MARY MINDS HER BUSINESS

 BY GEORGE WESTON

Author of "Oh, Mary, Be Careful, " "The Apple-Tree Girl, " and "You NeverSaw Such a Girl. "

 1920

To Karl Edwin HarrimanOne of the Noblest of them AllG. W. 

MARY MINDS HER BUSINESS

So that you may understand my heroine, I am going to write a preface andtell you about her forebears. 

In the latter part of the seventeenth century, there was a youngblacksmith in our part of the country named Josiah Spencer. He had aquick eye, a quick hand and a quicker temper. 

Because of his quick eye he married a girl named Mary McMillan. Becauseof his quick hand, he was never in need of employment. And because of hisquick temper, he left the place of his birth one day and travelled westuntil he came to a ford which crossed the Quinebaug River. 

There, before the week was over, he had bought from Oeneko, the Indianchief, five hundred acres on each side of the river--land in those daysbeing the cheapest known commodity. Hewing his own timber and making hisown hardware, he soon built a shop of his own, and the ford being on themain road between Hartford and the Providence Plantations, it wasn't longbefore he had plenty of business. 

Above the ford was a waterfall. Josiah put in a wheel, a grist mill and asaw mill. 

By that time Mary, his wife, had presented him with one of the twogreatest gifts that a woman can ever bestow, and presently a sign waspainted over the shop:

JOSIAH SPENCER & SON

In course of time young Josiah made his first horse-shoe and old Josiahmade his last. 

On a visit to New Amsterdam, the young man had already fallen in lovewith a girl named Matilda Sturtevant. They were married in 1746 and hadone of those round old-fashioned families when twelve children seemed tobe the minimum and anything less created comment. 

Two of the boys were later killed in the Revolution, another becameSupreme Court justice, but the likeliest one succeeded to the business ofJosiah Spencer & Son, which was then making a specialty of buildingwagons--and building them so well that the shop had to be increased insize again and again until it began to have the appearance of quite arespectable looking factory. 

The third Spencer to own the business married a Yankee--PatienceBabcock--but Patience's only son married a French-Canadian girl--for eventhen the Canadians were drifting down into our part of the country. 

So by that time, as you can see--and this is an important part of mypreface--the Spencer stock was a thrifty mixture of Yankee, Irish, Scotch, Dutch and French blood--although you would never have guessed itif you had simply seen the name of one Josiah Spencer following anotheras the owner of the Quinebaug Wagon Works. 

In the same year that the fourth Josiah Spencer succeeded to thebusiness, a bridge was built to take the place of the ford and thewaterfall was fortified by a dam. By that time a regular little town hadformed around the factory. 

The town was called New Bethel. 

It was at this stage of their history that the Spencers grew proud, making a hobby of their family tree and even possibly breathing a sighover vanished coats-of-arms. 

The fifth of the line, for instance, married a Miss Copleigh of Boston. He built a big house on Bradford Hill and brought her home in a tally-ho. The number of her trunks and the size of her crinolines are spoken of tothis day in our part of the country--also her manner of closing her eyeswhen she talked, and holding her little finger at an angle when drinkingher tea. She had only one child--fortunately a son. 

This son was the grandfather of our heroine. So you see we are gettingwarm at last. 

The grandfather of our heroine was probably the greatest Spencer of themall. 

Under his ownership the factory was rebuilt of brick and stone. Hedeveloped the town both socially and industrially until New Bethel badefair to become one of the leading cities in the state. He developed thewater power by building a great dam above the factory and forming a lakenearly ten miles long. He also developed an artillery wheel which hasprobably rolled along every important road in the civilized world. 

Indeed he was so engaged in these enterprises that he didn't marry untilhe was well past forty-five. Then one spring, going to Charlestown to buyhis season's supply of pine, he came back with a bride from one of theoldest, one of the most famous families in all America. 

There were three children to this marriage--one son and two daughters. 

I will tell you about the daughters in my first chapter--two delightfulold maids who later had a baby between them--but first I must tell youabout the seventh and last Josiah. 

In his youth he was wild. 

This may have been partly due to that irreducible minimum of Original Sinwhich (they say) is in all of us--and partly due to his cousin Stanley. 

