But she kept on, and they came presently, all out of breath, in the shadow of the old mill. The three gained the shelter of a roof overhanging a narrow platform that ran along one side, and paused for a moment to rest. It was a dismal place, by night, but the child seemed at ease and without fear. "I know every inch of the old mill," she said, as though by way of reassurance. "You've just got to look out where you step, and you're all right." Had it not offered some sort of shelter from the storm, however, the place would hardly have appealed to Harvey and Henry Burns. The aged building seemed to creak and sway in the wind, as though it might fall apart from weakness and topple into the water. The stream plunged over the dam with a sullen roar, much as if it chafed at the barrier and longed to sweep it altogether from its course and carry its timbers with it. Once the lightning flashed into and through all the cobwebbed window-panes, and the mill gave out a ghastly glare. "Nice, cheerful place for a night's lodging," remarked Henry Burns. "Perhaps we'd better roost right here. I don't exactly take a fancy to the rickety old shell." "Oh, but it's lovely when you're inside," exclaimed the child, almost reprovingly. "There's the meal-bags to sleep on. And look, you can see the stove, in through the window, red with the fire. It keeps things dry in the mill. I've slept there twice, when gran' was after me with a stick." "All alone?" asked Henry Burns, looking at the child wonderingly, and feeling a sudden pity for her. "Why yes," said she. "There's nothing to be afraid of--only rats. Ugh! I hate rats. Don't you?" "Go ahead," said Henry Burns, stoutly. "We'll follow you. It looks like a real nice place, don't it, Jack?" "Perhaps," muttered Harvey. The girl crept along the platform and descended a short flight of steps that led to the mill flume--a long box-like sluice-way that carried the water in to turn the mill wheels. These wheels were silent now, for two great gates at the end of the flume barred out the waters. The girl tripped lightly along a single plank that extended over the flume. The boys followed cautiously. "Can you swim?" asked Harvey. "Why, of course," said she. Presently she paused, took a few steps across a plank that led to a window, raised that, climbed in and disappeared. "Come on," she called softly. "I'll show you where to step." "Whew!" exclaimed Harvey. "This is worse than a gale in Samoset Bay." "Oh, it's lovely when you get inside," said Henry Burns--"all except the rats. Come along." They climbed in through the window, dropping on to a single plank on the other side, by the child's direction. "Now stay here," she said, "till I come back." It was pitch dark and they could not see where they were; but they could hear her light steps as she made her way in through the mill and disappeared.