Meanwhile, Snelling’s bar had been suppressed by the authorities, and a posse of policemen, borrowed from South Millville, occupied the premises.  Knots of beetle-browed men, no longer in holiday gear, but chiefly in their shirt-sleeves, collected from time to time at the head of the main street, and glowered threateningly at the single policeman pacing the porch of the tavern.  The Stillwater Grays were under arms in the armory over Dundon’s drugstore.  The thoroughfare had ceased to be safe for any one, and Margaret’s merciful errands were necessarily brought to an end.  How the poor creatures who had depended on her bounty now continued to exist was a sorrowful problem.

Matters were at this point, when on the morning of the thirteenth day Richard noticed the cadaverous face of a man peering into the yard through the slats of the main gate.  Richard sauntered down there, with his hands in his pockets.  The man was old Giles, and with him stood Lumley and Peterson, gazing thoughtfully at the sign outside,—­

NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS.

The roughly lettered clapboard, which they had heedlessly passed a thousand times, seemed to have taken a novel significance to them.

Richard.  What’s wanted there?

Giles. [Very affably.] We was lookin’ round for a job, Mr. Shackford.

Richard.  We are not taking on any hands at present.

Giles.  Didn’t know but you was.  Somebody said you was.

Richard.  Somebody is mistaken.

Giles.  P’rhaps to-morrow, or nex’ day?

Richard.  Rather doubtful, Giles.

Giles. [Uneasily.] Mr. Slocum ain’t goin’ to give up business, is he?

Richard.  Why shouldn’t he, if it doesn’t pay?  The business is carried on for his amusement and profit; when the profit stops it won’t be amusing any longer.  Mr. Slocum is not going to run the yard for the sake of the Marble Workers’ Association.  He would rather drive a junk-cart.  He might be allowed to steer that himself.

Giles.  Oh!

Richard.  Good-morning, Giles.

Gikles.  ‘Mornin’, Mr. Shackford.

Richard rushed back to Mr. Slocum.

“The strike is broken, sir!”

“What do you mean?”

“The thing has collapsed!  The tide is turning, and has washed in a lot of dead wood!"

“Thank God!” cried Mr. Slocum.

An hour or so later a deputation of four, consisting of Stevens, Denyven, Durgin, and Piggott, waited upon Mr. Slocum in his private office, and offered, on behalf of all the departments, to resume work at the old rates.

Mr. Slocum replied that he had not objected to the old rates, but the new, and that he accepted their offer—­conditionally.

“You have overlooked one point, Mr. Stevens.”

“Which one, sir?”

“The apprentices.”