Now I don't mean to say for a moment that Stanley Woodward was a naturalborn villain. I don't think people are born that way at all. At first theidea probably struck him as a sort of a joke. "If anything happens toyoung Josiah, " I can imagine him thinking to himself with a grin, "I mayown this place myself some day.... Who knows?"

And from that day forward, he unconsciously borrowed from the spiders--ifyou can imagine a smiling spider--and began to spin. 

Did young Josiah want to leave the office early? Stanley smilingly didhis work for him. 

Was young Josiah late the next morning? Stanley smilingly hid hisabsence. 

Did young Josiah yearn for life and adventure? Stanley spun a few morewebs and they met that night in Brigg's livery stable. 

It didn't take much of this--unexpectedly little in fact--the last of theSpencers resembling one of those giant firecrackers of bygone days--thebigger the cracker, the shorter the fuse. Some say he married an actress, which was one of the things which were generally whispered when I was aboy. A Russian they said she was--which never failed to bring anothergasp. Others say she was a beautiful bare-back rider in a circus and woretights--which was another of the things which used to be whispered when Iwas a boy, and not even then unless the children had first been sent fromthe room and only bosom friends were present. 

Whatever she was, young Josiah disappeared with her, and no one saw himagain until his mother died in the mansion on the hill. Some say she diedof a broken heart, but I never believed in that, for if sorrow couldbreak the human heart I doubt if many of us would be alive to smile atnext year's joys. However that may be, I do believe that young Josiahthought that he was partly responsible for his mother's death. He turnedup at the funeral with a boy seven years old; and bit by bit we learnedthat he was separated from his wife and that the court had given himcustody of their only child. 

As you have probably noticed, there are few who can walk so straight asthose who have once been saved from the crooked path. There are few sointolerant of fire as those poor, charred brands who have once beensnatched from the burning. 

After his mother's funeral young Spencer settled down to a life ofatonement and toil, till first his father and then even his cousinStanley were convinced of the change which had taken place in theone-time black sheep of the family. 

By that time the patents on the artillery wheel had expired and acompetition had set in which was cutting down the profits to zero. YoungJosiah began experimenting on a new design which finally resulted in apatent upon a combination ball and roller bearing. This was such animprovement upon everything which had gone before, that gradually Spencer& Son withdrew from the manufacture of wagons and wheels and re-designedtheir whole factory to make bearings. 

This wasn't done in a month or two, nor even in a year or two. Indeed thereturned prodigal grew middle aged in the process. He also saw thepossibilities of harnessing the water power above the factory to makeelectric current. This current was sold so cheaply that more and morefactories were drawn to New Bethel until the fame of the city's productswere known wherever the language of commerce was spoken. 

At the height of his son's success, old Josiah died, joining those silentmembers of the firm who had gone before. I often like to imagine thewhole seven of them, ghostly but inquisitive, following the subsequentstrange proceedings with noiseless steps and eyes that missed nothing;and in particular keeping watch upon the last living Josiah Spencer--aheavy, powerfully built man with a look of melancholy in his eyes and away of sighing to himself as though asking a question, and then answeringit with a muffled "Yes... Yes... " This may have been partly due to thepast and partly due to the future, for the son whom he had brought homewith him began to worry him--a handsome young rascal who simply didn'thave the truth in him at times, and who was buying presents for girlsalmost before he was out of short trousers. 

His name was Paul--"Paul Vionel Olgavitch Spencer, " he sometimes proudlyrecited it, and whenever we heard of that we thought of his mother. 

The older Paul grew, the handsomer he grew. And the handsomer he grew, the wilder he became and the less the truth was in him. At times he wouldgo all right for a while, although he was always too fond of the riverfor his aunts' peace of mind. 

At a bend below the dam he had found a sheltered basin, covered withgrass and edged with trees. And there he liked to lie, staring up intothe sky and dreaming those dreams of youth and adventure which are theheritage of us all. 

Or else he would sit and watch the river, although he couldn't do itlong, for its swift movement seemed to fascinate him and excite him, andto arouse in him the desire to follow it--to follow it wherever it went. These were his quieter moods. 

Ordinarily there was something gipsy-like, something Neck-or-Nothingabout him. A craving for excitement seemed to burn under him like a fire. The full progression of correction marched upon him and failed to makeimpression: arguments, orders, warnings, threats, threshings and thestoppage of funds: none of these seemed to improve him in the least. 

