nd wicked as he had done that night when he had
thrilled Tim's heart by his shocking conduct. The boy drew slowly
near, half fearful of his own daring. What if the dark man should not
at first recognize him as a kindred spirit, and should leap at him with
a hand-spike? John McIntyre looked up.

"What do you want?" he asked harshly. "You'd better go home."

This was not a propitious beginning, and the visitor squirmed around in
embarrassment. His pride was rather hurt at the man's failure to
recognize him, and he could scarcely announce, just at the outset, that
he had run away from the minister and had come to him as a companion in
iniquity. Suddenly he thought of a remark that had hitherto never
failed to arouse the liveliest interest in a new acquaintance.

"I'm one o' the Sawyer orphants," he announced proudly.

The dark man looked no whit impressed. He made no reply, and Tim
gained courage to sidle up closer, and finally seated himself, in an
insinuating manner, on the extreme end of a piece of timber that lay
before the door. He turned cautiously and peered with absorbed
interest into the engine-room. The great black monster lay there,
dimly outlined in the warm darkness, giving forth a hissing sound, like
a giant breathing heavily in his sleep. The man arose and opened the
furnace door. That was like the giant's mouth, and he was eating his
supper of porridge, Tim thought, as the watchman shoveled in the
sawdust. The red glow lit up the dark man's face and arms, and the
boy's small, pinched countenance, and sent a red splash out on the
surface of the pond. The door slammed, and again only one bright line
beneath the damper showed against the darkness. The man came back, and
in silence resumed his seat. Tim was vastly interested in all
machinery, and Spectacle John, knowing the eldest orphan's peculiar
propensity toward accidents, had ordered him, on pain of sudden death,
not to show his face in the flour mill. Now, here was a chance to
examine a far bigger engine than Spectacle John's. There was another
charm besides his wickedness in this strange man. Tim became very
ingratiating.

"Who made that engine?" he asked in a friendly tone.

There was no reply. The man seemed unaware of his presence.

"Must have been somebody awful smart," added the visitor insinuatingly.

Still no answer.

"Mebby God made it," he ventured, just to see what effect this pious
remark would have on such a wicke