them with fingers that trembled
with eagerness.

Yes, it was all true.... All true.... Here it was in black and white,
with photographs and statistics set down by impartial observers and
printed by government. Generally a state report is dry reading, but to
Mary at least these were more exciting than any romances--more beautiful
than any poem she had ever read.

At last woman had been given a chance to show what she could do. And how
she had shown them!

Without one single straining effort, without the least thought of doing
anything spectacular, she had gently and calmly taken up men's tools and
had done men's work--not indifferently well--not in any makeshift
manner--but "in all cases, even the most technical, her work has equalled
that previously done exclusively by man. In a number of instances, owing
to her natural dexterity and colour sense, her work, indeed, has been
superior."

How Mary studied those papers!

Never even at college had she applied herself more closely. She
memorized, compared, read, thought, held arguments with herself. And
finally, when she was able to pass any examination that might be set
before her, she went down to the office one day and sent for Mr.
MacPherson, the master mechanic.

He came--grey haired, grim faced, a man who seemed to keep his mouth
buttoned-and Mary asked him to shut the door behind him. Whereat Mac
buttoned his mouth more tightly than before, and looked grimmer, too, if
that were possible.

"You don't look a day older," Mary told him with a smile. "I remember you
from the days when my father used to carry me around--"

"He was a grand man, Miss Mary; it's a pity he's gone," said Mac and
promptly buttoned his mouth again.

"I want to talk to you about something," she said, "but first I want you
to promise to keep it a secret."

He blinked his eyes at that, and as much as a grim faced man can look
troubled, he looked troubled.

"There are vera few secrets that can be kept around this place," was his
strange reply. "Might I ask, Miss Mary, of what nature is the subject?"
And seeing that she hesitated he added, first looking cautiously over his
shoulder, "Is it anything, for instance, to do wi' Mr. Woodward? Or, say,
the conduct of the business?"

"No, no," said Mary, "it--it's about women--" Mac stared at her, but when
she added "--about women working in the factory," he drew a breath of
relief.

"Aye," he said, "I think I can promise to keep quiet about t