Josiah's two sisters did their best, but they could do nothing, either. 

"I wouldn't whip him again, Josiah, " said Miss Cordelia one night, timidly laying her hand upon her brother's arm. "He'll be all right whenhe's a little older.... You know, dear ... You were rather wild, yourself... When you were young.... Patty and I were only saying this morningthat if he takes after you, there's really nothing to worry about--"

"He's God's own punishment, " said Josiah, looking up wildly. "Iknow--things I can't tell you. You remember what I say: that boy willdisgrace us all.... "

He did. 

One morning he suddenly and simply vanished with the factory pay-roll andone of the office stenographers. 

In the next twelve months Josiah seemed to age at least twelve years--hiscousin Stanley watching him closely the while--and then one day came thenews that Paul Spencer had shot and killed a man, while attempting tohold him up, somewhere in British Columbia. 

If you could have seen Josiah Spencer that day you might have thoughtthat the bullet had grazed his own poor heart. 

"It's God's punishment, " he said over and over. "For seven generationsthere has been a Spencer & Son--a trust that was left to me by my fatherthat I should pass it on to my son. And what have I done... !"

Whereupon he made a gesture that wasn't far from despair--and in thatgesture, such as only those can make who know in their hearts that theyhave shot the albatross, this preface brings itself to a close and atlast my story begins. 

CHAPTER I

"Patty, " said Miss Cordelia one morning, "have you noticed Josiahlately?"

"Yes, " nodded Miss Patricia, her eyes a little brighter than they shouldhave been. 

"Do you know, " continued the other, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'mafraid--if he keeps on--the way he is--"

"Oh, no, Cordelia! You know as well as I do--there has never beenanything like that in our family. "

Nevertheless the two sisters looked at each other with awe-stricken eyes, and then their arms went around each other and they eased their hearts inthe immemorial manner. 

"You know, he worries because we are the last of the Spencers, " saidCordelia, "and the family dies with us. Even if you or I had children, Idon't think he would take it so hard--"

A wistful look passed over their faces, such as you might expect to seeon those who had repented too late and stood looking through St. Peter'sgate at scenes in which they knew they could never take a part. 

"But I am forty-eight, " sighed Cordelia. 

"And I--I am fifty--"

The two sisters had been writing when this conversation started. Theywere busy on a new generation of the Spencer-Spicer genealogy, and if youhave ever engaged on a task like that, you will know the correspondenceit requires. But now for a time their pens were forgotten and they satlooking at each other over the gatelegged table which served as desk. They were still both remarkably good-looking, though marked with thatdelicacy of material and workmanship--reminiscent of old china--whichseems to indicate the perfect type of spinster-hood. Here and there intheir hair gleamed touches of silver, and their cheeks might havereminded you of tinted apples which had lightly been kissed with thefrost. 

And so they sat looking at each other, intently, almost breathlessly, each suddenly moved by the same question and each wishing that the otherwould speak. 

For the second time it was Cordelia who broke the silence. 

"Patty--!"

"Yes, dear?" breathed Patty, and left her lips slightly parted. 

"I wonder if Josiah--is too old--to marry again! Of course, " shehurriedly added, "he is fifty-two--but it seems to me that one of theSpicers--I think it was Captain Abner Spicer--had children until he wassixty--although by a younger wife, of course. "

They looked it up and in so doing they came across an Ezra Babcock, father-in-law of the Third Josiah Spencer, who had had a son proudly bornto him in his sixty-fourth year. 

They gazed at each other then, those two maiden sisters, like twoconspirators in their precious innocence. 

"If we could find Josiah a young wife--" said the elder at last. 

"Oh, Cordelia!" breathed Patty, "if, indeed, we only could!"

Which was really how it started. 

As I think you will realize, it would be a story in itself to describethe progress of that gentle intrigue--the consultations, the gradualeliminations, the search, the abandonment of the search--(which cameimmediately after learning of two elderly gentlemen with young wives--butno children!)--the almost immediate resumption of the quest because ofJosiah's failing health--and finally then the reward of patience, the pious nudge one Sunday morning in church, the whispered "Look, Cordelia, that strange girl with the Pearsons--no, the one with the redcheeks--yes, that one!"--the exchange of significant glances, theintroduction, the invitation and last, but least, the verification of thefruitfulness of the vine. 

