By dint of close application, Gutenberg, having completed the Superior’s jewels by noon of the next day, returned to his engraved blocks, and before evening of the second day had given the finishing touch to several prints. Laden with jewels and pictures, he left the house, Anna wishing him Godspeed, and watching him till the mass of vines, shrubbery, and apple-trees hid him from sight. The cloistered Cathedral was not far distant, yet the winding way which led there was quickly lost in the luxuriant foliage. On his arrival he was ushered into the library, which might be termed a scriptorium, or monks’ writing-room, so many copyists there plied the pen. Having delivered the jewels, he showed his pictures. “Whose handicraft may this be?” quoth a gray-headed friar. “The name of the artisan doth not appear,” was the reply. “Where didst thou obtain them?” asked another. “Suffer me to keep a little secret,” replied Gutenberg, “which would not benefit thee if told.” “I will purchase the entire lot,” said the Abbot, after examining them. “They will grace the walls of the library, and tend to preserve us from evil.” Anna came running to meet Gutenberg as he returned, and was well pleased to learn of the sale. “And now,” said she, “thou art in a fair way to get rich!” But Gutenberg said, gravely,-- “We must not forget that the steady gains of a regular business are more to be relied on than occasional successes in other pursuits.” Yet Gutenberg was himself loath to take this view, and turned reluctantly to his trade. Not long after, he was surprised one morning by the entrance of Andrew Dritzhn, an intelligent citizen of Strasbourg, stout and hale-looking, and about thirty-five years of age. Taking a seat, he wound through a long talk, and at last made known his errand, which was to ask that Gutenberg would allow him to come and learn his trade. The latter loved the quiet of his own thoughts too well to choose the presence of a workman in his shop.