Nathan Bass’s story-and-a-half house, devoid of paint, faced the road, and behind it was the shed, or barn, that served as the tannery, and between the tannery and Coniston Water were the vats.  The rain flew in silvery spray, and the drops shone like jewels on the coat of a young man who stood looking in at the tannery door.  Young Jake Wheeler, son of the village spendthrift, was driving a lean white horse round in a ring:  to the horse was attached a beam, and on the beam a huge round stone rolled on a circular oak platform.  Jethro Bass, who was engaged in pushing hemlock bark under the stone to be crushed, straightened.  Of the three, the horse had seen the visitor first, and stopped in his tracks.

“Jethro!” whispered Jake, tingling with an excitement that was but natural.  Jethro had begun to sweep the finer pieces of bark toward the centre.  “It’s the city man, walked up here from Brampton.”

It was indeed Mr. Worthington, slightly more sunburned and less citified-looking than on his arrival, and he wore a woollen cap of Brampton make.  Even then, despite his wavy hair and delicate appearance, Isaac Worthington had the hawk-like look which became famous in later years, and at length he approached Jethro and fixed his eye upon him.

“Kind of slow work, isn’t it?” remarked Mr. Worthington.

The white horse was the only one to break the silence that followed, by sneezing with all his might.

“How is the tannery business in these parts?” essayed Mr. Worthington again.

“Thinkin’ of it?” said Jethro.  “T-thinkin’ of it, be you?”

“No,” answered Mr. Worthington, hastily.  “If I were,” he added, “I’d put in new machinery.  That horse and stone is primitive.”

“What kind of machinery would you put in?” asked Jethro.

“Ah,” answered Worthington, “that will interest you.  All New Englanders are naturally progressive, I take it.”

“W-what was it you took?”

“I was merely remarking on the enterprise of New Englanders,” said Worthington, flushing.  “On my journey up here, beside the Merrimac, I had the opportunity to inspect the new steam-boiler, the falling-mill, the splitting machine, and other remarkable improvements.  In fact, these suggested one or two little things to me, which might be of interest to you.”

“Well,” said Jethro, “they might, and then again they mightn’t.  Guess it depends.”

“Depends!” exclaimed the man of leisure, “depends on what?”

“H-how much you know about it.”

Young Mr. Worthington, instead of being justly indignant, laughed and settled himself comfortably on a pile of bark.  He thought Jethro a character, and he was not mistaken.  On the other hand, Mr. Worthington displayed a knowledge of the falling-mill and splitting-machine and the process of tanneries in general that was surprising.  Jethro, had Mr. Worthington but known it, was more interested in animate machines:  more interested in Mr. Worthington than the falling-mill or, indeed, the tannery business.