Sarah's School Friend Part 39

'I don't know. He was brought on a stretcher, and Uncle Howroyd came with him, and he and mother have gone into that room. I don't know any more than you; but, oh, I am glad you've come!' cried Sarah, bursting into tears.

'Come and sit down,' said George, putting his arm round his sister's shoulder. 'Some one will come out in a minute, I hope.'

It was William Howroyd who came. 'You here, my lad! That's right. You'll have to take the head of affairs now,' he said kindly but sadly.

'Is my father--dead?' asked George, with pale lips.

'No, no, not dead; but it's a stroke, and he won't be fit for business for some time. If I can help you I will; but it's a bad business, a very bad business. Well, my home is yours, as you know, and you must all stay here for the present. As for the future, why, you can stay here then if you will. It's not a mansion, but there's room enough for us all.'

CHAPTER XXVI.

TRUE YORKSHIRE GRIT.

'Can I see my father, sir?' said George.

'Yes, of course, my lad. Go in. He won't know you, but you may go in,'

said his uncle.

Mrs Clay sat watching beside her husband, who lay on his improvised couch in the sitting-room, and she looked up dully when her son came in.

'They've killed 'im this time, George,' she said.

'I hope not, mother. He'll pull through this,' replied her son.

But his mother shook her head. ''E'll never get over bein' bested by the men. 'E's always been so masterful all 'is life, an' they've mastered 'im at last,' she declared.

'I don't know so much about that. Father said I was to stop at home and help him, and I mean to do it, and see if things can't be straightened out again,' said George, with youthful confidence.

Mrs Clay looked at her son proudly. 'You've the same spirit as your father, though you've never shown it before; but this coil's too 'ard for you to untwist, lad. You'd best leave it to your uncle Bill; 'e'll do the best 'e can for us all, an' there'll always be a bite an' a sup for us while 'e lives. But Clay's Mills are a thing of the past now, lad.'

Sarah, who, without asking leave of any one, had followed her brother into the sick-room, broke in now. 'We're not going to live on charity, mother. If we really are poor I shall just work in a mill, that's all. I won't live on any one else, not even Uncle Howroyd.'

Her mother and brother both gave her a warning glance.

George said in low tones, 'It's no good exaggerating the misfortune. We have met with losses, and my father may not be a millionaire at this moment; but I hope we may not long trespa.s.s on Uncle Howroyd's hospitality, though there is no talk of living on charity.'

As he said this his father opened his eyes, and it seemed to George that there was a gleam of consciousness in them. He bent over the sick man, and said in low, clear tones, 'Father, I'll do my best to keep the mills going. That is your wish, is it not?'

''E can't 'ear, George,' sighed his mother.

'I think he understood,' declared George; and though the others did not agree with him, they said no more to discourage the young man.

'Come, Sarah,' George said gently to his sister, as he drew her out of the room with him, 'you'll have to help me to put all this business right.'

'I? What can I do? I know nothing about accounts, you know,' cried Sarah, secretly pleased, all the same, at the idea of being of use.

'You are often down at Uncle Howroyd's, and I hear you talking of "fettles and pieces," and goodness knows what all,' observed George.

Sarah laughed. 'I suppose you mean fettlers (people who clean the machines) and piecers (those who join the pieces of wool or yarn together when it breaks),' she explained.

'There! You see I don't even know these words, and if I have to go into accounts and details I must know them, or I shall be showing my ignorance, and the people will have no confidence in me,' returned George.

'But those foreigners don't understand you. What will you do with them?'

inquired Sarah.

'Nothing. I shall send them off the minute this contract is done,' said George. 'That is to say, if Uncle Howroyd approves.'

'What are you going to do with my approval, my lad?' demanded William Howroyd, coming in and putting his hand for a moment kindly on his nephew's shoulder.

Sarah was struck by his serious and troubled face. She wondered whether it was anxiety for his brother's health or sorrow for the misdeeds of the Ousebank men. She did not know that there was a third reason added to these two; but she soon was to know it.

'I want to pack off those men as soon as the contract we have in hand is finished,' said George.

'They've saved you and me any trouble, George, lad. They've discharged themselves,' said Mr Howroyd gravely.

George looked at his uncle aghast. 'You mean that the foreigners have gone--without a minute's warning?' he asked.

'They have that,' replied Mr Howroyd.

'But why did they suddenly do that? They seemed to go back to work willingly enough after their dinner,' said George.

'It seems they had some means of communicating with the outside world.

When they heard of your poor father's illness, and were told he was ruined, and his house even burnt down, they decided to leave a sinking ship,' said Mr Howroyd.

'Uncle Howroyd, do you think it is a sinking ship?' inquired Sarah.

Mr Howroyd considered a little; but, being a man who thought honesty always the best policy, he replied frankly, 'I think we shall save enough out of the wreck to keep you afloat; but I think Clay's Mills must shut.'

'I don't understand that, sir. Of course, I know that we must have lost a good deal by the fire, and this contract, too, will be a serious loss; but there is the insurance of the house, and I understand that, thanks to you and other kind helpers, a good deal was saved at Balmoral,' observed George.

'That is so, my lad; but the trouble is--and that's what caused your father's illness--the house was not insured,' said Mr Howroyd.

'Oh, but, uncle, it was. I happen to know, because father said the insurance he paid would keep a family comfortably,' interrupted Sarah.

'I know, and so I thought; but, owing to threats they received, saying it was going to be burnt down, the company asked such a heavy premium that your father refused to pay it, and said he'd take precautions instead. It was a mad thing, and no one but him would have dared to do it. And now, what are you going to do with an empty mill, whose hands have all struck, and whose head is lying unconscious?' inquired Mr Howroyd kindly but discouragingly.

The brother and sister had drawn closer to each other instinctively in this their first trouble, for trouble it was to both.

'If we give up the mills, what have we to live on? I don't know my father's affairs, but I imagine he has a large capital,' said George.

'It's difficult to explain to you, but most of it was in the mills. I expect that you will have a few hundreds a year when the business is wound up. But things have not been so prosperous as they have appeared of late with your father, and he spent freely,' replied Mr Howroyd.

George sat silent after this; but Sarah suddenly exclaimed, 'George, don't give it up! Open the mills again, and try to keep them going with the old hands. I know you could, with Uncle Howroyd's help, and I'll stop at home and help you all I can, and take care of mother.'

George gave his sister a swift glance, and then appealed to his uncle.

'What do you say, sir? Is it any use my trying?'