Mrs. Ridge had been appointed forewoman.  Just before noon she reported to Mary.

“There’ll be a lot more tomorrow,” she said.  “When these get home, they’ll do nothing but talk about it; and I keep hearing of women who are fixing things up at home so they can come in the morning.  So don’t you worry, Miss Spencer, this strike isn’t going to hurt you none, but—­Ha-ha-ha!—­Excuse me,” she said, suddenly checking her mirth again and looking very red and solemn.

“I like to hear you laugh,” said Mary, “but what’s it about this time!”

“Mrs. Strauss is here.  I told you she would be.  She left her husband home to do the housework and today is washday—­that’s the funny part of it!”

Whatever Mrs. Ridge’s ability as a critic of humour might be, at least she was a good prophet.  Nearly all the machines were busy the next morning, and new arrivals kept dropping in throughout the day.

Mary began to breathe easy, but not for long.

“I don’t want to be a gloom,” reported Archey, “but the lathe hands are trying to get the grinders to walk out.  They say the men must stick together, or they’ll all lose their jobs.”

She looked thoughtful at that.

“I think we had better get the nursery ready,” she said.  “Let’s go and find the painters.”

It was a pleasant place—­that nursery—­with its windows overlooking the river and the lawn.  In less than half an hour the painters had spread their sheets and the teamster had gone for a load of white sand.  The cots and mattresses were put in the sun to air.  The toys had been stored in the nurse’s room.  These were now brought out and inspected.

“I think I’ll have the other end of the room finished off as a kindergarten,” said Mary.  “Then we’ll be able to take care of any children up to school age, and their mothers won’t have to worry a bit.”

She showed him where she wished the partition built, and as he ran his rule across the distance, she noticed a scar across the knuckles of his right hand.

“That’s where I dressed it, that time,” she thought.  “Isn’t life queer!  He was in France for more than a year, but the only scar that I can see is the one he got—­that morning—­”

Something of this may have shown in her eyes for when Archey straightened and looked at her, he blushed ("He’ll never get over that!” thought Mary)—­and hurried off to find the carpenters.

These preparations were completed only just in time.

On Thursday she went to New York to select her kindergarten equipment.  On Friday a truck arrived at the factory, filled with diminutive chairs, tables, blackboards, charts, modelling clay, building blocks, and more miscellaneous items than I can tell you.  And on Saturday morning the grinders sent a committee to the office that they could no longer labour on bearings which had passed through the hands of women workers.

Mary tried to argue with them.