CHAPTER V.
Mary grew, and grew, and grew.
She never outgrew her aversion to Uncle Stanley, though.
One day, when she was in Josiah's office, a young man entered and was warmly greeted by her father.

He carried a walking stick, sported a white edging on his waistcoat and had just the least suspicion of perfumery on him--a faint scent that reminded Mary of raspberry jam.
"He smells nice," she thought, missing nothing of this.
"You've never seen my daughter, have you ?" asked Josiah.
"A little queen," said the young man with a brilliant smile.

"I hope I'll see her often." "That's Uncle Stanley's son Burdon," said Josiah when he had left.

"He's just through college; he's going to start in the office here." Mary liked to hear that, and always after that she looked for Burdon and watched him with an interest that had something of fascination in it.
Before she was ten, she and Josiah had become old chums.

She knew the factory by the river almost as well as she knew the house on the hill.
Not only that but she could have told you most of the processes through which the bearings passed before they were ready for the shipping room.
To show you how her mind worked, one night she asked her father, "What makes a machine squeak ?" "Needs oil," said Josiah, "generally speaking." The next Saturday morning she not only kept her eyes open, but her ears as well.
Presently her patience was rewarded.
"Squee-e-eak! Squee-e-eak!" complained a lathe which they were passing.
Mary stopped her father and looked her very old-fashionedest at the lathe hand.
"Needs oil," said she, "gen'ly speaking." It was one of the proud moments in Josiah's life, and yet when back of him he heard a whisper, "Chip of the old block," he couldn't repress the well nigh passionate yearning, "Oh, Lord, if she had only been a boy!" That year an addition was being made to the factory and Mary liked to watch the builders.