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
been told, it was a case of twisted or bent axle, it would take longer,
but it would be here very soon.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152