but she wouldn't look at me, but
passed me as if I was quite beneath her. I didn't dare to stop her.'

Nor, apparently, did the pickets dare--or care--to do so either, as Sarah
came straight up to the chief gate and knocked at it.

A cautious face appeared at the other side of a little window, and a
moment afterwards the little postern-gate was opened wide enough to let
her slip in, and speedily shut to with a clang by two men who were
posted there in case any one should attempt to enter with her.

'Thank you. Will you take me to my father?' she said to the men, whom she
recognised as old hands.

'He's in the dye-house, miss. They 're making a beautiful new colour, and
the master's rare and pleased about it,' replied the elder man.

'But the fire? Doesn't he mind about the fire?' inquired the girl.

The man looked at her, not understanding. The fire's all right, miss;
they made it a bit too hot this morning, but it's all right now. We've
got proper stokers and all,' he assured her, evidently thinking she was
afraid the engine was not being properly attended to, and alluded to
that.

It flashed across Sarah that they did not know of the fire at Balmoral.
Then her father did not know, and she would have to tell him! She went
very slowly towards the dye-house. This possibility had never struck her.
Even though they could not see Balmoral from Clay's Mills, there was the
telephone, and the pickets outside; but then Sarah remembered that for
some reason or other the telephone had been abandoned, and naturally the
pickets would not for obvious reasons choose to give the news.

She found her father and George in the dye-room as she had been told, the
former jubilant over the new shade, and George standing by apparently as
interested as his father.

'What! Sally? There's a brave girl to come and see the prisoners! But
it's an ill wind that blows no one any good. Here's George showing
himself quite a business man, with the makings of a fine wool-merchant
in him, and I never knew it. So that's all the strike has done--got them
two Clays to fight instead of one,' cried Mr Clay, and Sarah was struck
by her father's pride in George.

She did not answer, but stood looking appealingly at her brother.

Mr Clay misunderstood her, and said, 'You don't like the idea of a
merchant-brother; but you'll have to get used to it. I don't mean to let
him go back to college. He knows a lot of useful stuff, and these are
ticklish times