"But we'll have a picture there all the same, Peter. Will you trust me to select it?" "Of course I will. Just get something to do with sheep or horses--something that the men will enjoy and understand." Mr. Coddington smiled down into the eager face. "I guess I can find a picture the men will like; it may take a little while, though, to get just the right thing. Had we better throw open the room now without it, or wait until everything is complete?" "Oh, wait! Wait!" was Peter's plea. "Do not open it until everything is done! We do not need to use the place at this season of the year anyway, because the weather is now so warm that every one goes to the park at noon. The secret can be kept until fall, can't it?" "Yes, indeed. Nobody, with the exception of Mr. Tyler and the workmen, knows about the room; and they are pledged not to tell." Accordingly the shades of the new reading-room were lowered, it was securely locked, and the key put into Mr. Coddington's pocket. As the hammering that had for so long echoed through the factory ceased queries concerning the noise and the mission of the carpenters died away. Even Peter himself forgot about the great mystery, for the ball season was now on and in addition to its engrossing interests he and Nat were transferred to Factory 3 where they became much absorbed in the tanning of cowhides. Here again the preparation of the leather took them back to the beamhouse with its familiar processes of liming, unhairing, puering and tanning. Was there never to be an end to beamhouses, Peter wondered. "No sooner do we get out of one and find ourselves happy at some clean, decent work than off we go to another! I am about tired of beamhouses!" wailed Peter. Nevertheless the two boys stuck resolutely to the beamhouse and to tanning cowhides. At Factory 3 there also were tanned other light weight hides that underwent a chrome process of tannage rather than the oak or hemlock processes used at the sole leather plant at Elmwood. It seemed to Peter that he had never dreamed there were so many creatures in the whole world until he began to handle the shipments of hides that came to the factory to be tanned. "Do all these skins come from the ranches of our own country?" he inquired one day when, from the window, he saw a train of heavily laden freight cars come rolling into the yard. "Why, I shouldn't think there would be a single live animal left in America."