“I never get used to it,” said Patricia, above the steady roaring of the river.  “Do you realize that you are in one of the greatest force factories of the world?  Look at it!” She swept with a gesture the monster machinery that shone and glittered all about them.  “Do you realize that people miles and miles away are reading by lights and taking street-cars that are moved by this?  Don’t talk to me about the subway and the Pennsylvania Terminal!”

“Oh, come, now!” said Paul.

“Well!” she flared.  “Do you suppose that anything bigger was ever done in this world than getting these things—­these generators and water-wheels and the corrugated iron for the roof, and the door-knobs and tiles and standards and switchboard, and everything else, up to the top of the ridge from Emville and down this side of the ridge?  I see that never occurred to you!  Why, you don’t know what it was.  Struggle, struggle, struggle, day after day—­ropes breaking, and tackle breaking, and roads giving way, and rain coming!  Suppose one of these had slipped off the trail—­well, it would have stayed where it fell.  But wait—­wait!” she said, interrupting herself with her delightful smile.  “You’ll love it as we do one of these days!”

“Not,” said Paul to himself, as they started back to the house.

After that he saw Miss Chisholm every day, and many times a day; and she was always busy and always cheerful.  She wanted her brother and Paul to ride with her up to the dam for a swim; she wanted to go to the woods for ferns for Min’s wedding; she was going to make candy and they could come in.  She packed delicious suppers, to be eaten in cool places by the creek, and to be followed by their smoking and her careless snatches of songs; she played poker quite as well as they; she played old opera scores and sang to them; she had jig-saw puzzles for slow evenings.  She could not begin a game of what Mrs. Tolley called “halmy,” with that good lady, without somehow attracting the boys to the table, where they hung, championing and criticising.  Paul was more amused than surprised to find Mrs. Peavy having tea with the other ladies on the porch less than a week later.  The little mother looked scared and shamed; but Mrs. Tolley had the baby, and was bidding him “love his Auntie Gussie,” while she kissed his rounding little cheek.  One night, some four weeks after his arrival, Patricia decided that Paul’s room must be made habitable; and she and Alan and Paul spent an entire busy evening there, discussing photographs and books, and deciding where to cross the oars, and where to hang the Navajo blanket, and where to put the college colors.  Miss Chisholm, who had the quality of grace and could double herself up comfortably on the floor like a child, became thoughtful over the class annual.

“The Dicky, and the Hasty Pudding!” she commented.  “Weren’t you the Smarty?”

Paul, who was standing with a well-worn pillow in his hand, turned and said hungrily: