Nothing of the dam remained except the thick broken edges at each side. The little sluice-house was a ruin and instead of a lovely pool of clear cold water there was now nothing but a muddy-sided hollow and a trickle of water falling over the smashed stones where the explosion had made the breach in the wall. But the little house was still the same, and it looked as if Mr. Sterling had remembered his potatoes for a thin spiral of blue smoke drifted slowly upwards from the chimney.

Standing on the broken stones was Mr. Sterling. He raised an arm slowly in salutation as the little cavalcade came into sight, but when he saw Bill Ward was with the children he put his hand to his mouth and called, "Did they get him?"

Everyone shouted the answer, and this seemed to be a great relief to him, for he pushed his old straw hat to the back of his head, lit his pipe, and started down to meet them.

Peter and the twins hurried ahead.

"Thank you very much for going out to look for us last night," Dickie began.

"Acksherly, Mr. Sterling, we wished it was you that rescued us," Mary finished.

The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and regarded them gravely.

"Doesn't seem to me," he said solemnly but with a twinkle in his eye, "that you two can ever stay where you're put," but before they could answer Peter grabbed his arm.

"And you really are all right, Father?"

"I'm very well in my health and my body, Petronella, but I tell you that your father is an old fool... Never forget what I say," and with this awful warning he turned away.

But Bill caught him up and slapped him on the back. "Nonsense, Mr. Sterling. It wasn't your fault. You can't be blamed."

"That's where you're wrong, young man. I ought to have found his bomb, or mine, or whatever it was. Those Home Guard chaps and me searched everywhere early this morning after they knocked me up. We couldn't find the chap - and when I remember what hospitality we gave him how he left his dirty boot-marks all over the floor, and me having to go out before my breakfast..."

They soothed him down as best they could.

"Very well, very well," he said testily. "Don't pat me, I'm not an old dog... I'm just an old fool."

Everyone felt embarrassed, and oddly enough it was Dickie who saved the situation.

"I suppose," he said clearly and distinctly, "I suppose, Mr. Sterling, you wouldn't happen to have such a thing as a bit o' dry old crust in the house? I think we're feelin' a bit faint."