"What a pretty thing!" she said. "I wonder if it is glass. I must take this to Mr. Gordon, for I never found anything like it before. Jessie cannot have this." She laid it carefully aside, and went on with her sorting, working so quickly that in a few moments the sieve was empty, and the basket piled with good cotton rags, ready for the cutting-machine. Taking her hat and shawl, Mary passed out, holding the brooch carefully in her hand. There were few people in the mill, only the machine-tenders, walking leisurely up and down beside their machines, which whirred and droned on, regardless of dinnertime. The great rollers went round and round, the broad white streams flowed on and on over the screens, till the mysterious moment came when they ceased to be wet pulp and became paper. Mary hardly glanced at the wonderful machines; they were an old story to her, though in every throb they were telling over and over the marvellous works of man. The machine-tenders nodded kindly in return to her modest greeting, and looked after her with approval, and said, "Nice gal!" to each other; but Mary hurried on until she came to the finishing-room. Here she hoped to find a friend whom she could consult about her discovery; and, sure enough, old James Gregory was sitting on his accustomed stool, tying bundles of paper with the perfection that no one else could equal. His back was turned to the door, and he was crooning a fragment of an old paper-mill song, which might have been composed by the beating engine itself, so rhythmic and monotonous it was. "'Gene, 'Gene, Made a machine; Joe, Joe, Made it go; Frank, Frank, Turned the crank, His mother came out, And gave him a spank, And knocked him over The garden bank." At Mary's cheerful "Good morning, Mr. Gregory!" the old man turned slowly, and looked at the young girl with friendly eyes. "Good day, Mary! glad to see ye! goin' along home?" "In just a minute! I want to show you something, Mr. Gregory, and to ask your advice, please." The old finisher turned completely round this time, and looked his interest. Mary opened her hand, and displayed the brooch she had found. James Gregory drew his lips into the form of a whistle, but made no sound. He looked from the brooch to Mary, and back again. "Well?" he said. "I found it in the rags; blue Egyptians, you know, Mr. Gregory. It was inside the lining of a jacket. Do you think--what do you think about it? is it glass, or--something else?" Gregory took the ornament from her, and held it up to the light, screwing his eyes to little points of light; then he polished it on his sleeve, and held it up again. [Illustration: "GREGORY POLISHED IT ON HIS SLEEVE, AND HELD IT UP AGAIN."] "Something else!" he said, briefly. "Is it--do you think it might be worth something, Mr. Gregory?" asked Mary, rather timidly.