ter's wife and daughter at
all.

Mark Clay met them at the door of his private office, a plainly furnished
little room, the same now as it had been thirty years before, when it had
been just built. 'This is my private room,' he said.

Horatia looked round with interest. 'It's a very business-like-looking
room,' she said, after searching in vain for something more complimentary
to say.

'That's the biggest compliment you can pay it, and it is a true one, too.
There's millions have passed through my hands in this room,' he said
proudly.

''Ave you 'eard that Luke Mickleroyd nearly lost his little Ruth in the
night?' said Mrs Clay. 'We've just been to see 'em an' leave Naomi
there.'

Mrs Clay never liked to take the responsibility of doing anything
herself; but Mark Clay turned to her more angrily than Horatia had ever
seen him, and said, 'I won't have you go to the hands, encouraging them
in independence and idleness. You call for Naomi on your way back. Do you
hear? She doesn't get wages for nursing her sister. What's her mother
there for?'

'But, Mark, the mother's got the 'ouse to clean an' meals to cook;
they're such a large family, an' useful to us,' protested Mrs Clay.

'I don't care. I won't have it, I say. I shall have the other girl
wanting her day off; so you do as I tell you. If the mother can't see to
the girl, let her go to the hospital. What do I pay to the hospitals for
if it isn't for them to be useful to me? You can tell her so on your way
home, and take Naomi back with you to her work,' blustered Mark Clay.

'Oh, are we going straight home? I thought we could, perhaps, go to
Fountains Abbey to-day, and you would come with us?' cried Horatia.

Sarah shot a quick look of surprise at her friend, who added, 'You said I
might choose what I liked best to do every day, didn't you, Sarah?'

'Of course,' said Sarah.

'But, my dear, w'yever didn't you mention it before we started? We would
'ave taken a picnic-basket along wi' us,' cried Mrs Clay.

'That doesn't matter, Polly; send Fox for it while we're looking over the
mills. That's a good idea of the lass. We'll all go to Fountains. Do you
go and telephone to them to put in plenty of champagne and lemonade for
the girls,' said the mill-owner boisterously.

Mrs Clay hurried off to the telephone to give her directions, while Mark
Clay started with the two girls over the mills.

'I couldn't write an essay on this,' said Horatia, as they were hurrie