"By the way," he remarked as he began to examine the machine, "we don't say 'Mister,' now. I thought you'd learnt that." Millie simpered. "It sounds so familiar not to," she said. "Rubbish," grunted Thrale. "You can call me 'engineer,' I suppose?" "Now, look here," he continued, "do you see this hopper in here?" She came close to him and peered into the machine. "It gets clogged, do you see?" said Thrale, "and when the meal stutters you've just got to put your hand in and clear it. Understand?" "I think so," hesitated Millie. She was leaning against him and her body was trembling with delicious excitement. Almost unconsciously she pressed a little closer. Thrale suddenly drew back. "Do you understand?" he said harshly. "Ye-yes, I think so," returned Millie; and she straightened herself, looked up at him for a moment and then dropped her eyes, blushing. "Very well," said Thrale, "and here's another piece of advice for you. If you want to stay in the mill keep your attention on your work. You're a man now, for all intents and purposes; you've got a man's work to do, and you must keep your mind on it. If there's any foolishness you go out into the turnip fields. You won't have another warning," he concluded as he turned and left her. "Beast," muttered Millie when she was alone. She was shaken with furious anger. "I hate you, you silly stuck up thing," she whispered fiercely shaking with passion. "Oh, I wish you only knew how I hate you. I won't touch your beastly machines again. I'd sooner a million times be out in the turnip field than in the same mill with you, you stuck up beast. I won't work, I won't do a thing, I'll--I'll----" For a time she was hysterical. Blanche coming down from the floor above found her sister tearing at her hair. "Good heavens, Mill, what's up?" she asked. Millie had passed through the worst stages of her seizure by then, and she dropped her hands. "I dunno," she said. "It's this beastly mill, I suppose." "I like it," returned Blanche. "Oh, you," said Millie, full of scorn for Blanche's frigidity. "You ought to have been a man, you ought." "I dunno what's come to you," was Blanche's comment. 3 It was maturity that had come to Millie. Her new life of air and physical exercise had set the blood running in her veins. In the Wisteria Grove days she had had an anæmic tendency; the limited routine of her existence and all the suppressions of her narrow life had retarded her development. Now she was suddenly ripe. Two months of sun and air had brought superabundant vitality, and the surplus had become the most important factor in her existence. She found no outlet for her new vigour in the work of the mill. Something within her was crying out for joy. She wanted to find expression.