A quick-eared grinder soon came up to them, and said roughly, “Ain’t we to wet new forge?”

“They want their drink out of you,” said the foreman; and whispered, in great anxiety, “Don’t say no, or you might as well work in a wasp’s nest as here.”

“All right,” said Henry, cheerfully.  “I’m no drinker myself, but I’ll stand what is customary.”

“That is right,” said Foreman Bayne. “’Twill cost you fifteen shillings.  But Peace is cheap at as many guineas.”

The word was given, and every man who worked on the same floor with Henry turned out to drink at his expense, and left off work for a good hour.  With some exceptions they were a rough lot, and showed little friendliness or good-humor over it.  One even threw out a hint that no cockney forges were wanted in Hillsborough.  But another took him up, and said, “Maybe not; but you are not much of a man to drink his liquor and grudge him his bread.”

After this waste of time and money, Henry went back to the works, and a workman told him rather sulkily, he was wanted in the foreman’s office.

He went in, and there was a lovely girl of eighteen, who looked at him with undisguised curiosity, and addressed him thus:  “Sir, is it you that carve wood so beautifully?”

Henry blushed, and hesitated; and that made the young lady blush herself a very little, and she said, “I wished to take lessons in carving.”  Then, as he did not reply, she turned to Mr. Bayne.  “But perhaps he objects to teach other people?”

“We should object to his teaching other workmen,” said the foreman; “but,” turning to Henry, “there is no harm in your giving her a lesson or two, after hours.  You will want a set of the tools, miss?”

“Of course I shall.  Please put them into the carriage; and—­when will he come and teach me, I wonder? for I am wild to begin.”

Henry said he could come Saturday afternoon, or Monday morning early.

“Whichever you please,” said the lady, and put down her card on the desk; then tripped away to her carriage, leaving Henry charmed with her beauty and ease.

He went home to his mother, and told her he was to give lessons to the handsomest young lady he had ever seen.  “She has bought the specimen tools too; so I must forge some more, and lose no time about it.”

“Who is she, I wonder?”

“Here is her card.  ‘Miss Carden, Woodbine Villa, Heath Hill.’”

“Carden!” said the widow.  Then, after a moment’s thought, “Oh, Henry, don’t go near them.  Ah, I knew how it would be.  Hillsborough is not like London.  You can’t be long hid in it.”

“Why, what is the matter?  Do you know the lady?”

“Oh, yes.  Her papa is director of an insurance company in London.  I remember her being born very well.  The very day she was christened—­her name is Grace—­you were six years old, and I took you to her christening; and oh, Harry, my brother is her godfather.  Don’t you go near that Grace Carden; don’t visit any one that knew us in better days.”