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 scissors?" "We needn't bother to write new editorials," said Mary. "Here are all these papers full of them." "Of course," said Jack. "But we must pick out good ones." Their tastes differed somewhat, and Mary condemned a number of articles that seemed to Jack excellent. However, she selected a story and some poems and a bright letter from Europe, and Jack found an account of an exciting horse-race, a horrible railway accident, a base-ball match, a fight with Indians, an explosion of dynamite, and several long strips of jokes and conundrums. "These are splendid editorials!" said Mary, looking up from her reading. "We can cut them down to fit the _Eagle_, and nobody will suspect that Mr. Murdoch has been away." "Oh, they'll do," said Jack. "They're all lively. Mr. Murdoch is sure to be satisfied. I don't think he can write better editorials himself." The young editors were much excited over their work, and soon became so absorbed in their duties that it was ten o'clock before they knew it. "Now, Molly," said Jack, "we'll go to the house and tell him it's all right. We'll set the _Eagle_ a-going in the morning. I knew we could edit it." Mary had very little to say; her fingers ached from plying the scissors, her eyes burned from reading so much and so fast, and her head was in a whirl. At the house they met Mrs. Murdoch. "Oh, my dear children!" exclaimed she to Mary, "Mr. Murdoch is delirious. The doctor's been here, and says he won't be able to think of work--not for days and days. Can you,--_can_ you run the _Eagle_? You won't let it stop." "No, indeed!" said Mary. "There's plenty of 'copy' ready, and Jack can run the engine." "I'm so glad," said Mrs. Murdoch. "I'd never dare to clip anything. I might make serious mistakes. He's so careful not to attack anything nor to offend anybody. All sorts of people take the _Eagle_, and Mr. Murdoch says he has to steer clear of almost everything." "We won't write anything," said Jack; "we'll just select the best there is and put it right in. Those city editors on the big papers know what to write."