e hundreds of hammers and chisels,
filled the great space with industry's wordless song that has its
perfect harmony for him who listens with open ears and expansive mind.

Jim McCann was at work near the shed doors which had been opened several
times since one o'clock to admit the flat cars with the granite. He was
alternately blowing on his benumbed fingers and cursing the doors and
the draught that was chilling him to the marrow. The granite dust was
swirling about his legs and rising into his nostrils. It lacked a
half-hour to four.

Two cars rolled in silently.

"Shut thim damned doors, man!" he shouted across to the door-tender;
"God kape us but we' it's our last death we'll be ketchin' before we can
clane out our lungs o' the dust we've swallowed the day. It's after
bein' wan damned slitherin' whorl of grit in the nose of me since eight
the morn."

He struck hard on his chisel and a spark flew. A workman, an Italian,
laughed.

"That's arll-rright, Jim--fire up!"

"You kape shet," growled McCann. He was unfriendly as a rule to the
Dagos. "It's in me blood," was his only excuse.

"An' if it's a firin' ye be after," he continued, "ye'll get it shurre
if ye lave off workin' to warm up yer tongue wid such sass.--Shut thim
doors!" he shouted again; but a gust of wind failed to carry his voice
in the desired direction.

In the swirling roar and the small dust-spout that followed in its
wake, Jim and the workmen in his cold section were aware of a man who
had been half-blown in with the whirling dust. He took shelter for a
moment by the inner wall. The foreman saw him and recognized him for the
man who, the manager had just telephoned, was coming over from the
office. He came forward to meet him.

"You're the man who has just taken on a job in Shed Number Two?"

"Yes."

The foreman signed to one of the men and told him to bring an extra set
of tools.

"Here's your section," he said indicating McCann's; "you can begin on
this block--just squaring it for to-night."

The man took his tools with a "Thank you," and went to work. The others
watched him furtively, as Jim told Maggie afterwards "from the tail of
me eye."

He knew his work. They soon saw that. Every stroke told. The doors were
shut at last and the electric lights turned on. Up to the stroke of four
the men worked like automatons--_chip-chip-chipping_. Now and then there
was some chaffing, good-natured if rough.

The little Canuck, who by dint