Aynsley, sitting near an open window in his office, laid down his pen and looked out with a sense of satisfaction. A great raft of lumber¹ was ready to start down the river, and men were scrambling² about it loosing the mooring-chains. The pond was full of logs lately run down on a freshet, and the green flood swirled³ noisily past them. Its color indicated that the snow was melting fast on the lofty inland ranges, and sweet resinous⁴ scents⁵ rose from the stacks of cedar⁶ where the sunshine struck hot upon them. A cloud of smoke streamed across the long sheds and streaked⁷ the pines behind the mill with a dingy⁸ smear⁹; and the scream of saws and the crash of flung-out boards filled the clearing. All this suggested profitable activity; and Aynsley’s satisfaction deepened as he glanced at some letters which a clerk handed him. They contained orders, and he foresaw that he would soon have to increase the capacity of the mill. He was thinking over a scheme for doing so when his father was shown in. Clay smiled at his surprise, and sat down in the nearest chair, breathing heavily.