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"Come here, John Douce."

The two men inspected and consulted together.

"She takes her firing too hard."

"Aye . . . 'tis in the bore . . . Simeon Parnell was the artificer here. Sim, come up."

They parleyed round the gun. Charles Alard knew as much about the casting of ordnance as any of his men. Twenty-five years ago he had known nothing. He had come over from France quite ignorant of iron-smelting and iron-casting, and if John Douce had resented the loss of his proprietorship and taken himself off, he would probably know nothing still. But Douce loved iron as some men love gold, and rather than leave Conster Furnace he would stay as an underling, an indispensable underling. At first he had not meant to show anything to his employer, but he was won over by Alard's interest in the work. Here was another man who loved iron; and between them they had kept the furnace in prosperity, with the help of the Dutch wars. Now prosperity was threatened by the failure of the timber supply; but they worked on, knowing that though the end was certain, they themselves would not live to see it.