The Mill existed for her as the sun existed. It never
occurred to her to ask why. There was for her no personal note in the
droning, moaning voice of its industry. There was nothing of personal
significance in the forest of tall stacks with their overhanging cloud
of smoke. Indeed, there had been, rather, something sinister and
forbidding about the place. The threatening aspect of the present
industrial situation was in no way personal to her except, perhaps, as
it excited her father and disturbed John.
"You've got it all there, Tom," said the manager, finishing his
examination of the papers. "Good work, too. Baird will have those
specifications on that Miller and Wilson job in to-morrow, will he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, that's the stuff!"
The man was smiling as he moved toward the door.
"Oh, Tom, just a moment."
Still smiling, the man turned back.
"I want you to meet my sister. Helen, may I present Mr. Conway? Tom is
one of our Mill family, you know, mighty important member, too--regular
shark at figuring all sorts of complicated calculations that I couldn't
work out in a month of Sundays." He laughed with boyish happiness and
pride in Tom's superior accomplishments.
It was a simple little incident, but there was something in it
somewhere that moved Helen Ward strangely.
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