from Brookside, and the children enjoyed
the drive intensely. Good-natured Peter allowed each one to "drive,"
holding the reins carefully as he told them, "Because," said Peter
seriously, "even if you're only learning, you might as well begin
right."

When they reached the mill, Jerry and Terry were tied to a post and
Peter and the children went inside. Bobby was rather disappointed with
the outside of the mill; he had expected it to look like the mills he
saw in pictures, with great wide sails flattened against the sky.

"Electric power runs this mill," Peter explained when Bobby asked
where the sails were. "You'll find plenty to see inside."

A short, stout man in a dusty white coat met them, and Peter gave him
his order.

"I've some little folks from down the state a way with me," Peter told
the man. "Guess you can show 'em round the mill a bit this morning?"

"I should say so!" was the hearty answer. "Come along, everybody, and
we'll see just how grain is milled."

It was not a real flour mill. That is, not one of the great mills that
turn millions of bushels of wheat into flour; but it did grind
buckwheat for the farmers and made coarse flour and feed for their
stock, cracked corn for poultry and so on. The four little Blossoms
saw much to interest them, but the great round stones that ground the
grains and the arrangements for sifting the dust and chaff from the
grain interested them the most.

"It must be fun to be a miller!" said Bobby, when they were ready to
go and the noon whistle blew and the big stones stopped turning as the
power was shut off. "Maybe when I grow up I'll run a mill."

Rattling home in the big wagon with two sacks of "middlings" in the
back with them, Twaddles and Dot decided that they, too, would have a
mill some day.

CHAPTER IX

LOST IN THE WOODS

Right after dinner the four children started to hunt for the lost
raft.

"It must have gone down the brook," argued Bobby, as they walked
along. "Jud says things always float with the current. So we'll start
on Mr. Simmond's land and walk slow."

They scrambled under the line fence, and Dot only tore one of the
ruffles off her frock. They went on and on.

"We're almost to the woods," said Meg, as they dropped down under a
ragged buttonwood tree to rest. "Where do you suppose the brook goes?
Wouldn't it be fun to follow it through the woods and see what's on
the other side!"

The four little Blossoms thought this wou