a new life to Ben in more ways than one. The old mill became a place of
interest and delight to him. Perhaps his happiest hours were spent in
what was known as Barney's workroom, where were various labour-saving
machines for churning, washing, and apple-paring, which, by Barney's
invention, were run by the mill power. He offered to connect the sewing
machine with the same power, but his mother would have none of it.

Before many more weeks had gone Ben was hopping about by the aid of a
crutch, eager to make himself useful, and soon he was not only "paying
his board," as Barney declared, but "earning good wages as well."

The early afternoon found Margaret and Iola on their way to the Mill. It
was with great difficulty that Margaret had been persuaded to leave
her home for so long a time. The stern conscience law under which she
regulated her life made her suspect those things which gave her peculiar
pleasure, and among these was a visit to the Mill and the Mill people.
It was in vain that Dick set before her, with the completeness amounting
to demonstration, the reasons why she should make that visit. "Ben needs
you," he argued. "And Iola will not come unless with you. Barney and I,
weary with our day's work, absolutely require the cheer and refreshment
of your presence. Mother wants you. I want you. We all want you.
You must come." It was Mrs. Boyle's quiet invitation and her anxious
entreaty and command that she should throw off the burden at times, that
finally weighed with her.

The hours of that afternoon, spent partly in rowing about in the old
flat-bottomed boat seeking water lilies in the pond, and partly in
the shade of the big willows overlooking the dam, were full of restful
delight to Margaret. It was one of those rare summer evenings that fall
in harvest weather when, after the burning heat of the day, the cool
air is beginning to blow across the fields with long shadows. When their
work was done the boys hurried to join the little group under the big
willows. They were all there. Ben was set there in the big armchair,
Mrs. Boyle with her knitting, for there were no idle hours for her,
Margaret with a book which she pretended to read, old Charley smoking
in silent content, Iola lazily strumming her guitar and occasionally
singing in her low, rich voice some of her old Mammy's songs or
plantation hymns. Of these latter, however, Mrs. Boyle was none too
sure. To her they bordered dangerously on sacrilege; n