"No!" Another voice, harsh and sharp as a steel file, cut through the uproar. "Work! Work! Is the Law! God say: 'By the sweat of brow!' Work! Ye ken?" It was the cadaverous individual with the snarl who was speaking. "Ye ken?"

"We ken!" The answer came in chorus, like a ragged thunderclap. The old man refastened his apron and sat down again, as did his companion. The belt flapped.

"Now look here!" Jonathan was furious. "I said...."

"It's no use, sir." Tom was plucking at his sleeve. "You might as well talk to the Lapis, now; come."

At the mansion, Jonathan sat for hours with his head between his hands, trying to think of some way to lift the curse riveted on New Patmos. He waved away the luncheon which Tom brought, then, as the old man started to leave the room, called him back. "Who's in charge at the factory?" he asked.

"There's nobody rightly in charge, sir; things just run themselves."

"Who is that creature with the voice like a squeaky hinge, then?"

"Oh, that's Jock, the men's supervisor, sir. He only...."

"Jock!" Jonathan caught his breath. "Could that be Jock MacPherson, 7th, a descendant of Sir Jonathan's original overseer?"

"I wouldn't rightly know, sir. But you had better watch him; I think he is jealous."

"Jealous? Why, for heaven's sake?"

"Because you spoke to his girl Jo, sir. Under the law they will mate soon to produce another generation of supervisors."

"You're a doddering old fool!" Jonathan's face was pink.

"Yes, sir; anything else, sir?" Tom turned stiffly toward the door.

"I'm sorry, Tom. Forget it. I've got the jumps trying to figure out a way to shut down that factory. Can you suggest anything?"

"You might try locking the doors tonight, as soon as everybody is out. But...."

"Splendid idea; that might break the chain. We'll try it."

In the brief dusk after sunset they slipped across the valley and padlocked the sagging doors of the plant. Then, as they turned to retrace their steps, Jonathan grasped the 

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