Arrived at the office, he placed her in a chair by the side of his desk,
and you can guess whether she missed anything of what went on. Clerks,
business callers, heads of departments came and went. All had a smile for
Mary who gravely smiled in return and straightway became her dignified
little self again.

"When is Mr. Woodward expected back?" Josiah asked a clerk.

"On the ten-thirty, from Boston."

This was Stanley Woodward, Josiah's cousin--Cousin Stanley of the
spider's web whom you have already met. He was now the general manager of
the factory, and had always thought that fate was on his side since the
night he had heard of Martha's death and that the child she left behind
her was a girl.

Josiah glanced at his watch.

"Time to make the rounds," he said and, lifting Mary on his arm, he left
the office and started through the plant.

And, oh, how Mary loved it--the forests of belts, whirring and twisting
like live things, the orderly lines of machine tools, each doing its work
with more than human ingenuity and precision, the enormous presses
reminding her of elephants stamping out pieces of metal, the grinders
which sang to her, the drilling machines which whirred to her, the
polishing machines which danced for her, the power hammers which bowed to
her. Yes, and better than all was the smile that each man gave her,
smiles that came from the heart, for all the quiet respect that
accompanied them.