t sunset
I called for Mrs. Falchion, and found her and Justine Caron ready and
waiting. There was nothing eventful in our talk as we came down the
mountain-side towards Viking--Justine Caron's presence prevented that.
It was dusk when we reached the valley. As yet the mills were all dark.
The only lights visible were in the low houses lining the banks of the
river. Against the mountainside there seemed to hang one bunch of flame
like a star, large, red, and weird. It was a torch burning in front of
Phil Boldrick's hut. We made our way slowly to the mill, and found
Mr. Devlin, Ruth, and Roscoe, with Ruth's sister, and one or two other
friends, expecting us.

"Well," said Mr. Devlin heartily, "I have kept the show waiting for you.
The house is all dark, but I guess you'll see a transformation scene
pretty quick. Come out," he continued, "and let us get the front seats.
They are all stalls here; nobody has a box except Boldrick, and it is up
in the flies."

"Mr. Devlin," said Mrs. Falchion, "I purpose to see this show not only
from the stalls, but from the box in the flies. Therefore, during the
first act, I shall be here in front of the foot-lights. During the
second act I shall be aloft like Tom Bowling--"

"In other words--" began Mr. Devlin.

"In other words," added Mrs. Falchion, "I am going to see the valley and
hear your great horn blow from up there!" She pointed towards the star
in front of Phil's hut.

"All right," said Mr. Devlin; "but you will excuse me if I say that I
don't particularly want anybody to see this performance from where Tom
Bowling bides."

We left the office and went out upon the platform, a little distance
from the mill. Mr. Devlin gave a signal, touched a wire, and immediately
it seemed as if the whole valley was alight. The mill itself was in a
blaze of white. It was transfigured--a fairy palace, just as the mud
barges in the Suez Canal had been transformed by the search-light of
the 'Fulvia'. For the moment, in the wonder of change from darkness to
light, the valley became the picture of a dream. Every man was at his
post in the mill, and in an instant work was going on as we had seen it
in the morning. Then, all at once, there came a great roar, as it were,
from the very heart of the mill--a deep diapason, dug out of the throat
of the hills: the big whistle.

"It sounds mournful--like a great animal in pain," said Mrs. Falchion.
"You might have got one more cheerful."

"Wait till