he became more
and more astonished as he saw how the blacksmiths handled iron and
fire.

"Those men have no fear of heat and flames," he thought.

"They keep this up day after day," Father Bear said as he dropped
wearily on the ground. "One gets tired of that kind of thing. I'm glad
that at last I can put an end to it."

The boy was all of a shiver now.

"If you will set fire to the noise-shop, I'll spare your life," said
Father Bear.

Just beyond them lay a pile of chips and shavings, and beside it was a
wood pile that almost reached the coal shed. The coal shed extended
over to the workshops, and if that once caught fire, the flames would
soon fly over to the iron foundry. The walls would fall from the
heat, and the machinery would be destroyed.

"Will you or won't you?" demanded Father Bear.

"You mustn't be so impatient," the boy said. "Let me think a moment."

"Very well," said Father Bear, tightening his hold on the boy.

They needed iron for everything, Nils knew. There was iron in the
plough that broke up the field, and in the axe that felled the tree
for building houses, in the scythe that mowed the grain, and in the
knife that could be turned to all sorts of uses. There was iron in the
horse's bit, and in the lock on the door, in the nails that held the
furniture together, and in the sheathing that covered the roof. Iron
covered the men-of-war that he had seen in the harbor, the locomotives
steamed through the country on iron rails. The needle that had
stitched the boy's coat was made of iron, the shears that clipped the
sheep, and the kettle that cooked the food. The rifle which drove away
wild beasts was made of iron. Father Bear was perfectly right. He knew
that the coming of iron to the forest had given the human kind their
mastery over the beasts.

"Will you or won't you?" demanded Father Bear.

The boy shrank back. He swept his hand across his forehead. He could
see no way of escape, but this much he knew, he did not wish to do any
harm to the iron which was useful to so many people in the land.

"I won't!" he said.

Father Bear squeezed him a little harder but said nothing.

"You'll not get me to destroy the ironworks," defied the boy. "The
iron is so great a blessing that it will never do to harm it."

"Then of course you don't expect to be allowed to live very long,"
said the bear.

"No, I don't expect it," replied the boy, looking the bear straight in
the eye.

Father Bear grip