Then the congregation dispersed to the humble homes, glorified now by the possibility of being made the dwelling-place of the King of kings.

CHAPTER XVII.

It was intensely warm in the Marlborough Steel Works.  Outdoors the sun beat fiercely upon the heads of toiling men and horses while the heat waves danced with a dazzling shimmer along the brick pavements.  Indoors there was the steady thud of the engine, and the great hammers clanked and the belts swept through the air with a deafening whirr, while the workmen drew blackened hands across their grimy foreheads and John Randolph gave a sigh of longing for the cool forest chambers of Hollywood, as he leaned over to exchange a cheery word with Richard Trueman, beside whom he had been working for over a year and for whom he had come to entertain a strong feeling of affection.

Varied experiences had come to him since he had said good-by to his kind Quaker friends and started on his search for work.  Monotonous days of wood piling in a lumber yard, long weeks of isolation among the giant trees of the forest, where no sound was to be heard except the whistle of the axes, as they cleaved the air, and the coarse jokes of the workmen,—­then had come days when even odd jobs had been hailed with delight, and he had sat at the feet of the grim schoolmistress Necessity and learned how little man really needs to have to live.  And then the Steel Works had opened again and he had forged his way up through the different departments to the responsible position he now held.  His promotion had been rapid.  The foreman had been quick to note the keen, intelligent interest and deft-handedness of this strangely alert new employe.  He finished his work in the very best way that it was possible to do it, even though it took a little longer in the doing.  Such workmen were not common at the Marlborough Steel Works.  He put his heart into whatever he did.  That was John Randolph’s way.  There was something about the work which pleased him.  It gave him a feeling of triumph to watch the evolution of the crude chaos into the finished perfection, and see how through baptism of fire and flood the diverse particles emerged at length a beautifully tempered whole.  He read as in an allegory the discipline which a soul needs to fit it for the kingdom, and so throughout the meshes of his daily toil John Randolph wove his parable.

When evening came he would stride cheerily along the dingy street to the house where he and his fellow-workman lodged, refresh himself with a hot bath, don what he called his dress suit, and after their simple meal and a frolic with little Dick, the motherless boy who was the joy of Richard Trueman’s heart, he would settle down for a long evening of study among his cherished books.  John Randolph never lost sight of the fact that he was to be a physician by and by.

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