The girl's name was Martha Berger and her home was in California. She hadcome east to attend the wedding of her brother and was now staying withthe Pearsons a few weeks before returning west. Her age was twenty-six. She had no parents, very little money, and taught French, English andScience in the high school back home. 

"Have you any brothers or sisters!" asked Miss Cordelia, with a sideglance toward Miss Patty. 

"Only five brothers and five sisters, " laughed Martha. 

For a moment it might be said that Miss Cordelia purred. 

"Any of them married?" she continued. 

"All but me. "

"My dear! ... You don't mean to say that they have made you an auntalready?"

Martha paused with that inward look which generally accompanies mentalarithmetic. 

"Only about seventeen times, " she finally laughed again. 

When their guest had gone, the two sisters fairly danced around eachother. 

"Oh, Patty!" exulted Miss Cordelia, "I'm sure she's a fruitful vine!"

CHAPTER II

There is something inexorable in the purpose of a maiden lady--perhapsbecause she has no minor domestic troubles to distract her; and when youhave two maiden ladies working on the same problem, and both of thempossessed of wealth and unusual intelligence--!

They started by taking Martha to North East Harbor for the balance of thesummer, and then to keep her from going west in the fall, they engagedher to teach them French that winter at quite a fabulous salary. Theyalso took her to Boston and bought her some of the prettiest dressesimaginable; and the longer they knew her, the more they liked her; andthe more they liked her, the more they tried to enlist her sympathies inbehalf of poor Josiah--and the more they tried to throw their brotherinto Martha's private company. 

"Look here, " he said one day, when his two sisters were pushing him toohard. "What's all this excitement about Martha? Who is she, anyway?"

"Why, don't you know!" Cordelia sweetly asked him, and drawing a fullbreath she added: "Martha--is--your--future--wife--"

If you had been there, you would have been pardoned for thinking that thelast of the Spencers had suddenly discovered that he was sitting upon aremonstrative bee. 

The two sisters smiled at him--rather nervously, it is true, but stillthey kept their hands upon their brother's shoulders, as though they weretwo nurses soothing a patient and saying: "There, now ... The-e-e-ere ... Just be quiet and you'll feel better in a little while. "

"Yes, dear, " whispered Cordelia, her mouth ever so close to his ear. "Your future wife--and the mother of your future children--"

"Nonsense, nonsense--" muttered Josiah, breaking away quite flustered. "I'm--I'm too old--"

Almost speaking in concert they told him about Captain Abner Spencer whohad children until he was sixty, and Ezra Babcock, father-in-law of thethird Josiah Spencer, who had a son proudly born to him in hissixty-fourth year. 

"And she's such a lovely girl, " said Cordelia earnestly. "Patty and I arequite in love with her ourselves--"

"And think what it would mean to your peace of mind to have anotherson--"

"And what it would mean to Spencer & Son--!"

Josiah groaned at that. As a matter of fact he hadn't a chance to escape. His two sisters had never allowed themselves to be courted, but they musthave had their private ideas of how such affairs should be conducted, forthey took Josiah in hand and put him through his paces with a speed whichcan only be described as breathless. 

Flowers, candy, books, jewellery, a ring, the ring--the two maidensisters lived a winter of such romance that they nearly bloomed intoyouth again themselves; and whenever Josiah had the least misgiving abouta man of fifty-two marrying a girl of twenty-six, they whispered to him:"Think what it will mean to Spencer & Son--" And whenever Martha showedthe least misgivings they whispered to her: "That's only his way, mydear; you mustn't mind that. " And once Cordelia added (while Patty noddedher head): "Of course, there has to be a man at a wedding, but I want youto feel that you would be marrying us, as much as you would be marryingJosiah. You would be his wife, of course, but you would be our littlesister, too; and Patty and I would make you just as happy as we could--"

Later they were glad they had told her this. 

It was a quiet wedding and for a time nothing happened; although if youcould have seen the two maiden sisters at church on a Sunday morning, youwould have noticed that after the benediction they seemed to be prayingvery earnestly indeed--even as Sarah prayed in the temple so many yearsago. There was this curious difference, however: Sarah had prayed forherself, but these two innocent spinsters were praying for another. 

