, and Lady Grace Cunningham walked on with the two girls to the dyeing-rooms. Sarah felt more than ever that she could not say anything, though she showed the new shade and the cloth.

'Oh mother, do have a coat and skirt of it!' cried Horatia. 'It does suit you so well! Just see!'

'But I don't suppose I am allowed to buy it wholesale like this?' Lady Grace protested.

'I believe one firm in London has stocked some. George will know the name,' said Sarah; but her eyes were shining with such pleasure that Lady Grace saw that the suggestion had given great pleasure.

'If you will let me have the name I will certainly order a costume. I have never seen the shade, and I think it ought to become very popular; it is such a good winter colour,' she said.

'Thank you very much,' said Sarah quietly; but her face said a great deal more.

When Mr Cunningham joined them, Horatia insisted on his looking at the new cloth. He admired it as much as his wife, and said, 'I wish you'd have a dress of that shade. I'm so sick of dull colours, and this is really becoming.'

Horatia clapped her hands. 'She's going to when Mr Clay tells us the name of the place where you can buy it.'

'I can do that; but you would give me great pleasure if you would let me send you a length,' said George.

And Lady Grace gracefully accepted the offer, knowing that it gave the young man, as he said, great pleasure; and adding, 'But let me know where it can be got in London, for I am sure to be asked.'

When they took their leave, George and Sarah looked at each other, smiling. 'The miracle has happened, George!' the latter exclaimed.

'Thank goodness!' he said. 'Oh Sarah, if you only knew how that warehouse full of blankets has weighed upon me!'

'Then I wonder you're alive to tell the tale,' said a cheery voice behind him.

They both laughed. 'Oh Uncle Howroyd, isn't it lovely? Mr Cunningham has given George such a big order, and Lady Grace is going to wear the new shade. They've been to call.'

'I know. They called on me first,' said their uncle.

'Did you ask them to help us?' cried Sarah, her face falling.

'Nay, lass; I'm as proud as you, and I never said a word except that young George was battling bravely. Mr Cunningham told me he had come on purpose to see if he could get blankets, and, as a matter of fact, he asked me; but I hadn't any ready. So, you see, it was Providence helping those who help themselves,' he replied.

Meanwhile the Cunninghams were speeding south with the dress-length packed in the carrier at the back of the motor.

'I don't recognise the description I heard of that family,' observed Lady Grace Cunningham; 'and it just shows that one must never believe what one hears, for according to you and Nanny they were very different.'

'Yes; I noticed that. And young Clay, too, is not in the least like Maxwell's description of him. He said the young man was an easy-going fellow, who looked always half-asleep, as if life was a bore to live, and was only fit to lounge in fashionable drawing-rooms. I shall ask him what he means,' said her husband.

'But that's how Sarah talked of him. I expect he's changed, and so is she; in fact, they are all changed,' declared Horatia.

'But you told me Mrs Clay was a meek, trodden-down creature, and Mr Clay a rather violent man, and that Sarah could not bear him. And as for Nanny's description, it was worse still, and I find Mrs Clay very different, and Sarah is devoted to her parents, especially her father.'

'I know,' agreed Horatia, nodding her head. 'I was so astonished that my eyes nearly dropped out of my head. But it's the fire that has done it. It's burst up all their bad qualities. I can tell you it was pretty uncomfortable last time I stayed there; and when you tell Nanny your opinion of them, she'll say a miracle must have happened.'

'I think they have been having a hard struggle. The young fellow betrayed it when he showed that full warehouse. I heard something about it. There is a feeling against them. Even our shipping people objected to trading with them. But I'm glad I persuaded them; it may give them a lift, and one thing leads to another.'

'Yes; and you must make that shade the fashion, mother. Wear it at your big reception, will you?' begged Horatia.

'And get it copied at once?' laughed her mother.

'Yes, because Mr Clay was so kind to me. Think of that rink that he had made just to please me!' cried Horatia.

'Ah, that was a waste of money! They won't be able to throw their money about like that for some time to come,' said Mr Cunningham, shaking his head.

'No; and a good thing, too. I don't approve of these colossal fortunes,' said his wife.

'Unless one has it one's self,' laughed her husband.

'It just shows how quickly they can be lost,' she observed.

'Well, it seems to have done them all good, so I don't think we need regret it or pity them,' said Mr Cunningham.

'Only, I do wish you had seen Balmoral; it was like Aladdin's palace. I never saw anything like it,' cried Horatia.



CHAPTER XXX.

LAST.

The worst had come and passed. Two days later Mr Clay announced his intention of going down to the mill. 'Not that I'm going to take things out of your hand, lad—nay, I shall never be good for much again—but just to see the old place, and say a word to some of the hands,' he explained.

'Will you wait till this afternoon, father?' asked George.

