The machine was almost finished. A few more screws, a tightening of the leather belt, the placing of the steering lever, and it would be complete. He had spent four years of hard work, and harder thought, on its building--delayed first by his poverty, then by the building of the house, and always held back for twelve hours out of every day by his work at the Edison plant. Now he would have to put it aside again, to spend precious days and weeks disposing of his equity in the house, moving, settling in Greenfield, struggling with new hired men, beginning again the grind of managing a farm. It was only another delay, he said doggedly to himself; he would make the machine run yet. In the meantime he could not resist taking up his tools and working on it, just a minute or so. The engine was in place, the gears adjusted. He tightened the leather belt and tested the pulley again. Then he set the rear axle on blocks of wood, lifting the wheels from the ground and started the engine. The cough of the cylinder quickened into a staccato bark, the flywheel blurred with speed. Then Ford tightened the pulley, the broad leather belt took hold. The rear wheels spun. She was running! It remained only to test the machine in actual going on the ground. Ford went to work on the steering gear. He had thought it all out before, he had made all the parts. Now he must put them together, fit them into place and test them. He forgot about his wife, waiting in the house; he did not notice that the fire in the stove was getting low and the hour was growing late. He bent every thought and energy to placing the steering gear. At midnight he was still working. At 1 o'clock he had the front wheels blocked up and was testing the steering lever. It needed some changes. At 2 o'clock they were finished. He started the engine again and it missed fire. Something was wrong with the spark. At 3 o'clock, grimy, hollow-cheeked, absorbed, he was hard at work when he felt a hand on his arm and heard his wife say, "Henry!" "My dear, what's the matter? I'm coming in right away. Why, you're all wet!" he exclaimed, seeing her dripping shawl. "It's raining hard. Didn't you know it?" she said. "You shouldn't have come out; I thought you were going right to bed," he answered. "Well, I couldn't sleep very well. I got to thinking--Henry, we mustn't go back to the farm. It was just a notion of mine. I guess I was tired, or something. I've changed my mind. We'd better stay right here till you get the machine finished." He laughed. "Well, little woman, I guess that won't be so very long. It's finished right now," he said. "You wait a minute and you'll see me running it." She stood and watched, more excited than he, while he started the engine again, nailed a couple of old boards together for a seat and opened wide the shed doors. The rain was falling in torrents and underfoot the light snow had turned to thin slush on the frozen ground. It was very dark.