Elizabeth got to her feet
and went scrambling after them.

Down at the bottom of the hollow, where the little stream widened into
a lazy brown pond, lay Mr. MacAllister's saw-mill. It ran for only a
few months in the spring and early summer and was now closed. Only,
away down the valley where the road wound into the lumber yard, the
banging of boards told that someone was preparing to haul away a load.

None of The Dale children ever passed the mill without a visit, and of
course Charles Stuart always explored it all with a fine air of
proprietorship. So they scrambled over the silent place with its sweet
smell of running water and fresh sawdust. They beat a clamorous tattoo
upon the big circular saw, they went down to the lower regions and
explored the dark hole where the big water-wheel hung motionless, with
only the drip, drip of water from the flume above. They rode on the
little car that brought the logs up from the pond, and in as many ways
as possible risked life and limb as boys must ever do.

In all these hazardous ventures Elizabeth joined. She was desperately
frightened, but knew she must win her spurs at the outset or run the
awful risk of being left behind even yet. Her conduct proved
satisfactory, and by the time they reached the other side of the pond,
and had climbed the steep bank, clinging to the bracken and dog-wood,
friendly relations had been once more established. When the boys had
once got over the disgrace of feeling that a girl was tagging after
them, and took Elizabeth on her own merits, these three generally got
on very amicably. She was often a great nuisance, but on the whole
they got as much fun as trouble from her panics over snakes and
field-mice, and, when out of sight of The Dale, they voted her as good
a fellow as the rest.

So away they went over The Slash, tearing through underbrush, and
pausing occasionally to glance over the patches of grass for
strawberries. They soon decided that there were so many they could
soon fill their pails, and John suggested they sit down and eat the
lunch Charles Stuart had brought, for he was sure it must be
dinner-time by the look of the sun.

Mother MacAllister, with a motherly thought for the Gordons, had put up
a substantial repast of bread and pork and generous wedges of pie and a
pile of cookies big enough to make glad the heart of any boy. This,
supplemented by some thick slices of bread and butter which John had
begged from Sar