"Yes, Miss Marion, I did."
"But why in the world, Bro, have you not told us, or, indeed, any one, about them all these years?" interposed Mrs. Manning, surveying her listener with new eyes.
"You did not ask; nobody has ever asked. Mr. Vickery is the only one."
"Then it was Lawrence who advised you to write to Washington?" said Marion.
"Yes."
"You will take me over to the mill immediately," said the girl, rising; "I wish to see everything.—And, mother, will you come, too?"
"Certainly," replied Mrs. Manning, with a determination to go in spite of her avoirdupois, the darkness, the row-boat, and the steep mill-stairs. She was devoured by curiosity, and performed the journey without flinching. When they reached the work-room at last, Bro, in his excitement, lighted all the lamps he had in the mill and brought them in, so that the small place was brilliant. Mrs. Manning wondered and ejaculated, tried not to knock over small articles, listened, comprehended nothing, and finally took refuge mentally with the screw and physically in an old arm-chair; these two things at least she understood. Marion studied the valve a long time, listening attentively to Bro's eager explanations. "I can make nothing of it," she said at last, in a vexed tone.
"Neither could Mr. Vickery," said Bro.
She next turned to the register, and, before long, caught its idea.
"It is not quite right yet, for some reason," explained the inventor, apologetically.