ed into his
eyes appealingly, while he held both her hands.

"The mill? That's so," he answered. "Gives the old misanthrope a
different look, doesn't it?"

"But when--how?" asked Sylvia. "Last night it was closed. I saw it; and
the rainbow was inspiring it, and the setting sun was begging it, and I
was coaxing it, and--look! When could it have happened? How could it
have happened?"

"You expected a miracle, didn't you?" asked Dunham. "I remember you
talked about it last summer."

"What are you doing here?" asked the girl, remembering he had her
hands, and withdrawing them. "You couldn't have driven over from the
village as early as this."

"No. I came up on business, and I'm staying in the neighborhood."

"But there isn't any neighborhood," said Sylvia.

"Is that all you know about this region?" he returned. "I'll show you
where I'm staying, some day." John thought of his fragrant couch of hay
in the barn. "Isn't it astonishing what a gay old boy that mill has
turned into? Look at it sidle around on those posts. It seems to say,
'Come in. The water's fine.' Why don't we accept the invitation? Let's
go over there."

"Oh, come. I can't wait. Here's the key to the boat-house."

The hand that gave it to him trembled. It seemed the crown of all that
Dunham should be with her the first time she approached the opened
shutters.

In a couple of minutes he was pulling the light craft across the Basin.

"Do you think we can possibly get in?" asked Sylvia. "How I have wanted
to get inside that mill!"

"Then we shall have to, that's all," replied her companion, his eyes on
her absorbed face, above which the breeze was blowing a little mass of
auburn curls. "I think if I stood in the boat, and you stood on my
shoulders, you might reach a lower window."

"I hope it won't come to that," she answered; "but I am afraid the
ladders will have rotted away. We may find people there. Why, we
probably shall. I don't know why I haven't come down to earth enough to
realize that only the owners could have opened the mill."

Dunham nodded. "They must have entered to open it, too. What man hath
done, man can do. You shall get in, else what is the use of _my_ being
here? Say you're glad I'm here, Sylvia."

She nodded at him collectedly. "If you get me in, I will," she
returned.

They found an upright ladder, weather-beaten but still strong, beside
one of the posts. Dunham tied the boat, then began to climb up, Sylvia
following,