Then one morning, never to be forgotten, Martha thought to herself at thebreakfast table, "I'll tell them as soon as breakfast is over. "

But she didn't. 

She thought, "I'll take them into the garden and tell them there--"

But though she took them into the garden, somehow she couldn't tell themthere. 

"As soon as we get back into the house, " she said, "I'll tell them. "

Even then the words didn't come, and Martha sat looking out of the windowso quietly and yet with such a look of mingled fear and pride andexaltation on her face, that Cordelia suddenly seemed to divine it. 

"Oh, Martha, " she cried. "Do you--do you--do you really think--"

Miss Patty looked up, too--stricken breathless all in a moment--andquicker than I can tell it, the three of them had their arms around eachother, and tears and smiles and kisses were blended--quite in theimmemorial manner. 

CHAPTER III

"We must start sewing, " said Miss Cordelia. 

So they started sewing, Martha and the two maiden sisters, every stitch ahope, every seam the dream of a young life's journey. 

"We must think beautiful thoughts, " spoke up Miss Patty another day. 

So while they sewed, sometimes one and sometimes another read poetry, andsometimes they read the Psalms, especially the Twenty-third, andsometimes Martha played the Melody in F, or the Shower of Stars or theCinquieme Nocturne. 

"We must think brave thoughts, too, " said Miss Cordelia. 

So after that, whenever one of them came to a stirring editorial in anewspaper, or a rousing passage in a book, it was put on one side to beread at their daily sewing bee; and when these failed they read BarbaraFritchie, or Patrick Henry, or Horatio at the Bridge. 

"Do you notice how much better Josiah is looking!" whispered MissCordelia to her sister one evening. 

"A different man entirely, " proudly nodded Miss Patty. "I heard himspeaking yesterday about an addition to the factory--"

"I suppose it's because he's living in the future now--"

"Instead of in the past. But I do wish he wouldn't be quite so sure thatit's going to be a boy. I'm afraid sometimes--that perhaps he won't likeit--if it's a girl--"

They had grown beautiful as they spoke, but now they looked at each otherin silence, the same fear in both their glances. 

"Oh, Cordelia, " suddenly spoke Miss Patty. "Suppose it is a girl--!"

"Hush, dear. Remember, we must have brave thoughts. And even if the firstone is a girl, there'll be plenty of time for a boy--"

"I hadn't thought of that, " said Miss Patty. 

They smiled at each other in concert, and a faint touch of colour aroseto Miss Cordelia's slightly withered cheeks. 

"Do you know, " she said, hesitating, smiling--yes, and thrilling alittle, too--"we've had so much to do with bringing it about, thatsomehow I feel as though it's going to be _my_ baby--"

"Why, Cordelia!" whispered Miss Patty, who had been nodding throughoutthis confession. "That's exactly how I feel about it, too!"

It wasn't long after that before they began to look up names. 

"If Josiah wasn't such a family name, " said Miss Cordelia, "I'd like tocall him Basil. That means kingly or royal. " Then of course they turnedto Cordelia. Cordelia meant warm-hearted. Patricia meant royal. Marthameant the ruler of the house. 

They were pleased at these revelations. 

The week before the great event was expected, Martha had a notion oneday. She wished to visit the factory. Josiah interpreted this as thehappiest of auguries. 

"After seven generations, " was his cryptic remark, "you simply can't keepthem away. It's bred in the bone.... "

He drove Martha down to the works himself, and took her through thevarious shops, some of which were of such a length that when you stood atone end, the other seemed to vanish into distance. 

Everything went well until they reached the shipping room where atravelling crane was rolling on its tracks overhead, carrying a load ofboxes. This crane was hurrying back empty for another load, its chain andtackle swinging low, when Martha started across the room to look at oneof the boys who had caught his thumb between a hammer and a nail and wastrying to bind it with his handkerchief. The next moment the swingingtackle of the crane struck poor Martha in the back, caught in her dressand dragged her for a few horrible yards along the floor. 

That night the house on the hill had two unexpected visitors, the Angelof Death following quickly in the footsteps of the Angel of Life. 

