“Then I’ll tell you something,” said Father Bear.  “My forefathers lived in this region from the time that the forests first sprang up.  From them I inherited hunting grounds and pastures, lairs and retreats, and have lived here in peace all my life.  In the beginning I wasn’t troubled much by the human kind.  They dug in the mountains and picked up a little ore down here, by the rapids; they had a forge and a furnace, but the hammers sounded only a few hours during the day, and the furnace was not fired more than two moons at a stretch.  It wasn’t so bad but that I could stand it; but these last years, since they have built this noise-shop, which keeps up the same racket both day and night, life here has become intolerable.  Formerly only a manager and a couple of blacksmiths lived here, but now there are so many people that I can never feel safe from them.  I thought that I should have to move away, but I have discovered something better!”

The boy wondered what Father Bear had hit upon, but no opportunity was afforded him to ask, as the bear took him between his tusks again and lumbered down the hill.  The boy could see nothing, but knew by the increasing noise that they were approaching the rolling mills.

Father Bear was well informed regarding the ironworks.  He had prowled around there on many a dark night, had observed what went on within, and had wondered if there would never be any cessation of the work.  He had tested the walls with his paws and wished that he were only strong enough to knock down the whole structure with a single blow.

He was not easily distinguishable against the dark ground, and when, in addition, he remained in the shadow of the walls, there was not much danger of his being discovered.  Now he walked fearlessly between the workshops and climbed to the top of a slag heap.  There he sat up on his haunches, took the boy between his forepaws and held him up.

“Try to look into the house!” he commanded.  A strong current of air was forced into a big cylinder which was suspended from the ceiling and filled with molten iron.  As this current rushed into the mess of iron with an awful roar, showers of sparks of all colours spurted up in bunches, in sprays, in long clusters!  They struck against the wall and came splashing down over the whole big room.  Father Bear let the boy watch the gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was over and the flowing and sparkling red steel had been poured into ingot moulds.

The boy was completely charmed by the marvellous display and almost forgot that he was imprisoned between a bear’s two paws.

Father Bear let him look into the rolling mill.  He saw a workman take a short, thick bar of iron at white heat from a furnace opening and place it under a roller.  When the iron came out from under the roller, it was flattened and extended.  Immediately another workman seized it and placed it beneath a heavier roller, which made it still longer and thinner.  Thus it was passed from roller to roller, squeezed and drawn out until, finally, it curled along the floor, like a long red thread.