'Why? What's doing?' inquired his father.

'Only carrying bales for a big order,' said George.

'I'd like to see that; it means business,' persisted the mill-owner. And he had his way.

'I wanted to get the warehouse cleared before he came,' George explained to his sister, who was his confidante; for Mrs Clay, strange to say, took no interest in the mills or her son's proceedings except so far as it 'pleased father.'

However, Mr Clay came down, and saw the huge bales being sent off to the shipping line. His quick business eye took in the whole situation at a glance. 'You've been slack. It's been a heavy pull,' he said gravely.

'Yes, father; but the worst is over, and things are looking up. We've cleared this side, and I've had two more smaller orders since Mr Cunningham's,' said his son.

'And you've borne all that worry alone, and never told me a word. You're too good to your old father, both of you, for I've brought it on you; it's me the buyers have forsaken, not you. But they'll come round again. We make good cloth and blankets, and they know it,' he said; but he did not boast as he used to do.

The hands, looking rather ashamed and shy, greeted him respectfully as he walked slowly along, dragging his paralysed foot after him. 'I'm glad to see you again,' he said again and again.

But when he had gone, they shook their heads and said Mark Clay would never be the man he had been, and that it was the young master they must look to now.

'And a good master he'll be, though he's a bit too polite, and down upon what he calls rudeness, which is only our way,' said one of the young men.

'You've taught them London manners, lad,' said Mark Clay, looking at his son quizzically, as he noticed how no man, woman, or child passed the young master without some greeting.

George laughed. 'I couldn't stand their rough ways,' he admitted.

'Well, I've nought against it, and I see you've made some other alterations for their benefit; but I've nought against that either. You've done well by the mill and by me, and I'm proud of you, and proud of my girl, for she's got a shrewd business head, too, it seems.'

'Yes; I couldn't have done it without her. She is so quick, and seems to know the right thing by instinct,' said George.

'That's the woman's way. It's wonderful how they'll see things we can't. Your mother's the same,' replied Mark Clay.

And George made no comment on this change of front, though he remembered the times without number that his blood had boiled when the millionaire had spoken contemptuously of his wife, and told her that she did not know what she was talking about.

* * * * *

It is two years later, and a motor-car drove up to a beautiful house that stood on the place that Balmoral formerly occupied. Out of the motor stepped a young man with a good-humoured, freckled face, very like Horatia, whom he handed out, and who was now a very nice-looking girl of seventeen.

'We've come to your house-warming, Sarah,' she cried. 'And, oh, what a beautiful house! It's almost as good as the last one. And you've got a marble staircase and all. Why, it's exactly like the other!' she cried.

Sarah shook her head. 'It's not so big or so grand; but we tried to make it like the last to please father and mother. Poor mother was always talking of her marble staircase, so that's exactly copied, and so is the parquetry flooring, and her rooms are as like as we could make them; but we have no royal apartments for you this time,' she said.

'I'm glad of it. I don't mind telling you now that I used to have a nightmare every night, dreaming that burglars had come in and murdered me for my wealth—thinking it was mine, you know,' Horatia confided to her.

'Father is in the drawing-room waiting to see you. He is still rather an invalid,' said Sarah as she led the way to it.

'It's almost the same, Sarah!' Horatia cried again. 'Yes; and we still have the gold plate and Sevres china. Sykes saved a lot of things, we found afterwards; but it's not so palatial, and father wouldn't have it called Balmoral any more. He said that was boastful.'

'Oh! What is the name of the house, then?' inquired Horatia.

'Father will tell you,' said Sarah.

'So you've kept your promise, and come to stay with us again; only, this time it's my son's house,' said Mr Mark Clay.

'Oh no, father; he says not,' cried Sarah.

Mr Clay shook his head. 'I lost my all when I lost Balmoral, and he built up the fortune again. I'll never have a mansion here; but I'm content to stay in my son's till I get a mansion in the sky,' he said.

Horatia smiled at the allusion to her speech. 'What is the name of the house?' she asked.

'Horatia House. We all wished to have something to remind us that it was your family we had to thank for having a home again. You made the tide turn and the dye take. George wanted to call it Arnedale House, after your ancestor; but Sarah said, "Call it Horatia House," and so we did.'

'And a very pretty name it is,' said little Mrs Clay, who looked very pretty herself.

'That is a very pretty compliment you have paid me! I feel I ought to make a pretty speech of thanks, but I don't know how,' cried Horatia with a merry laugh.

'Here's the mill-owner,' said his father, as George came in, looking as aristocratic as ever, with the same pleasant smile and perfect manners, only wide awake. 'I've a right to be proud of my children, haven't I? They're all I am proud of now,' said Mr Clay as he took a hand of each.

And Horatia and her brother agreed with him that he had a right to be proud of his children.

THE END.

Edinburgh: Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.