head go in an' out, an' that wheel turnin' away
just so fast an' no faster, I swear I do go to sleep with my eyes open;
an' when it gets light such a day's this, I get up an' shake
myself--this fashion,' giving him an extra jerk. 'Keep up heart, Adam; I
know it, an' I don't know what Cowles is thinkin' of. I don't want to
crowd you out, an' you ought to be the last one to go. I'd quit 'em for
it myself, afford it or not, only 'twon't do you no good.'

'Merry Christmas, Mr. Grump!' cried Nobby, rubbing his eyes.

'You've slept over, my young 'un,' laughed the engineer; 'you're one day
ahead. Of course the palty mill must run to-morrow. Mine don't, I
warrant. My machinery runs on a fat turkey, twenty pound if he's an
ounce. That's me.'

'Yes, and we've got a turkey too,' chimed Nobby.

'I warrant you have. An' he had as good an appetite when he was alive as
anybody else's turkey; them fellows do gobble their grub quite
conscientiously, fattin' 'emselves without knowin' or carin' whether
rich or poor'll eat 'em. _I'll_ bet yours's as fat an' good's Mr.
Prescott's, or old Cowles's--damn him! No, I don't mean quite that, so
near Christmas, but he ought to be choked with his own dinner, I'll say
that. Keep up good heart, Adam; an' now clear out, every one! cut home
to yer breakfasts! My watch now, and' I won't have one of ye
round--scud! or wait a minute an' I'll pitch ye out.'

II.

After his breakfast, Adam walked back to the factory. He was wondering,
as he went along, why they should begin with him if they wanted to save
expense. Eighteen dollars a month was a good deal to him, but what was
it to the mill? Every turn of the water wheel, he thought, made more
money than his day's wages. But possibly Mr. Prescott had found out that
his son fancied Jane, and meant to drive them out of town. The very day
that Mr. Prescott saw him first, Mr. Cowles, the manager, told him he
wasn't needed any longer, that the under engineer would see to the
fires. That was punishing him for another's fault--just the way with
rich men; and for a while he almost hated Mr. Prescott.

Adam Craig had had a peculiar life, as he thought. He wanted education,
money, and such other things, besides something to eat and wear; but
they never came to him, and he drifted into a place at the machine
shops, and got the stamp put on him, and then went his round year after
year with less and less thought of stepping out of it. Yet he always
believed he