book i. the interpreter
Chapter I. The Hut on the Cliff
"Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch； be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields."
No well informed resident of Millsburgh, when referring to the principal industry of his little manufacturing city, ever says "the mills"--it is always "the Mill."

The reason for this common habit of mind is that one mill so overshadows all others, and so dominates the industrial and civic life of this community, that in the people‘s thought it stands for all.

The philosopher who keeps the cigar stand on the corner of Congress Street and Ward Avenue explained it very clearly when he answered an inquiring stranger, "You just can‘t think Millsburgh without thinkin‘ mills； an‘ you can‘t think mills without thinkin‘ the Mill."

As he turned from the cash register to throw his custome

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