e it follow them there!

Mr. Coddington, on the other hand, although not reveling in the
unpleasant tannery smells, had a sincere respect for the industry which
furnished him his living, not only because it enabled him to provide his
family with a luxurious home, but also because he regarded it as a
life-work that was well worth the doing. Was he not giving to the world
a necessity which it could not do without? It was a self-respecting
trade. Therefore why should he not feel there was dignity in the long
buildings with their whirring wheels, their hundreds of busy workmen,
and their ponderous green trucks which, loaded with skins, ever rumbled
back and forth through the main street? His pride was the more
justifiable since alone, and aided only by his brain and his
perseverance, he himself had built up this mighty industry which had
become the chief support of the flourishing little New England town.
Milburn, in fact, had grown up around the business that he had founded.
From the lowest rung of the ladder he had worked his way up to the
highest. The climb had been no easy one. On the contrary it had been
hard work. How could he help but feel a pride--nay, an affection, even,
for the great throbbing world of labor which he had created, and which
furnished thousands of people with homes, food and clothing!

Since this was his point of view it naturally was impossible for him to
appreciate the horror that his words brought to the boy who sat on the
steps beside him. Peter knew his father too well to offer protest at the
judgment that his own misdeeds had brought. It was a perfectly fair
retribution. Moreover, he had been warned--Peter clearly recalled the
fact now. But he had rushed blindly on, not heeding the warning.

"The tannery?" he at last repeated aloud.

"Yes. That is where I began, Peter, and it won't hurt you to do the
same."

"Shan't I go back to school at all?"

"Not for the present."

"And the school team----"

"It must get on without you as best it may."

Peter fought to keep back the tears.

"Will everybody know?" he faltered after a pause.

"No. I simply told Mr. Christopher that I had decided to take you out of
school. He knows nothing more, nor does any one else. Now, Peter, I do
not wish you to take this as a punishment." Stooping, Mr. Coddington
put his hand kindly on the lad's shoulder. "In so far as it is the
consequence of misspent, wasted time it is, to be sure, a punishment;
none of