When I was so arrogant as to say to the editor of The State, the leading paper in South Carolina, that I hoped my article might aid the cause, I made an error clearly, for he replied: 

“We need no aid.  The people of South Carolina are aroused to the horror and will cure it themselves.”

Georgia is not roused to the horror; Alabama is stirring actively; but the Northerners who own these mills—­the capitalists, the manufacturers, the men who are building up a reputation for the wealth of South Carolina and Alabama mills, are the least aroused of all.  We must believe that many directors of these mills are ignorant of the state of affairs, and that those who are enlightened willingly blind their eyes.

The mill prospectuses are humourous when read by the investigator.  We are told “labour-unions cut no figure here!”

Go at night through the mills with the head of the Labour Federation and with the instigator of the first strikes in this district—­with men who are the brain and fiber of the labour organization, and see the friendly looks flash forth, see the understanding with which they are greeted all through certain mills.  Consider that not 200 miles away at the moment are 22,000 labourers on strike.  Then greet these statements with a smile!

* * * * *

On my return to the North I made an especial effort to see my New England friend.  We lunched together this time, and at the end of the meal her three little children fluttered in to say a friendly word.  I looked at them, jealous for their little defrauded fellows, whose twelve-hour daily labour served to purchase these exquisite clothes and to heap with dainties the table before us.  But I was nevertheless rejoiced to see once again the forms of real childhood for whom air and freedom and wealth were doing blessed tasks.  When we were alone I drew for my friend as well as I could pictures of what I had seen.  She leaned forward, took a brandied cherry from the dish in front of her, ate it delicately and dipped her fingers in the finger-bowl; then she said: 

“Dear friend, I am going to surprise you very much.”

I waited, and felt that it would be difficult to surprise me with a tale of a Southern mill.

“Those little children—­love the mill! They like to work.  It’s a great deal better for them to be employed than for them to run the streets!”

She smiled over her argument, and I waited.

“Do you know,” she continued, “that I believe they are really very happy.”

She had well presented her argument.  She had said she would surprise me—­and she did.

“You will not feel it a breach of affection and hospitality if I print what you say?” I asked her.  “It’s only fair that the capitalist’s view should be given here and there first hand.  You own one-half the mill in ——­, Carolina?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think of a model mill with only nine hours a day labour, holidays and all nights free, schools, where education is enforced by the State; reading-rooms open as well as churches—­amusement halls, music, recreation and pleasure, as well as education and religion?”