age the copy, just as she did for the _Standard_ once. So can
I. We'll go right to work."

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten," said Mr. Murdoch. "You've worked a while at
printing. I'm willing you should see what you can do. I'd like to
speak to Mary. I'm sorry to say that you'll have to sleep in the
office, Jack, for we've only one spare room in this nutshell of a
house."

"I don't mind that," said Jack.

"I hope I'll be out in a day or so," added the editor. "But, Jack, the
press is run by a pony steam-engine, and that foreman couldn't run it
to save his life," he added hopelessly.

"Why, it's nothing to do," exclaimed Jack. "I've helped run an engine
for a steam thrashing-machine. Don't you be worried about the engine."

Mr. Murdoch was able to be up a little while in the evening, and Mary
came in to see him. From what he said to her, it seemed as if there
was really very little to do in editing the remainder of the next
number of the _Eagle_.

"I'm so glad you're here," said Mrs. Murdoch, when Mary came out to
supper. "I never read a newspaper myself, and I don't know the first
thing about putting one together. It's too bad that you should be
bothered with it though."

"Why, Mrs. Murdoch," exclaimed Mary, laughing, "I shall be delighted.
I'd rather do it than not."

The truth was that it was not easy for either Mary or her brother to be
very sorry that Mr. Murdoch was not able to work. They did not feel
anxious about him, for his wife had told them it was not a serious
attack, and they enjoyed the prospect of editing the newspaper.

After supper Jack and Mary went through the garden to the _Eagle_
office. The pony-engine was in a sort of woodshed, the press was in
the "kitchen," as Mary called it, and the front room of the little old
dwelling-house was the business office. The editor's office and the
type-setting room were up-stairs.

Jack took a look at the engine.

"Any one could run that," he said. "I know just how to set it going.
Come on, Molly. This is going to be great fun."

The editor's room was only large enough for a table and a chair and a
few heaps of exchange newspapers. The table was littered and piled
with scraps of writing and printing.

"See!" exclaimed Jack, picking up a sheet of paper. "The last thing
Mr. Murdoch did was to finish an account of his visit to Crofield, and
the flood. We'll put that in first thing to-morrow. It's easy to edit
a newspaper. Where are the s