She stooped and ran her ungloved hand into the sawdust,
as sweet before the sun has dried it as the scent of a rose. The rich
smell of the fresh-cut lumber filled the air, and suggested all kinds of
remote and pleasant things. The industry itself is one of the first that
comes with the invasion of new territory, and makes one think of man's
first work in the world: to fell the tree and till the soil. It is
impossible to describe that fierce, jubilant song of the saw, which even
when we were near was never shrill or shrieking: never drowning our
voices, but vibrant and delightful. To Mrs. Falchion it was new; she was
impressed.
"I have seen," she said to Mr. Devlin, "all sorts of enterprises, but
never anything like this. It all has a kind of rough music. It is
enjoyable."
Mr. Devlin beamed. "I have just added something to the mill that will
please you," he said.
She looked interested. We all gathered round. I stood between Mrs.
Falchion and Ruth Devlin, and Roscoe beside Justine Caron.
"It is the greatest mill-whistle in the country," he continued. "It will
be heard from twelve to twenty-five miles, according to the condition of
the atmosphere.
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