JONAH STARTS ON HIS OWN It was Monday morning.

Hans Paasch was at his bench cleaning up the dirt and litter of last week, setting the tools in order at one end of the bench, while he swept it clear of the scraps of leather that had gathered through the week.

Then he set the heavy iron lasts on their shelves, where they looked like a row of amputated feet.

The shining knives and irons lay in order, ready to hand.

A light cloud of dust from the broom made him sneeze, and he strewed another handful of wet tea-leaves on the floor.