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looking for,” Mr. Galloway said, more to himself than to any of us. He folded the thin stack into thirds and tucked the papers into a pocket of his suit jacket. “Come along, ladies. You’re going to be stuck with me as your tour guide, but we can’t remain long. Since Josef isn’t here, I want to return to my office and complete some unfinished tasks.” Mr. Galloway looked at the sturdy worker. “Tell Josef I’ll stop to see him on my way home this evening.”
    The man nodded. “I’ll be sure and do that. And I can show the ladies around, if you like.”
    “Thanks, Ed, but I’m sure you have work that requires your expert attention.” Once the worker headed down the hallway, Mr. Galloway edged around the desk and motioned us toward the door. “If you ladies are ready, we’ll begin our tour.”
    Augusta lifted her nose in the air and sniffed. “What is that awful odor?”
    “I think that’s the glue you smell,” her father replied.
    My excitement mounted and I came alongside Mr. Galloway. “They create the carousel animals in pieces and then glue them together?”
    He gave an appreciative nod. “You’re beginning to understand. The head and neck are carved from a large piece of wood by one of the master carvers.” He pointed toward a pile of legs and tails surrounding one of the worktables. “The legs and tails are carved separately by journeymen carvers. The apprentices form the body by gluing pieces of lumber into a big box with a hole in the center.” He pointed to pieces of wood held by the metal clamps. “The glue must be perfectly dry before the pieces can be sanded and readied for carving of the body. When all of the pieces of the animal have been carved, they’re assembled with wooden dowels and more of that hot glue that caused Augusta to wrinkle her nose.” Mr. Galloway grinned at his daughter. “Once the horse is assembled, the master carver adjusts the neck and mane to the body with some final carving techniques.”
    “I don’t know why the glue stinks. Are you certain it isn’t something else?” Augusta asked.
    Her father chuckled. “The glue is made from animal hides. We have to keep it heated at all times or it won’t secure the wood. After a while you don’t notice the smell.”
    “I don’t believe that for a minute. Do you, Carrie?”
    “Hmm? What did you say?”
    Augusta gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’re daydreaming again.”
    “No, it’s just that there’s so much to see. I don’t want to miss anything.”
    The room was alive with the sounds of men’s voices, the thuds of mallets striking wood, and the clank of metal clamps being lifted to hold the pieces of wood in place. Men wearing heavy canvas aprons stood at large workbenches fashioned from heavy planks held aloft by thick slanted legs. It appeared the tables had been proportioned at varying heights depending on the size of each man. They were carving on the large chunks of glued-together wood, shaping horses’ heads or bodies. Tails, both carved and horsehair, rested on benches across the room. Heads in varying degrees of completion sat on the floor awaiting the carver’s finishing touches.
    Carving tools of every shape and size hung in individual racks beside each carver’s station. Sunlight danced off the gleaming blades.
    I hurried forward and came alongside Mr. Galloway. “Carving requires many more tools than I expected.”
    He stopped and waved me toward one of the older men. “This is Mr. DiVito, one of our master carvers. “Miss Brouwer was admiring your carving tools, Gus.”
    The older man gave a curt nod. “Is not all I have.” He pointed to a wooden tool chest beneath his bench. “All mine—nearly one hundred. Took me a lot of years to buy them. A workman is only as good as the tools he owns.”
    I nodded and smiled at him. I’d heard my father say the same about his paintbrushes.
    Observing the various stages, from simple pieces of poplar and basswood to beautifully