In anticipation of the visit Celestina had arrayed herself in a fresh print dress and ruffled apron and had compelled Willie to replace his jumper with a suit of homespun and flatten his locks into water-soaked rigidity. By the exchange both persons had lost a certain picturesqueness which Bob could not but deplore. Nevertheless the fact did not greatly matter, for it was not toward them that the capitalist turned his glance. Instead his swiftly moving eyes traveled with one sweep over the cobweb of strings that enmeshed the interior and without regard for etiquette he blurted out: "Heavens! What's all this?" The remark, so genuine in its amazement, might under other conditions have provoked resentment but now it merely raised a laugh. "I don't wonder you ask, sir," replied Willie, stepping forward good-humoredly. "'Tain't a common sight, I'll admit. We get used to it here an' think nothin' about it; but I reckon it must strike outsiders as 'tarnal queer." "What are you trying to do?" queried the capitalist, still too much interested to heed conventionalities. Simply and with artless naivete Willie explained the significance of the strings while the New Yorker listened, and as the old man told his story it was apparent that Mr. Galbraith was not only amused but was vastly interested. "I say, Mr. Spence, you should have been an inventor," he exclaimed, when the tale was finished. He saw a wistful light come into the aged face. "I mean," he corrected hastily, "you should have a workshop with all the trappings to help you carry out your schemes." "Oh, Mr. Spence has a workshop," Robert Morton interrupted. "The nicest kind of a one." "Would you like to see it?" inquired Willie. "I should, very much." "I'm afraid it's no place to take you, sir," objected Celestina, horrified at the suggestion. "It ain't been swept out since the deluge. Willie won't have it cleaned. He says he'd never be able to find anything again if it was." Mr. Galbraith laughed. "Workshops do not need cleaning, do they, Mr. Spence?" said he. "I remember the chaos my father's tool-house always was in; it never was in order and we all liked it the better because it wasn't." Celestina sighed and turned away. "Ain't it just the irony of fate," murmured she to Bob, "that after slickin' up every room in the house so'st it would be presentable, Willie should tow them folks from New York out into the woodshed? I might 'a' saved myself the trouble." Robert Morton slipped a comforting arm round her ample waist. "Never you mind, Aunt Tiny," he whispered. "The Galbraiths have rooms enough of their own to look at; but they haven't a workshop like Willie's." He patted her arm sympathetically and then, giving her a reassuring little squeeze to console her, followed his guests.