_
where one does because of bad manipulation. Come up into the
drawing-room, and I will introduce you to the inventor.'

"Up under the skylight I met the designer of the new engine, a mild
little fellow--but he don't figure in this story. In five minutes I was
deep in the study of the drawings. Everything seemed to be worked out
all right, except that they had the fire-door opening the wrong way and
the brake-valve couldn't be reached--but many a good builder did that
twenty years ago. I was impressed with the beauty of the drawings--they
were like lithographs, and one, a perspective, was shaded and colored
handsomely. I complimented him on them.

"'They are beautiful, sir,' he said; 'they were made by a lady. I'll
introduce you to her.'

"A bright, plain-faced little woman with a shingled head looked up from
her drawing-board as we approached, shook hands cordially when
introduced, and at once entered into an intelligent discussion of the
plans of the new record-beater.

"Well, it was some months before the engine was ready for the road, and
in that time I got pretty well acquainted with Miss Reynolds. She was
mighty plain, but sharp as a buzz-saw. I don't think she was really
homely, but she'd never have been arrested for her beauty. There was
something 'fetching' about her appearance--you couldn't help liking her.
She was intelligent, and it was such a novelty to find a woman who knew
the smoke stack from the steam chest. I didn't fall in love with her at
all, but I liked to talk to her over the work. She told me her story;
not all at once, but here and there a piece, until I knew her history
pretty well.

"It seems that her father had been chief draughtsman of those works for
years, but had lately died. She had a strong taste for mechanics, and
her father, who believed in women learning trades, had taught her
mechanical drawing, first at home and then in the shop. She had helped
in busy times as an extra, but never went to work for regular wages
until the death of her father made it necessary.

"She seemed to like to hear stories of the road, and often asked me to
tell her some thrilling experience the second time. Her eyes sparkled
and her face kindled when I touched on a snow-bucking experience. She
often said that if she was a man she'd go on the railroad, and after
such a remark she would usually sigh and smile at the same time. One
day, when the engine was pretty nearly ready, she said to me:

"'Mr. Wa