The two girls walked on, while the men lingered behind to talk.

“Do you suppose it is true, Abby?” asked Ellen.

“I don’t know.  I should, if it wasn’t for that Lee fellow.  I can’t bear him.  And that Nahum Beals, I believe he’s half mad.”

“I feel the same way about him,” said Ellen; “but think what it would mean, fifteen per cent. less on their wages.”

“It doesn’t mean so much for those young fellows, except Willy Jones; he’s got enough on his shoulders.”

“No, but ever so many of the lasters have large families.”

“I hope they don’t drag Willy Jones into it,” said Abby.  She looked back as she spoke.  Willy, in the little knot of men, was looking after her, and their eyes met.  Abby colored.

“It’s a shame to dock his wages,” she said.

“Whose—­Willy Jones’s?”

“Yes.  I hope he won’t get into any trouble.  I can’t bear that Lee.”

“Still, to dock their wages fifteen per cent.,” said Ellen, thoughtfully.

“What right has Mr. Lloyd?”

“I suppose he’d say he has the right because he has the capital.”

“I don’t see why that gives him the right.”

“You’d better go and talk to him,” said Abby.  “As for me, I made up my mind when I went to work in the shop that I’d got to be a bond-slave, all but my soul.  That can kick free, thank the Lord.”

“I didn’t make up my mind to it,” said Ellen.  “I am not going to be a slave in any way, and I am not going to approve of others being slaves.”

“You think they ought to strike?”

“Yes, if it is true that Mr. Lloyd is going to dock their wages, but I don’t feel sure that it is true.  Mr. Beals is a queer man.  Sometimes I have thought he was dangerous.”

Chapter XLII

Tuesday evening was one of those marvellously clear atmospheres of autumn which seem to be clearer from the contrast to the mists of the recent summer.  The stars swarmed out in unnumbered hosts.

“Seems to me I never saw so many stars,” one would say to another.  The air had the sharp cleave of the frost in it.  Everything was glittering with a white rime—­the house roofs, and the levels of fields on the outskirts of the little city.

Ellen had an errand down-town that evening, and she wrapped herself up warmly, putting on a fur collar which she had not worn since the winter before.  She felt strangely nervous and disturbed as she set out.

“Don’t you want your father to go with you?” asked Fanny, for in some occult fashion the girl’s perturbation seemed to be communicated to her.  She followed her to the door.

“Seems kind of lonesome for you to go alone,” she said, anxiously.

“As if I minded!  Why, it is as bright as day with the electric-lights, and there are houses almost all the way,” laughed Ellen.

“Your father could go with you, or he could go for you.”