d glowing iron, steam-hammers, racing wheels, and bustle and
noise, he was thrusting his way, intent upon one thing, to learn and
learn and ever learn. There were plenty of those by him who were content
to know their way about the little corner where they stood--but they
would never get any farther. They would end their days broken-down
workmen--HE would carve his way through till he stood among the masters.
He had first to put in some months' work in the smithy, then he would
be passed on to the machine shops, then to work with the carpenters
and painters, and finally in the shipyard. The whole thing would take
a couple of years. But the works and all therein were already a kind of
new Bible to him; a book of books, which he must learn by heart. Only
wait!

And what a place it was for new adventures! Many times a day he
would find himself gazing at some new wonder; sheer miracle and
revelation--yet withal no creation of God's grace, but an invention of
men. Press a button, and behold, a miracle springs to life. He would
stare at the things, and the strain of understanding them would
sometimes keep him awake at night. There was something behind this,
something that must be--spirit, even though it did not come from God.
These engineers were priests of a sort, albeit they did not preach nor
pray. It was a new world.

One day he was put to riveting work on an enormous boiler, and for the
first time found himself working with a power that was not the power of
his own hands. It was a tube, full of compressed air, that drove home
the rivets in quick succession with a clashing wail from the boiler that
sounded all over the town. Peer's head and ears ached with the noise,
but he smiled all the same. He was used to toil himself, in weariness of
body; now he stood here master, was mind and soul and directing will. He
felt it now for the first time, and it sent a thrill of triumph through
every nerve of his body.

But all through the long evenings he sat alone, reading, reading, and
heard the horses stamping in the stable below. And when he crept
into bed, well after midnight, there was only one thing that troubled
him--his utter loneliness. Klaus Brock lived with his uncle, in a fine
house, and went to parties. And he lay here all by himself. If he were
to die that very night, there would be hardly a soul to care. So utterly
alone he was--in a strange and indifferent world.

Sometimes it helped him a little to think of the ol