e been wheelsacks. _Wheat_ sacks! And water-cart!--he
meant _water-wheel_. Bless the child!--he'd got it all topsy-turned.
There's the model on the mantel-shelf, with the cloth over it. I'll take
it off to show you. That won't do any harm. I only covered it so that no
one should touch the glass. Because Ben Toft said the putty would be
soft for a few days." A small bead-worked tablecloth, thick and
protective, had been wrapped round the model.

Widow Thrale relighted the candles, which had been out of employment.
They did not give a very good light. The old lady was just beginning to
feel exhausted with so much talk. But she was bound to see this--Dave's
model, his presentment of which had been a source of speculation in
Sapps Court! Just fancy! Widow Thrale lifted it bodily from the
chimney-shelf, and placed it on the table.

"Mother ought to tell you about it," said she, disengaging the covering,
"because she knows so much more about it than I do. You see, when the
water is poured in at the top and the clockwork is wound up, the mill
works and the sacks go up and down, and one has to pretend they are
taking grist up into the loft. It was working quite beautiful when
mother put the water in for Dave to see. And it doesn't go out of order
by standing; for, the last time before that, when mother set it going,
was for the sake of little Robert that we lost when he was little older
than Dave. Such a many years it seems since then!... What?"

For as she chatted on about what she conceived would be her visitor's
interest in the model--Dave's interest, to wit--she had failed to hear
her question, asked in a tremulous and almost inaudible voice:--"Where
was it, the mill?... Whose mill?" A repetition of it, made with an
effort, caused her to look round.

And then she saw that old Maisie's breath was coming fast, and that her
words caught in it and became gasps. Her conclusion was immediate,
disconnecting this agitation entirely from the subject of her speech.
The old lady had got upset with so much excitement, that was all. Just
think of all that perturbation last night, and the journey to-day! At
her time of life! Besides, she had eaten nothing.

Evidently the proper course now was to induce her to go to bed, and get
her that gruel, which she had promised to take. "I am sure you would be
better in bed, Mrs. Prichard," said Mrs. Thrale. "Suppose you was to go
now, and I'll get you your gruel."

Old Maisie gave way at once