"You poor motherless little thing, " breathed Cordelia, cuddling the babyin her arms. "Look, Josiah, " she said, trying to rouse her brother. "Look... It's smiling at you--"

But Josiah looked up with haggard eyes that saw nothing, and could onlyrepeat the sentence which he had been whispering to himself, "It's God'sown punishment--God's own punishment--there are things--I can't tellyou--"

The doctor came to him at last and, after he was quieter, the two sisterswent away, carrying their precious burden with them. 

"Wasn't there a girl's name which means bitterness?" asked Miss Cordelia, suddenly stopping. 

"Yes, " said Miss Patty. "That's what 'Mary' means. "

The two sisters looked at each other earnestly--looked at each other andnodded. 

"We'll call her 'Mary' then, " said Miss Cordelia. 

And that is how my heroine got her name. 

CHAPTER IV

I wish I had time to tell you in the fulness of detail how those twospinsters brought up Mary, but there is so much else to put before youthat I dare not dally here. Still, I am going to find time to say thatall the love and affection which Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty had everwoven into their fancies were now showered down upon Mary--falling softlyand sweetly like petals from two full-blown roses when stirred by abreeze from the south. 

When she was a baby, Mary's nose had an upward tilt. 

One morning after Miss Cordelia had bathed her (which would have remindedyou of a function at the court of the Grand Monarque, with its TowelHolder, Soap Holder, Temperature Taker and all and sundry) she suddenlysent the two maids and the nurse away and, casting dignity to the winds, she lifted Mary in a transport of love which wouldn't be denied anylonger, and pretended to bite the end of the poor babe's nose off. 

"Oh, I know it's candy, " she said, mumbling away and hugging the blessedchild. "It's even got powdered sugar on it--"

"That's talcum powder, " said Miss Patty, watching with a jealous eye. 

"Powdered sugar, yes, " persisted Miss Cordelia, mumbling on. "I know. AndI know why her nose turns up at the end, too. That naughty Miss Pattywashed it with yellow soap one night when I wasn't looking--"

"I never, never did!" protested Miss Patty, all indignation in a moment. 

"Washed it with yellow soap, yes, " still persisted Miss Cordelia, "andmade it shine like a star. And that night, when Mary lay in her bed, themoon looked through the window and saw that little star twinkling there, and the moon said 'Little star! Little star! What are you doing there inMary's bed? You come up here in the sky and twinkle where you belong!'And all night long, Mary's little nose tried to get up to the moon, andthat's why it turns up at the end--" And then in one grand finale ofcannibalistic transport, Miss Cordelia concluded, "Oh, I could eat herup!"

But it was Miss Patty's turn then, because although Cordelia bathed thechild, it was the younger sister's part to dress her. So Miss Patty puther arms out with an authority which wouldn't take "No" for an answer, and if you had been in the next room, you would then have heard--

"Oh, where have you been My pretty young thing--?"

Which is a rather active affair, especially where the singer shows howshe danced her a dance for the Dauphin of France. By that time you won'tbe surprised when I tell you that Miss Patty's cheeks had a downrightglow on them--and I think her heart had something of the same glow, too, because, seating herself at last to dress our crowing heroine, she beamedover to her sister and said (though somewhat out of breath) "Isn't itnice!"

This, of course, was all strictly private. 

In public, Mary was brought up with maidenly deportment. You would neverdream, for instance, that she was ever tickled with a turkey feather(which Miss Cordelia kept for the purpose) or that she had ever beenatomized all over with Lily of the Valley (which Miss Patty never didagain because Ma'm Maynard, the old French nurse, smelled it and told themaids). But always deep down in the child was an indefinable qualitywhich puzzled her two aunts. 

As Mary grew older, this quality became clearer. 

"I know what it is, " said Miss Cordelia one night. "She has a mind of herown. Everything she sees or hears: she tries to reason it out. "

I can't tell you why, but Miss Patty looked uneasy. 

"Only this morning, " continued Miss Cordelia, "I heard Ma'm Maynardtelling her that there wasn't a prettier syringa bush anywhere than theone under her bedroom window. Mary turned to her with those eyes ofhers--you know the way she does--'Ma'm Maynard, ' she said, 'have you seenall the other s'inga bushes in the world?' And only yesterday I said toher, 'Mary, you shouldn't try to whistle. It isn't nice. ' She gave methat look--you know--and said, 'Then let us learn to whistle, AuntT'delia, and help to make it nice. '"

"Imagine you and I saying things like that when we were girls, " said MissPatty, still looking troubled. 

