“Who lost her mother?” asked Mrs. Little.

“Miss Carden,” said Henry, very softly.

The tone was not lost on Mrs. Little’s fine and watchful ear; at least her mind seized it a few seconds afterward.

“That is true,” said she.  “Poor girl!  I remember hearing of it.  Henry, what is that to you?  Don’t you trouble your head about that young lady, or she will trouble your heart.  I wish you did not go near her.”

And then came question upon question, and vague maternal misgivings.  Henry parried them as adroitly as he could:  but never mentioned Miss Carden’s name again.

He thought of her all the more, and counted his gains every week, and began to inquire of experienced persons how much money was wanted to set up a wheel with steam power, and be a master instead of a man.  He gathered that a stranger could hardly start fair without L500.

“That is a good lump!” thought Henry:  “but I’ll have it, if I work night as well as day.”

Thus inspired, his life became a sweet delirium.  When he walked, he seemed to tread on air:  when he forged, his hammer felt a feather in his hand.  The mountains in the way looked molehills, and the rainbow tangible, to Youth, and Health, and Hope, and mighty Love.

One afternoon, as he put on his coat and crossed the yard, after a day’s work that had passed like a pleasant hour, being gilded with such delightful anticipations, the foreman of the works made him a mysterious signal.  Henry saw it, and followed him into his office.  Bayne looked carefully out of all the doors, then closed them softly, and his face betrayed anxiety, and even fear.

“Little,” said he, almost in a whisper, “you know me:  I’m a man of peace, and so for love of peace I’m going to do something that might get me into a wrangle.  But you are the civillest chap ever worked under me and the best workman, take you altogether, and I can’t bear to see you kept in the dark, when you are the man whose skin—­only—­if I act like a man to you, will you act like one to me?”

“I will,” said Henry; “there’s my hand on it.”

Then Bayne stepped to his desk, opened it, and took out some letters.

“You must never tell a soul I showed them you, or you will get me into a row with Cheetham; and I want to be at peace in-doors as well as out.”

“I give you my word.”

“Then read that, to begin.”

And he handed him a letter addressed to Mr. Cheetham.

“Sir,—­We beg respectfully to draw your attention to a matter, which is of a nature to cause unpleasantness between you and the Trades.  We allude to your bringing a workman in from another town to do work that we are informed can be done on the premises by your own hands.

“We assure you it would be more to your interest to work in harmony with the smiths and the handle-makers in your employ, and the trade generally.  Yours respectfully,