he rest. There were two stalls, one
serving the Dutchman for his living room, the other for his workshop.
In one corner stood a white earthenware stove--so new a spectacle to the
young forester that he supposed it to be the printing-press. A table,
shiny with rubbing, a wooden chair, a couple of stools, a few vessels,
mirrors for brightness, some chests and corner cupboards, a bed shutting
up like a box and likewise highly polished, completed the furniture, all
arranged with the marvellous orderliness and neatness of the nation. A
curtain shut off the opening to the other stall, where stood a machine
with a huge screw, turned by leverage. Boxes of type and piles of paper
surrounded it, and Ambrose stood and looked at it with a sort of awe-
struck wonder and respect as the great fount of wisdom. Hansen showed
him what his work would be, in setting up type, and by and by correcting
after the first proof. The machine could only print four pages at a
time, and for this operation the whole strength of the establishment was
required. Moreover, Master Hansen bound, as well as printed his books.
Ambrose was by no means daunted. As long as he might read as well as
print, and while he had Sundays at Saint Paul's to look to, he asked no
more--except indeed that his gentle blood stirred at the notion of
acting salesman in the book-stall, and Master Hansen assured him with a
smile that Will Wherry, the other boy, would do that better than either
of them, and that he would be entirely employed here.

The methodical master insisted however on making terms with the boy's
relations; and with some misgivings on Ambrose's part, the two--since
business hours were almost over--walked together to the Temple and to
the little house, where Perronel was ironing under her window.

Ambrose need not have doubted. The Dutch blood on either side was
stirred; and the good housewife commanded the little printer's respect
as he looked round on a kitchen as tidy as if it in his own country.
And the bargain was struck that Ambrose Birkenholt should serve Master
Hansen for his meals and two pence a week, while he was to sleep at the
little house of Mistress Randall, who would keep his clothes and linen
in order.

And thus it was that both Ambrose and Stephen Birkenholt had found their
vocations for the present, and both were fervent in them. Master
Headley pshawed a little when he heard that Ambrose had engaged himself
to a printer and a forei