"Yes, yes, I know. And yet... I sometimes think that if you and I hadbeen brought up a little differently.... "

They were both quiet then for a time, each consulting her memories ofhopes long past. 

"Just the same, " said Miss Patty at last, "there are worse things in theworld than being old-fashioned. "

In which I think you would have agreed with her, if you could have seenMary that same evening. 

At the time of which I am now writing she was six years old--a ratherquiet, solemn child--though she had a smile upon occasions, which waswell worth going to see. 

For some time back she had heard her aunts speaking of "Poor Josiah!" Shehad always stood in awe of her father who seemed taller and gaunter thanever. Mary seldom saw him, but she knew that every night after dinner hewent to his den and often stayed there (she had heard her aunts say)until long after midnight. 

"If he only had some cheerful company, " she once heard Aunt Cordeliaremark. 

"But that's the very thing he seems to shun since poor Martha died, "sighed Miss Patty, and dropping her voice, never dreaming for a momentthat Mary was listening, she added with another sigh, "If there had onlybeen a boy, too!"

All these things Mary turned over in her mind, as few but children can, especially when they have dreamy eyes and often go a long time withoutsaying anything. And on the same night when Aunt Patty had come tothe conclusion that there are worse things in the world than beingold-fashioned, Mary waited until she knew that dinner was over and then, escaping Ma'm Maynard, she stole downstairs, her heart skipping a beatnow and then at the adventure before her. She passed through the hall andthe library like a determined little ghost and then, gently turning theknob, she opened the study door. 

Her father was sitting at his desk. 

At the sound of the opening door he turned and stared at the apparitionwhich confronted him. Mary had closed the door and stood with her back toit, screwing up her courage for the last stage of her journey. 

And in truth it must have taken courage, for there was something in oldJosiah's forbidding brow and solitary mien which would have chilled thepurpose of any child. It may have been this which suddenly brought thetears to Mary's eyes, or it may have been that her womanly little breastguessed the loneliness in her father's heart. Whatever it was, sheunsteadily crossed the room, her sight blurred but her plan as steadfastas ever, and a moment later she was climbing on Josiah's knee, her armstight around his neck, sobbing as though it would shake her little frameto pieces. 

What passed between those two, partly in speech but chiefly in silencewith their wet cheeks pressed together, I need not tell you; but whenMa'm Maynard came searching for her charge and stood quite open-mouthedin the doorway, Josiah waved her away, his finger on his lip, and laterhe carried Mary upstairs himself--and went back to his study without aword, though blowing his nose in a key which wasn't without significance. 

And nearly every night after that, when dinner was over, Mary made avisit to old Josiah's study downstairs; and one Saturday morning when hewas leaving for the factory, he heard the front door open and shut behindhim and there stood Mary, her little straw bonnet held under her chinwith an elastic. In the most matter of fact way she slipped her fingersinto his hand. He hesitated, but woman-like she pulled him on. The nextminute they were walking down the drive together. 

As they passed the end of the house, he remembered the words which he hadonce used to his sisters, "After seven generations you simply can't keepthem away. It's bred in the bone. "

A thrill ran over him as he looked at the little figure by his side. 

"If she had only been a boy!" he breathed. 

At the end of the drive he stopped. 

"You must go back now, dear. "

"No, " said Mary and tried to pull him on. 

For as long as it might take you to count five, Josiah stood thereirresolute, Mary's fingers pulling him one way and the memory of poorMartha's fate pulling him the other. 

"And yet, " he thought, "she's bound to see it sometime. Perhaps betternow--before she understands--than later--"

He lifted her and sat her on his arm. 

"Now, listen, little woman, " he said as they gravely regarded each other. "This is important. If I take you this morning, will you promise to be agood girl, and sit in the office, and not go wandering off by yourself?Will you promise me that?"

This, too, may have been heredity, going back as far as Eve: Stillgravely regarding him she nodded her head in silence and promised himwith a kiss. He set her down, her hand automatically slipping into hispalm again, and together they walked to the factory. 

