u that we were in
danger of losing the mill."

"Well, I'm going," declared John Ellison, and Mrs. Ellison gave
reluctant consent.

Still, she might have saved herself the trouble of objecting, and let
Colonel Witham settle the matter--which he did, summarily.

It was warm, and miller Witham, uncomfortable at all times in summer
sultriness, was doubly so in the hot, dusty atmosphere of the mill. The
dust from the meal settled on his perspiring face and distressed him;
the dull grinding of the huge stones and the whirr of the shaftings and
drums somehow did not sound in his ears so agreeably as he had once
fancied they would. There was something oppressive about the place--or
something in the air that caused him an unexplainable uneasiness--and he
stood in the doorway, looking unhappy and out of sorts.

He saw two boys come briskly down the road from the Ellison farm and
turn up the main road in the direction of the mill. As they approached,
he recognized them, and retired within the doorway. To his surprise,
they entered.

"Well, what is it?" he demanded shortly as John Ellison and Henry Burns
stood confronting him. "What do you want? I won't have boys around the
mill, you know. Always in the way, and I'm busy here."

"Why, you see," replied John Ellison, turning colour a bit but speaking
firmly, "we don't want to bother you nor get in the way; but I--I want
to get some work to do. I'm big enough and strong enough to work, now,
and I heard you wanted a man. I came to see if you wouldn't hire me."

Colonel Witham's face was a study. Taken all by surprise, he seemed to
know scarcely what to say. He shifted uneasily and the drops of
perspiration rolled from his forehead. He mopped his face with a big,
red handkerchief, and looked shiftily from one boyish face to the other.

"Why, I did say I wanted help," he admitted; "but,"--and he glanced at
the youth who had spoken,--"I didn't say I wanted a boy. No, you won't
do."

"Why, I'm big enough to do the haying," urged John Ellison. "You've got
the mill now. You might give me a job, I think."

Possibly some thought of this kind might have found fleeting lodgment in
the colonel's brain; of Jim Ellison, who used to sit at the desk in the
corner; of the son that now asked him for work. Then a crafty,
suspicious light came into his eyes, and he glanced quickly at John
Ellison's companion.

"What do you want here, Henry Burns?" he demanded. "I had you in my
hotel at Sam