“That is well!” returned Mr. Jennings, looking relieved. “Now I will leave you for a few moments. You will find water and towels, in case you wish to wash before dinner.” Carl was glad of the opportunity. He was particular about his personal appearance, and he felt hot and dusty. He bathed his face and hands, carefully dusted his suit, brushed his hair, and was ready to descend when he heard the tinkling of a small bell at the foot of the front stairs. He readily found his way into the neat dining-room at the rear of the parlor. Mr. Jennings sat at the head of the table, a little giant, diminutive in stature, but with broad shoulders, a large head, and a powerful frame. Opposite him sat Hannah, tall, stiff and upright as a grenadier. She formed a strange contrast to her employer. “I wonder what made him hire such a tall woman?” thought Carl. “Being so small himself, her size makes him look smaller.” There was a chair at one side, placed for Carl. “Sit down there, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “I won’t keep you waiting any longer than I can help. What have you given us to-day, Hannah?” “Roast beef,” answered Hannah in her deep tones. “There is nothing better.” The host cut off a liberal slice for Carl, and passed the plate to Hannah, who supplied potatoes, peas and squash. Carl’s mouth fairly watered as he watched the hospitable preparations for his refreshment. “I never trouble myself about what we are to have on the table,” said Mr. Jennings. “Hannah always sees to that. She’s knows just what I want. She is a capital cook, too, Hannah is.” Hannah looked pleased at this compliment. “You are easily pleased, master,” she said. “I should be hard to suit if I were not pleased with your cooking. You don’t know so well Carl’s taste, but if there is anything he likes particularly he can tell you.” “You are very kind, sir,” said Carl. “There are not many men who would treat a poor boy so considerately,” he thought. “He makes me an honored guest.” When dinner was over, Mr. Jennings invited Carl to accompany him on a walk. They passed along the principal street, nearly every person they met giving the little man a cordial greeting. “He seems to be very popular,” thought Carl. At length they reached the manufactory. Mr. Jennings went into the office, followed by Carl. A slender, dark-complexioned man, about thirty-five years of age, sat on a stool at a high desk. He was evidently the bookkeeper. “Any letters, Mr. Gibbon?” asked Mr. Jennings. “Yes, sir; here are four.” “Where are they from?” “From New York, Chicago, Pittsburg and New Haven.” “What do they relate to?” “Orders. I have handed them to Mr. Potter.” Potter, as Carl afterwards learned, was superintendent of the manufactory, and had full charge of practical details. “Is there anything requiring my personal attention?” “No, sir; I don’t think so.” “By the way, Mr. Gibbon, let me introduce you to a young friend of mine--Carl Crawford.”