Mr. Murdoch was better. He had had a comfortable night, and felt able
to think of business again.

"Now, my dear," he said to his wife, "I'm ready to take a look at the
_Eagle_. I am glad it was a good number."

"They talked about it all last evening at the sociable," she answered,
as she handed him a copy.

He was even cheerful, when he began; and he studied the paper as Jack
had studied the map. It was a long time before he said a word.

"My account of the flood is really capital," he said, at last, "and all
that about Crofield matters. The report of things in Mertonville is
good; that about the logs, the dam, the burglary--a very extraordinary
occurrence, by the way--it's a blessing they didn't kill Mrs. McNamara.
The story is good; funny-column good. But--oh, gracious! Oh, Mary
Ogden! Oh my stars! What's this?"

He had begun on the editorials, and he groaned and rolled about while
he was reading them.

"They'll mob the _Eagle_!" he said at last. "I must get up! Oh, but
this is dreadful! She's pitched into everything there is! I must get
up at once!"

Those editorials were a strong tonic, or else Mr. Murdoch's illness was
over. He dressed himself, and walked out into the kitchen. His wife
had not heard him say he would get up, but she seemed almost to have
expected it.

"It's the way you always do," she said. "I'm never much scared about
you. You'll never die till your time comes. I think Mary is over at
the office."

"I'm going there, now," he said, excitedly. "If this work goes on, I
shall have the whole town about my ears."

He was right. Mary had been at her table promptly that morning to make
a beginning on the next number; Jack was down in the engine-room; Mr.
Black was busy, and Mr. Bones was out, when a party of very red-faced
men filed in, went through the front office, and climbed the stairs.

"We'll show him!" said one.

"It'll be a lesson he won't forget!" remarked another, fiercely.

"He'll take it back, or there will be broken bones!" added another; and
these spoke for the rest. They had sticks, and they tramped heavily as
they marched to the "sanctum." The foremost opened the door, without
knocking, and his voice was deep, threatening, and husky as he began:

"Now, Mr. Editor--"

"I'm the editor, sir. What do you wish of me?"

[Illustration: _"I'm the Editor, sir."_]

Mary Ogden stood before him, looking him straight in the face without a
quiver.

He was a