per? Ay, ay, we'll clear
the breakers now, with water to spare.

"Here you," addressing an imaginary sailor, "get forward lively and
clear that jib-sheet; and look out for the block. Hanged if we want a
man overboard a night like this, eh, Mister Burns?"

"Say, Jack, I wouldn't do that," replied Henry Burns, laughing at his
comrade's antics. "You don't know what that may turn."

"Don't I, though!" roared Harvey, jamming the wheel around with a few
more turns. "Why, you land-lubber, it turns the ship, same as any wheel.
This is the good ship, _Rattle-Bones_, bound from Benton to Boston, with
a cargo of meal--and rats. We've lost our pilot, Bess--what's her
name--and we've got to put her through ourselves.

"Hello!" he cried suddenly, checking himself in the midst of his
nonsense and listening intently. "What's that noise? Henry, no joking, I
hear breakers off the port bow. We're going aground, or the ship's
leaking."

Henry Burns sprang up, and both boys stood, wondering.

Out of the darkness of the other part of the mill there came in a sound
of rushing water, plainly distinguishable above the roar of the water
flowing over the dam, and the dashing rain and the gusts of wind. Then,
as they stood, listening curiously, there came a deep, rumbling sound
out of the very vitals of the old mill; there was a gentle quivering
throughout all its timbers; a groaning in all its aged structure; a
whirring, droning sound--the wheels of the mill were turning, and there
was needed only the pushing of one of the levers to set the great
mill-stones, themselves, to grinding.

"Jack," cried Henry Burns, "you've opened the gates. The wheels are
turning. We've got to stop that, quick. Someone might hear it."

He sprang to the wheel, gave it a few sharp whirls, turned it again and
again with all his strength, and the rushing noise ceased. The mill, as
though satisfied that its protests against being driven to work at such
an hour had been availing, quieted once more, and the place was still.

Still, save that the wind outside swept sharply around the corners of
the old structure, moaning about the eaves and whistling dismally in at
knot-holes. Still, save that now and again it seemed to quiver on its
foundations when some especially heavy thunder-clap roared overhead,
while the momentary flash revealed the dusty, cobwebbed interior.

One standing, by chance, at the door of the mill that opened on to the
road, might have espied, in