"Oh, this is awful!" said Dorothy. She was shivering and sick with terror
at this unseemly midnight revelry of her grandfather's old mill. It was
as if it had awakened in a fit of delirium, and given itself up to a wild
travesty of its years of peaceful work.

Shep was creeping about in the darkness.

"Look here! We've got to stop this clatter somehow. The stones are hot now.
The whole thing'll burn up like tinder if we can't chock her wheels."

"Shep! Does thee _mean_ it?"

"Thee'll see if I don't. Thee won't need any lantern either."

"Can't we break away the race?"

"Oh, there's a way to stop it. There's the tip-trough, but it's downstairs
and we can't reach the pole."

"I'll go," said Dorothy.

"It's outside, thee knows. Thee'll get awful wet, Dorothy."

"Well, I'd just as soon be drowned as burned up. Come with me to the head
of the stairs."

They felt their way hand in hand in the darkness, and Dorothy went down
alone. She had forgotten about the "tip-trough," but she understood its
significance. In a few moments a cascade shot out over the wheel, sending