The Secret of the Old Mill quotes

“Pie-plates!” exclaimed Frank, with a grin.

“There’s nothing I’d rather see coming into the house than more pie-plates. More pie-plates mean more pie.”

“We might as well go down and get them now, before I forget. There’s a shop down the street and we can get the plates and get this five dollar bill changed. It’ll help kill time before the local comes in.”

The old mill was a sturdy structure that had once been strong and imposing but was now weatherbeaten and showed the ravages of the years.

The mill wheel turned slowly, creaking painfully as though it objected to being forced to labor again after its long rest.

Outside the front door, they could see three figures, two men and a boy.

A week went by, a week in which the Hardy boys and their chums again wrestled with refractory Latin phrases and geometrical problems, as the examinations drew near. There was little time for fun, even outside school hours.

The boys were all overcome by that helpless feeling that comes with the approach of examinations, the feeling that everything they had ever known had somehow escaped their memory and that as fast as they learned one fact they forgot another.

But the week was over at last and on Saturday morning Fenton Hardy looked up from his newspaper with a quiet smile.

Once outside the boathouse he headed the craft out toward the open bay. It was soon apparent that the engine of the Sleuth was very powerful, for the boat leaped forward as Frank increased speed, and yet there was very little noise.

The nose of the boat cut the water like a knife and the craft skimmed out into the bay like a swallow.

Both boys were almost inarticulate with delight. The sense of speed and freedom held them spellbound. Frank changed places with Joe and gave his brother a turn at the wheel. Joe was astonished at the immediate response that came to his lightest touch.

The motorboat raced on down the bay. The storm clouds that had been collecting all morning now hung heavily in the sky.

The bay was sullen and slate-colored, and a heavy sea was running.

White caps broke on the surface of the water.

Officer Con Riley was at peace with the world.

His heart was full of contentment and his stomach was full of pie.

The sun was shining and one of the aldermen had just given him a fairly good cigar. His beat had been free of crime for a week. His wife had gone to the country for a visit and she had taken the children with her.

There was a fascination about the great locomotives that held them spellbound and they liked nothing better than to watch the trains that passed through Bayport and to speculate on the towns and cities they had come from or were bound for.

At times when school became exceptionally distasteful they had often gone down to the railway station and wished they could board the first train that came by, to travel on to strange countries.

Somehow, they had never been so daring as to do this, common sense invariably coming to the rescue, but the lure of locomotives and shining rails still held them in its grasp.

They sped across the grass toward the borders of the dark wood, and not until they had reached its friendly shade did they look behind.

The ghostly old mill stood by the gleaming river, dark and sinister in the clear moonlight.

“We’ll be back,” Joe said, as he glanced back at the mill.