'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.