ly devising a ball
and socket joint for a small windmill he was building. Everything he
could lay his hands on he turned to some mechanical use, and all his
thoughts seemed bent in that one direction.

The new King of Sweden was now planning to build a great ship canal at
Goeta to unite the Baltic and the North Seas, a scheme which had for a
long time appealed to Swedish patriots as a protection against their
great grasping neighbor, the Russian Bear. Through the influence of a
friend, Count Platen, Olof Ericsson was given work in connection with
the canal, and moved his family with him to a town called Forsvik. Here
a great many soldiers were at work, for the canal was in charge of the
army, and many skilled engineers were gathered to superintend the
building.

Almost at the same time when Olof reported for work Count Platen and the
other officers were surprised to see a small boy, not more than thirteen
years old, come every day to watch the digging, to study the machinery,
and to ask questions of every one in the place. He was a handsome boy,
well built, with light, close-cut, curling hair, fair as Swedish boys
almost always are, with clear blue eyes, and a very firm mouth and chin.
While other boys of his age were at school or playing he would stand on
the bank of the canal, studying by the hour some piece of machinery.
Then on another day he would come with a pad of paper, some crude
home-made drawing tools, and pencils, and perching himself on a pile of
rocks or of lumber would draw the machinery as a skilled draughtsman
might, and then work over his sketch, apparently adding to it or
altering it to suit ideas of his own.

Count Platen watched the boy for several days, and then one morning went
up to him. "May I see what you're doing?" he asked.

The boy, who had been absolutely absorbed in his work, looked up. "It's
the sketch of a new pump to drain the canal," said he. "I made one for
father's mine in Vermland, and I don't see why the same plan can't be
used here. It'll do the work more quickly."

Count Platen looked at the drawing on the boy's lap, and listened
intently while the young inventor explained how the machine should work.
He was astounded at the knowledge the boy had of engineering.

"You're Olof Ericsson's son, aren't you?" he asked finally.

The boy nodded. "Yes, I'm John Ericsson; I've an older brother Nils,
who's fifteen."

"Is Nils as much of an engineer as you are?"

"He knows a good