"She'll never come back," exclaimed Harvey. "Say, wake me up with a good, hard punch, will you, Henry? I know I'm dreaming." But now they perceived the dull glimmer of a lantern, turned low, being borne toward them by an unseen hand. Then the figure of the girl appeared, and soon the lantern's rays lighted up vaguely the interior of the mill. They were, it proved, still outside the grinding-rooms, in that part of the mill where the water would pour in to turn the wheels. It was gaunt and unfinished, filled with the sound of dripping waters; with no flooring, but only a scanty network of beams and planking for them to thread their way across. They followed the child now over these, and came quickly to a small sliding door, past which they entered the main room on the first floor. There, in truth, it would seem they might not be uncomfortably housed for the night. A small box-stove, reddened in patches by the burning coals within, shed warmth throughout the room. There were heaps of empty meal-bags lying here and there. And, for certain, there was no rain coming in. And now, having been guided by their new acquaintance to their lodgings, so strangely, they found themselves, almost on the moment, deserted. "Here you are," said the child, with somewhat of a touch of pride in her voice. "Didn't I say I'd get you in all right? Don't turn that light up too bright. Someone might see it from the road. And get out early in the morning, before old Ellison comes. Good night and sleep tight. And don't you ever, ever tell, or I'll catch it. I don't need the lantern. I can feel my way." The next moment she was gone. They would have detained her, to ask more about herself; about the mill wherein they were; to ask about Ellison, the owner. But it was too late. They heard her steps, faintly, as she traversed the dangerous network of planking, and then only the steady, dripping sound came in through the little doorway. "Well," exclaimed Harvey, throwing himself down on a pile of meal-bags, close by the fire, "this isn't the worst place I ever got into, if it is old and rickety. Don't that fire feel good?" He drew off his dripping sweater and hung it on a box, which he set near, and rubbed his arms vigorously. "This is such a funny old room I can't keep still in it," he continued. "The fire feels great, but I want to explore and see what kind of a place I'm in." "Oh, sit down and be comfortable," replied Henry Burns. "Just make believe you're in the cabin of the _Viking_." "Say, Henry," exclaimed Harvey warmly to his friend's reply, "do you know I'm half sorry we let the _Viking_ go for the summer. Of course 'twas mighty nice of Tom and Bob to ask us to spend the summer in Benton with them; but I don't know as canoeing and fishing and that sort of thing will do for us. I'd like to have a hand on the old _Viking's_ wheel right now."