the room.

Shortly she returned bearing a large tray which she set down on the
table. Then she lit the side lamp; it cast a soft glow over the room.
"Now all draw close," Mrs. Procter invited.

So they drew chairs near the table. There was milk for the children,
little seed cakes, thin bread and butter, and cups of strong tea for the
inventor and the visitor.

The children, sipping their milk and eating the little sweet cakes,
listening to the talk of their father and Mr. Reynolds, their expressed
hopes for the success of the machine and its effect upon humanity, gazed
at the invention. The sense of a community of interest filled them. They
felt that they, each and all, had put something of everlasting worth
into The Machine, just as it had put some enduring understanding into
them.

"I feel," whispered Suzanna to Maizie, "as though we were in church."

Mr. Reynolds caught the whisper. "And well you may, little lassie," he
returned. "Your father is a fine, good man with no thought at all of
himself, and some day," finished Mr. Reynolds, grandly, "his name will
go rolling down the ages as a benefactor to all mankind."

A tribute and a prophecy! The children were glad that Mr. Reynolds had
such clear vision.