“I don’t see that they lack demoralization.”

“If something isn’t done, they’ll end up by knocking in our front doors or burning us all up.”

“Let them.”

“It’s very well to say let them,” exclaimed Mr. Slocum, petulantly, “when you haven’t any front door to be knocked in!”

“But I have you and Margaret to consider, if there were actual danger.  When anything like violence threatens, there’s an honest shoulder for every one of the hundred and fifty muskets in the armory.”

“Those muskets might get on the wrong shoulders.”

“That isn’t likely.  You do not seem to know, sir, that there is a strong guard at the armory day and night.”

“I was not aware of that.”

“It is a fact all the same,” said Richard; and Mr. Slocum went away easier in his mind, and remained so—­two or three hours.

On the eighth, ninth, and tenth days the clouds lay very black along the horizon.  The marble workers, who began to see their mistake, were reproaching the foundry men with enticing them into to coalition, and the spinners were hot in their denunciations of the molders.  Ancient personal antagonisms that had been slumbering started to their feet.  Torrini fell out of favor, and in the midst of one of his finest perorations uncomplimentary missiles, selected from the animal kingdom, had been thrown at him.  The grand torchlight procession on the night of the ninth culminated in a disturbance, in which many men got injured, several badly, and the windows of Brackett’s bakery were stove in.  A point of light had pierced the darkness,—­the trades were quarreling among themselves!

The selectmen had sworn in special constables among the citizens, and some of the more retired streets were now patrolled after dark, for there had been threats of incendiarism.

Bishop’s stables burst into flames one midnight,—­whether fired intentionally or accidentally was not known; but the giant bellows at Dana’s Mills was slit and two belts were cut at the Miantowona Iron Works that same night.

At this juncture a report that out-of-town hands were coming to replace the strikers acted on the public mind like petroleum on fire.  A large body of workmen assembled near the railway station,—­to welcome them.  There was another rumor which caused the marble workers to stare at each other aghast.  It was to the effect that Mr. Slocum, having long meditated retiring from business, had now decided to do so, and was consulting with Wyndham, the keeper of the green-house, about removing the division wall and turning the marble yard into a peach garden.  This was an unlooked-for solution of the difficulty.  Stillwater without any Slocum’s Marble Yard was chaos come again.

“Good Lord, boys!” cried Piggott, “if Slocum should do that!”