“What are you going to do about the cut in wages?” Ellen asked, presently.

Granville started.  The sudden transition from personalities to generalities confused him.

“What?” he said.

Ellen repeated her question.

“I don’t know,” said Granville.  “I don’t think the boys have made up their minds.  I don’t know what they will do.  They have been weeding out union men.  I suppose the union would have something to say about it otherwise.  I don’t know what we will do.”

“I shouldn’t think there would be very much doubt as to what to do,” said Ellen.

Granville stared at her over his shoulder in a perplexed, admiring fashion.  “You mean—?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t think there would be any doubt.”

“Well, I don’t know.  It is a pretty serious thing to get out of work in midwinter for a good many of us, and as long as the union isn’t in control, other men can come in.  I don’t know.”

“I know,” said Ellen.

“You mean—?”

“I mean that I do not think it right, that it is unjust, and I believe in resisting injustice.”

“Men have resisted injustice ever since the Creation,” said Granville, in a bitter voice.

“Well, resistance can continue as long as life lasts,” returned Ellen.  Just then came a fiercer blast than ever, laden with a stinging volley of snow, and seemed to sweep the words from the girl’s mouth.  She bent before it involuntarily, and the conviction forced itself upon her that, after all, resistance to injustice might be as futile as resistance to storm, that injustice might be one of the primal forces of the world, and one of the conditions of its endurance, and yet with the conviction came the renewed resolution to resist.

“What can poor men do against capital unless they are backed up by some labor organization?” asked Granville.  “And I don’t believe there are a dozen in the factory who belong to the union.  There has been an understanding, without his ever saying so that I know of, that the old boss didn’t approve of it.  So lots of us kept out of it, we wanted work so bad.  What can we do against such odds?”

“When right is on your side, you have all the odds,” said Ellen, looking back over her snow-powdered shoulder.

“Then you would strike?”

“I wouldn’t submit.”

“Well, I don’t know how the boys feel,” said Granville.  “I suppose we’ll have to talk it over.”

“I shouldn’t need to talk it over,” said Ellen.  “You’ve gone past your house, Granville.”

“I ain’t going to let you go home alone in such a storm as this,” said Granville, in a tender voice, which he tried to make facetious.  “I wouldn’t let any girl go home alone in such a storm.”

Ellen stopped short.  “I don’t want you to go home with me, thank you, Granville,” she said.  “Your mother will have supper ready, and I can go just as well alone.”