But Patsy shook her head.

“Really, Hetty, there’s nothing else you can do, and your pictures are very important to us.  Rest and enjoy yourself, and get strong and well.  You are improving wonderfully in health since you came here.”

Often at midnight Hetty would wander into the pressroom and watch Thursday Smith run off the edition on the wonderful press, which seemed to possess an intelligence of its own, so perfectly did it perform its functions.  At such times she sat listlessly by and said little, for Thursday was no voluble talker, especially when busied over his press.  But a certain spirit of comradeship grew up between these two, and it was not unusual for the pressmen, after his work was finished and the papers were neatly piled for distribution to the carriers at daybreak, to walk with Hetty to the hotel before proceeding to his own lodgings in the little wing of Nick Thorne’s house, which stood quite at the end of the street.  To be sure, the hotel adjoined the printing office, with only a vacant lot between, but Hetty seemed to appreciate this courtesy and would exchange a brief good night with Smith before going to her own room.  Afterward she not infrequently stole out again, because sleep would not come to her, and then the moon watched her wanderings until it dipped behind the hills.

On the night we speak of, Hetty had parted from Thursday Smith at one o’clock and crept into the hallway of the silent, barnlike hotel; but as soon as the man turned away she issued forth again and walked up the empty street like a shadow.  Almost to Thompson’s Crossing she strolled, deep in thought, and then turned and retraced her steps.  But when she again reached the hotel she was wide-eyed as ever; so she passed the building, thinking she would go on to Little Bill Creek and sit by the old mill for a time.

The girl was just opposite the printing office when her attention was attracted by a queer grating noise, as if one of the windows was being pried up.  She stopped short, a moment, and then crept closer to the building.  Two men were at a side window of the pressroom, which they had just succeeded in opening.  As Hetty gained her point of observation one of the men slipped inside, but a moment later hastily reappeared and joined his fellow.  At once both turned and stole along the side of the shed directly toward the place where the girl stood.  Her first impulse was to run, but recollecting that she wore a dark gown and stood in deep shadow she merely flattened herself against the building and remained motionless.  The men were chuckling as they passed her, and she recognized them as mill hands from Royal.

“Guess that’ll do the job,” said one, in a low tone.

“If it don’t, nothin’ will,” was the reply.

They were gone, then, stealing across the road and beating a hasty retreat under the shadows of the houses.

Hetty stood motionless a moment, wondering what to do.  Then with sudden resolve she ran to Thorne’s house and rapped sharply at the window of the wing where she knew Thursday Smith slept.  She heard him leap from bed and open the blind.