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threads of darkened shadows, the "Master Weaver" will create the Tapestry of our Lives when day is done. H.F.S. 1965 The Mill was "home base" for many of the activities George and I shared as children. The fact that Father was Engineer in control of the mysteries of the Engine Room left no doubt in our minds that we held proprietary rights to go wherever fancy took us. We wandered at will from cellar to roof, each following his own interest. I ventured fearlessly into the Office, guarded by the watchful eye of Louis Brandes - sat perched on the high stool at his desk - helped turn the wheel on the Letter Press where, with wet press cloths and tissue sheets, he made copies of important correspondence - no typewriters or carbon paper were even thought of. I watched as he manipulated the huge scale that weighed each farmer's load of wheat that came in when threshing was in progress. Characteristic with his gentle manner. Father never seemed annoyed as we followed him around in the Engine Room. Even as children we seemed to realize that here was the very pulsebeat of all we knew as "THE MILL". The iron-doored furnace fed by great shovels of coal heated the boilers to create steam - the big fly-wheei moved round and round and in some manner, beyond our comprehension, set in motion the