This was evidently the young fellow who could "do anything that could be done with wood and iron." She was very sorry to disturb him, but could he tell her how long it would be before the wagon could be brought up and mended?
He could not say that until he himself saw what was to be done; if it was only a matter of the wheel he could fix it up in a few moments; if, as he had been told, it was a case of twisted or bent axle, it would take longer, but it would be here very soon.

Ah, then, would he let her wait here, as she was very anxious to know at once, and it was much cooler than in the shed?
Certainly; he would go over and bring her a bench.

But here she begged he wouldn't trouble himself, she could sit anywhere comfortably.
The lower end of the work-bench was covered with clean and odorous shavings; she lightly brushed them aside and, with a youthful movement, swung herself to a seat upon it, supporting herself on one hand as she leaned towards him.

She could thus see that his eyes were of a light-yellowish brown, like clarified honey, with a singular look of clear concentration in them, which, however, was the same whether turned upon his work, the surrounding grain, or upon her.

This, and his sublime unconsciousness of the smudge across his face and his blackened hands, made her wonder if the man who could do everything with wood and iron was above doing anything with water.