you are simply a boy in my employ. Out of
working hours we will be father and son and will enjoy our drives,
walks, and reading together just as we have in the past. One rule,
however, must be strictly adhered to--we will not talk shop."

"I understand, sir," nodded Peter.

"Now just a last word," concluded Mr. Coddington. "To-morrow morning you
must be prompt at the works. Eight o'clock is the hour you are to
present yourself and that does not mean before eight or after eight; it
means on the stroke of eight. You will carry a luncheon which your
mother will see is put up for you. You are to hand to Mr. Tyler, the
superintendent of Factory 1, a card bearing my signature and you are to
say to him that you are the boy I telephoned him about. He does not know
who you are, but he understands that I am interested in you and he will
start you in wherever he thinks best. On the card I shall write your
name--and by the by"--a smile flitted over Mr. Coddington's face--"what
is your name to be?"

Peter hesitated; then his lips curved into a faint reflection of his
father's merriment.

"I think I will enter the tannery as Peter Strong," he answered.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II

PETER WINS ANOTHER NAME

The next morning when, at half-past six, the small alarm clock at his
bedside shot off with metallic clangor Peter raised himself drowsily on
his elbow and glanced about. What had happened? What was all this
jangling about? In a second more, however, he recollected. This was the
day when school, fun, and friends were to be left behind, and when he
was to set forth into a new world. He was going to work! Slowly,
unwillingly, with a vague sinking at heart, he dragged himself to his
feet and listened. It was very still. All the world appeared to have
stopped and the only being alive in the great universe seemed to be
himself. He prepared to dress. Half automatically he turned on the
shower-bath. The chill of the cold water sent a tingle over him and
quickened his awakening faculties. Pulling on his clothes he crept down
over the stairs. It was bad enough to have to get up at this unearthly
hour himself; he at least need not disturb the rest of the household. Of
course his father would get up and start him off.

But to Peter's surprise nothing of this sort happened. Instead he sat
down alone in the big dining-room to a forlorn breakfast, at the
conclusion of which the waitress laid on the table beside him a
carefull