n-hill on a
velvet sofa-cushion."

Donald and his father heartily enjoyed the big fellow's pleasure.

As for Thornton, when the car came to a stop before the puffing
Mortonstown mills it was with regret that he dragged himself from the
seat. Still, he had the ride home in anticipation--that was a comforting
thought.

Once within the mills, however, even the memory of the homeward journey
faded from his mind. The vast buildings throbbing with the beat of
engines, the click and whirr of bobbins, and the clash of machinery,
blotted out everything else.

When they entered Mr. Munger, the manager, who was expecting them, came
forward cordially.

"We were glad to hear by telephone that you were coming out to-day, Mr.
Clark," he said. "Mr. Bailey, the president, is waiting to see you in
his private office."

"Very well," answered Mr. Clark. "Now while I am talking with him I
should greatly appreciate it if my son Donald, and my foreman, Mr.
Thornton, might go over the works. They have never visited a woolen
mill."

"We shall be delighted to show them about," answered Mr. Munger. "I will
send some one with them."

Turning, the manager beckoned to a young man who was busy at a desk.

"This gentleman," continued he, "has been with us many years and will be
able to answer all your questions. Take these visitors through the
factory, Mac, show them everything, and bring them back here. Now if you
are ready, Mr. Clark, we will join Mr. Bailey."

Donald and Thornton moved away, following their guide into a building
just across the yard. Here wool was being sorted by staplers who were
expert in judging its quality. They worked at frames covered with wire
netting which allowed the dirt to sift through, and as they handled the
material and tossed it into the proper piles they picked out straws,
burrs, and other waste caught in it.

"This sorting must be carefully done," explained the bookkeeper who was
showing them about, "or the wool will not take the dye well. Much
depends on having the fleeces clear of waste. We also are very
particular about the sorting. The finest wool, as you know, comes from
the sides of the sheep; that clipped from the head and legs is coarse
and stiff. All this we separate before we send the fleeces on to be
scoured. In this next room you will see how the material is washed."

They passed on and next saw how steam was blown through the wool, not
only removing the dirt but softening the fibers. Th