It was indeed Mr. Worthington, slightly more sunburned and less citified-looking than on his arrival, and he wore a woollen cap of Brampton make. Even then, despite his wavy hair and delicate appearance, Isaac Worthington had the hawk-like look which became famous in later years, and at length he approached Jethro and fixed his eye upon him. “Kind of slow work, isn't it?” remarked Mr. Worthington. The white horse was the only one to break the silence that followed, by sneezing with all his might. “How is the tannery business in these parts?” essayed Mr. Worthington again. “Thinkin' of it?” said Jethro. “T-thinkin' of it, be you?” “No,” answered Mr. Worthington, hastily. “If I were,” he added, “I'd put in new machinery. That horse and stone is primitive.” “What kind of machinery would you put in?” asked Jethro. “Ah,” answered Worthington, “that will interest you. All New Englanders are naturally progressive, I take it.” “W-what was it you took?” “I was merely remarking on the enterprise of New Englanders,” said Worthington, flushing. “On my journey up here, beside the Merrimac, I had the opportunity to inspect the new steam-boiler, the falling-mill, the splitting machine, and other remarkable improvements. In fact, these suggested one or two little things to me, which might be of interest to you.” “Well,” said Jethro, “they might, and then again they mightn't. Guess it depends.” “Depends!” exclaimed the man of leisure, “depends on what?” “H-how much you know about it.” Young Mr. Worthington, instead of being justly indignant, laughed and settled himself comfortably on a pile of bark. He thought Jethro a character, and he was not mistaken. On the other hand, Mr. Worthington displayed a knowledge of the falling-mill and splitting-machine and the process of tanneries in general that was surprising. Jethro, had Mr. Worthington but known it, was more interested in animate machines: more interested in Mr. Worthington than the falling-mill or, indeed, the tannery business. At length the visitor fell silent, his sense of superiority suddenly gone. Others had had this same feeling with Jethro, even the minister; but the man of leisure (who was nothing of the sort) merely felt a kind of bewilderment. “Callatin' to live in Brampton--be you?” asked Jethro. “I am living there now.” “C-callatin' to set up a mill some day?” Mr. Worthington fairly leaped off the bark pile. “What makes you say that?” he demanded. “G-guesswork,” said Jethro, starting to shovel again, “g-guesswork.” To take a walk in the wild, to come upon a bumpkin in cowhide boots crushing bark, to have him read within twenty minutes a cherished and well-hidden ambition which Brampton had not discovered in a month (and did not discover for many years) was sufficiently startling. Well might Mr. Worthington tremble for his other ambitions, and they were many.