The Press., 1892-12-08
CHAPTER XXI. PADIHAM'S STORY.

"O7lLy O1lc person tn the 1DOTtd cGN HGDe pointed them"
 How iubilant felt the next morning as Imade my way toward Lamely court!
 As the clock dallied on it's last stroke of seven, entered Padiham's shop.
 My first glance-eyes never looked more earnestly-was toward the two drawings. s
 There they were-fact, not fancy.
 could still hold to the joy of hope.
 They were too far away in this dusky corner for absolute recognition; but there were the familiar gables of the old hall; and there was my horse, yes, himself, bending over that very group of Lugger- nel springs. I must cling to my con- 6dence; would not doubt. If I doubted, I should become stupid bungler over the models, and probably disgust Padi- ham by my awkwardness.
 s'Good morning, MT. Padiha1n."
 'sGood morning." said he, in that hearty voice which resolutely declined being surly.
 We went at our work without delay. For nearly two hours put myself and kept myself at Shorts Cutoff. Padi- hams skill and readiness astonished me. Great artists are labor saving machines to themselves, they leap to conclusion in a moment where potterer would be becalmed for tide.
 By and by found that could be of no further use to this master craftsman.
 "You understand this job better than do," said I.
 ( !,
 ''I'll take short spell," said 1. ''and look about the shop a little
 "Don't be setting my tools by the ears. "
 t'No; want to see those pictures by the chimney"
 He said nothing. His lathe buzzed. His chisel tortured bars of metal until they shrieked. The fragrance of fresh cut steel filled the shop.
 I sprang to the dusky corner. My heart choked me. wanted to shout so that John Brent, miles away across the wilder ness of the great city, could hear and come with one step.
 For here was what hoped.
 Here we were, our very selves, in this bold, masterly drawing. John Brent himself, the wounded knight; myself, bringing him water from the fountain; our dear Ellen, kneeling beside; and bending over us, Don Fulano, the chiefest hero of that terrible ride through the canyon.
 And more, if needed proof. For here, in among the water plants by the spring, there in the grass under Wordsworth's oak, lurked the initials E. c.
 Found! An, not yet. A clew; but perhaps clew that would break in my hands as traced it.
 lost no time.
 ''These are pretty pictures said l., crushing myself into self possession.
 "What has that got to do with this job?' -- .-....
 "You think I'm a pretty good me- chanic?'
 "Middling. You handle tools we'll enough for a gentleman"
 "Well, if were not bit of an artist should not even be mtldling mechanic like to see fine art such as these draw ings hung up before workingman. l can understand how appreciating such things has helped you to become the first mechanic in England"
 "Who says am that?'' -.
 'So the first engineer in England told me when he sent me here"
 'sOh, he sent you! I supposed you did not find your own way.'
 "There has been no chance in my com ing here," said l, and my heart thanked God.
 "You're right about those drawings young man," Padiham sad, and his voice seemed to find sweeter tone even than before. "They do me good and put finer edge on my work. They're good work and by good hand"
 sWhose?'
 The dwarf turned about and surveyed me strictly. Then he started his lathe again, tore off narrow ringlet of steel from bit he was shaping, and flung another stream of steely perfume in tho air. sa s
 Whose hand?' l asked again.
 Do you ask because you want to know, or only to make idle talk?"
 "I want to know.'t
 What for?''
 I think the drawings are good. should like pair by the same hand. Can you direct me to the artist?''
 .sNo.'
 ..fWhy nots Es.s,s ..s