Bertie Gale lived near a noisy little brook, which went singing through
the meadow. Just below the house in which he lived was a dam. It made a
large pond above it, and the water was used to turn the wheel of a small
woollen-mill.
It was such fun to watch the water pouring over the wheel, turning it
swiftly round and round.
Bertie was never tired of looking at it, but it made his mother very
anxious if her little boy was long out of her sight. But he had promised
never to go into the water without permission.
But one summer the water was shut off for a while, and the mill was
silent. The old wheel was badly decayed and broken, and Mr. Gale said a
new wheel must be built.
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Every day Bertie hurried home from school to watch his father and the
workmen, as they built the new wheel.
One day when he came home, he ran down to the mill as usual. The wheel
was in its place all ready for action.
How new and clean it looked! The workmen had gone, and no one was in
sight.
"What a nice playhouse it would make," thought the boy. Then he stepped
carefully into the wheel.
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"This is my castle," said Bertie to himself, "and the brook is the river
Rhine, and"--
Bertie did not finish his sentence. Suddenly there was a terrible
roaring over his head, and the wheel began to go slowly around. The next
thing the boy knew he was lying upon a pile of blocks and shavings,
feeling very much as if he had been through his mother's sausage-mill,
but very thankful that he was not still going around that swiftly-moving
wheel. He was not very much hurt, but it was a long time before he cared
to look at the water-wheel again.