Without one single straining effort, without the least thought of doing anything spectacular, she had gently and calmly taken up men's tools and had done men's work--not indifferently well--not in any makeshift manner--but "in all cases, even the most technical, her work has equalled that previously done exclusively by man. In a number of instances, owing to her natural dexterity and colour sense, her work, indeed, has been superior." How Mary studied those papers! Never even at college had she applied herself more closely. She memorized, compared, read, thought, held arguments with herself. And finally, when she was able to pass any examination that might be set before her, she went down to the office one day and sent for Mr. MacPherson, the master mechanic. He came--grey haired, grim faced, a man who seemed to keep his mouth buttoned-and Mary asked him to shut the door behind him. Whereat Mac buttoned his mouth more tightly than before, and looked grimmer, too, if that were possible. "You don't look a day older," Mary told him with a smile. "I remember you from the days when my father used to carry me around--" "He was a grand man, Miss Mary; it's a pity he's gone," said Mac and promptly buttoned his mouth again. "I want to talk to you about something," she said, "but first I want you to promise to keep it a secret." He blinked his eyes at that, and as much as a grim faced man can look troubled, he looked troubled. "There are vera few secrets that can be kept around this place," was his strange reply. "Might I ask, Miss Mary, of what nature is the subject?" And seeing that she hesitated he added, first looking cautiously over his shoulder, "Is it anything, for instance, to do wi' Mr. Woodward? Or, say, the conduct of the business?" "No, no," said Mary, "it--it's about women--" Mac stared at her, but when she added "--about women working in the factory," he drew a breath of relief. "Aye," he said, "I think I can promise to keep quiet about that." "Isn't it true," she began, "that most of the machinery we use doesn't require a great deal of skill to run it?" "We've a lot of automatics," acknowledged Mac. "Your grandfather's idea, Miss Mary. A grand man. He was one of the first to make the machine think instead of the operator." "How long does it take to break in an ordinary man?" "A few weeks is generally enough. It depends on the man and the tool." Mary told him then what she had in her mind, and Mac didn't think much of it until she showed him the photographs. Even then he was "michty cautious" until he happened to turn to the picture of a munition factory in Glasgow where row after row of overalled women were doing the lathe work. "Think of that now," said he; "in Glasga'!" As he looked, the frost left his eye. "A grand lot of lasses," he said and cleared his throat. "If they can do it, we can do it, too--don't you think so?"