Presently she was conscious of a faint sound of hammering not far away.
Perhaps there was another shed, but hidden, like everything else, in
this monotonous, ridiculous grain. Some stalks, however, were trodden
down and broken around the shanty; she could move more easily and see
where she was going. To her delight, a few steps further brought her
into a current of the trade-wind and a cooler atmosphere. And a short
distance beyond them, certainly, was the shed from which the hammering
proceeded. She approached it boldly.

It was simply a roof upheld by rude uprights and crossbeams, and open
to the breeze that swept through it. At one end was a small blacksmith's
forge, some machinery, and what appeared to be part of a small
steam-engine. Midway of the shed was a closet or cupboard fastened with
a large padlock. Occupying its whole length on the other side was a
work-bench, and at the further end stood the workman she had heard.

He was apparently only a year or two older than herself, and clad in
blue jean overalls, blackened and smeared with oil and coal-dust. Even
his youthful face, which he turned towards her, had a black smudge
running across it and almost obliterating a small auburn moustache. The
look of surprise that he gave her, however, quickly passed; he remained
patiently and in a half-preoccupied way, holding his hammer in his
hand, as she advanced. This was evidently the young fellow who could "do
anything that could be done with wood and iron."

She was very sorry to disturb him, but could he tell her how long it
would be before the wagon could be brought up and mended? He could not
say that until he himself saw what was to be done; if it was only a
matter of the wheel he could fix it up in a few moments; if, as he had