"Middlingish," was the reply, in an indifferent tone.
This implied that making such a dam as this was nothing to him. Give him a real difficult job to accomplish, such as joining two seas, or levelling a mountain a few thousands of feet in height, or making a new river within a week or so, and then you might be able to see what he could do. To construct such a dam as this, however, was really no joke. It was a masterly piece of work, and it was executed in a masterly manner; there was not a flaw in not it, a crack in its sides. They examined it carefully, critically.
"If it will stand such a storm as last night," said William Smith, "it will stand anything."
Philip, as you may guess, was overjoyed; but he was unjust. He gave all the credit to Margaret. He complimented the responsible man in a cool way, which implied, "It is capitally done; but you have Margaret to thank for it, you know."
Philip's faint praise did not affect the contractor. He was not vain-glorious; he had undertaken a piece of work, and had done it well, and was satisfied, having been well paid for it.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
THE CHRISTENING OF THE WILLIAM SMITH.
Before two days had passed, the fires were lighted in the boiler, and the quartz-crushing machine commenced its merry rub-a-dub-dub. The ugly black rooks that were wont to cluster in huge flocks in the once deserted woods and make night hideous with their rusty voices, ceased for a time their harsh cawing and their seemingly interminable circular flights--wondering, doubtless, as the sound reached their ears, what new and strange monster it was that had invaded their domain. For it was evening when the iron-shod stampers first began to thump. It was but a trial. Before actual work commenced, a little ceremony had to be performed. The quartz-crushing machine had to be christened.
William Smith mentioned this to Philip, saying it was a necessary ceremony.
"All right," said Philip, and ran straight to his princess.