At first she could not make out what was happening, so full did the place seem to be of flapping black wings, whirling wheels and spinning pulleys. At last, however, she managed to understand that one of the big machines at the end of the shop was in violent motion and that a broken rod was flying round and round with the spinning wheel, smashing and crashing against everything that came in its way. Even in the midst of the noise Mr. Reynolds must have heard Elizabeth come in, for he glanced at her quickly over his shoulder. “Climb up on that stool and throw the switch there above the workbench,” he directed. “That is the only way to stop this thing and I can’t leave the broken crank-shaft.” Even in her haste Betsey noticed how quiet and cool he was, and with what quick skill he was adjusting valves and closing cylinder cocks, all the time keeping out of the way of the plunging and slashing of the broken rod. The switch was so stiff that she tugged at it to no purpose; she jerked and struggled but without effect. Mr. Reynolds looked back at her anxiously as the whirring and crashing grew every moment more violent. She thought of Miss Miranda, but she was far away in the garden and perhaps would not have sufficient strength, nor would Michael. With sudden inspiration she jumped down and sped through the door and across the lawn. The boy and his white horse were just turning a furrow beside the fence, only the breadth of the road away. “Come quickly,” she called in unceremonious haste. “We need you.” The boy dropped his reins, left the horse standing in the furrow and vaulted over the fence. His face, his white shirt and his blue trousers were all coated alike with dust but she noted with satisfaction how broad his shoulders were and how quickly he moved. In one second he was at the door, in another seemed to know entirely what to do. The stiff handle groaned as he jerked the switch and flung it over to break the current, the wildly spinning wheels began to slow down and finally, imperceptibly, came to rest. The old man turned about to thank them, his gray eyes under heavy white brows, alight with high excitement. “Did you have an accident?” Betsey inquired breathlessly. “I don’t understand what happened. Are you hurt?” “The rod caught me a crack across the knuckles when it first gave way, but it does not signify,” he replied cheerily. The boy had come nearer and was examining the machine with what seemed a practiced eye. “It was a flaw in the steel, I suppose,” he said. “But what is this machine? I never saw anything like it before.”