“Here’s an item for your paper,” he said to Patsy, who was busy at her desk.  “The mills at Royal will never be rebuilt, and Millville has lost the only chance it ever had of becoming a manufacturing center.  The whole settlement, which belonged to Boglin and myself, went up in smoke, and I’m willing to let it go at that.  I shall collect the insurance, make myself good, and if anything’s left over, that fool Boglin is welcome to it.  I admit I made a mistake in ever allowing him to induce me to build at Royal.  Boglin owned the land and I used his money, so I gave up to him; but I’m through with the honer’ble ass now.  Put it all in the paper; it’ll make him feel good.  You might add that I’m taking the evening train for New York, shaking the dust of your miserable village from my feet for good and all.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Patsy, brightly; “the Millville people will appreciate their good luck, I’m sure.”

Skeelty hung around the town for awhile, sneering at the new electric light plant and insolently railing at any of the natives who would converse with him.  Then he hired Nick Thorne to drive him over to Chazy Junction, and that was the last Millville ever saw of him.

During this day Joe Wegg’s men succeeded in repairing all the wires which had been tampered with and in making a proper and permanent connection of the cable to the printing office.  That evening the village was again brilliantly lighted and thereafter the big dynamos whirled peacefully and without interruption.

The girls had a busy day, as Uncle John had predicted, for all the exciting incidents of the evening and night before had to be written up and the next day’s paper teemed with “news” of a character to interest all its readers.  Beth’s editorial declared the neighborhood well rid of the paper mill, which had been of little advantage but had caused no end of annoyance because of the rough and mischievous character of the workmen employed.  In this statement nearly everyone agreed with her.

Several had been wounded in the riot of the eventful evening, but none seriously injured.  The workmen took away their damaged comrades and Lon Taft drove over to Huntingdon and had his head sewed up by the doctor.  Other villagers suffered mere bruises, but all who engaged in the fight posed as heroes and even Peggy McNutt, who figured as “not present,” told marvelous tales of how he had worsted seven mill hands in a stand-up fight, using only his invincible fists.

The following forenoon the liveryman at the Junction brought to Millville a passenger who had arrived by the morning train—­a quiet, boyish-looking man with a shock of brick-red hair and a thin, freckled face.  He was driven directly to the Merrick farm, where Uncle John received him cordially, but with surprise, and at once favored the new arrival with a long interview in his private room.

The girls, who had not yet gone to the office, awaited somewhat impatiently the result of this conference, for they already knew the red-headed youth to be the great Fogerty—­admitted by even his would-be rivals, the king of New York detectives.  Also they knew that Uncle John had employed him some time ago to ferret out the mystery of the identity of Thursday Smith, and the fact of Fogerty’s presence indicated he had something to report.