The road made a sharp descent to the interval by the side of the river, almost affording a bird's-eye view of the buildings below--lines ofworkshops of an incredible length, their ventilators like the helmets ofan army of giants. 

A freight train was disappearing into one of the warehouses. Long linesof trucks stood on the sidings outside. Wisps of steam arose in everydirection, curious, palpitating. 

From up the river the roar of the falls could just be heard while fromthe open windows of the factory came that humming note of industry which, more than anything else, is like the sound which is sometimes made by ahive of bees, immediately before a swarm. 

It was a scene which always gave Josiah a well-nigh oppressive feelingof pride and punishment--pride that all this was his, that he wasone of those Spencers who had risen so high above the common run ofman--punishment that he had betrayed the trust which had been handed downto him, that he had broken the long line of fathers and sons which hadsent the Spencer reputation, with steadily increasing fame, to thecorners of the earth. As he walked down the hall that Saturday morning, his sombre eyes missing no detail, he felt Mary's fingers tighten aroundhis hand and, glancing down at her, he saw that her attention, too, wasengrossed by the scene below, her eyes large and bright as children's arewhen they listen to a fairy tale. 

Arrived at the office, he placed her in a chair by the side of his desk, and you can guess whether she missed anything of what went on. Clerks, business callers, heads of departments came and went. All had a smile forMary who gravely smiled in return and straightway became her dignifiedlittle self again. 

"When is Mr. Woodward expected back?" Josiah asked a clerk. 

"On the ten-thirty, from Boston. "

This was Stanley Woodward, Josiah's cousin--Cousin Stanley of thespider's web whom you have already met. He was now the general manager ofthe factory, and had always thought that fate was on his side since thenight he had heard of Martha's death and that the child she left behindher was a girl. 

Josiah glanced at his watch. 

"Time to make the rounds, " he said and, lifting Mary on his arm, he leftthe office and started through the plant. 

And, oh, how Mary loved it--the forests of belts, whirring and twistinglike live things, the orderly lines of machine tools, each doing its workwith more than human ingenuity and precision, the enormous pressesreminding her of elephants stamping out pieces of metal, the grinderswhich sang to her, the drilling machines which whirred to her, thepolishing machines which danced for her, the power hammers which bowed toher. Yes, and better than all was the smile that each man gave her, smiles that came from the heart, for all the quiet respect thataccompanied them. 

"It's his daughter, " they whispered as soon as Josiah was out of hearing. Here and there one would stop smiling and say, "I remember the day hebrought her mother through--"

At the end of one of the workshops, Mr. Spencer looked at his watchagain. 

"We'd better get back to the office, " he said. "Tired, dear?"

In a rapture of denial, she kicked her little toes against his side. 

"Bred in the bone... " he mused. "Eh, if she had only been a boy... !" Butthat was past all sighing for, and in the distance he saw Cousin Stanley, just back from Boston, evidently coming to find him. 

Mary, too, was watching the approaching figure. She had sometimes seenhim at the house and had formed against him one of those instinctivedislikes which few but children know. As Stanley drew near she turned herhead and buried her face against her father's shoulder. 

"Good news?" asked Josiah. 

"Good news, of course, " said Stanley, speaking as an irresistible forcemight speak, if it were endowed with a tongue. "When Spencer & Son startout for a thing, they get it. " You could tell that what he meant was"When Stanley Woodward starts out for a thing, he gets it. " His elbowssuddenly grew restless. "It will take a lot of money, " he added. "Ofcourse we shall have to increase the factory here--"

Still Mary kept her face hidden against her father's shoulder. 

"Got the little lady with you, I see. "

"Yes; I'm afraid I've tired her out. "

A murmur arose from his shoulder. 

"What?" said Josiah. "Not tired? Then turn around and shake hands withUncle Stanley. "

Slowly, reluctantly, Mary lifted her head and began to reach out herhand. Then just before their fingers would have touched, she quicklyclasped her hands around her father's neck and again she buried her faceupon his shoulder. 

"She doesn't seem to take to you, " said Josiah. 

"So it seems, " said the other dryly. Reaching around he touched Mary'scheek with the back of his finger. "Not mad at your uncle, are you, little girl?" he asked. 

"Don't!" said Josiah, speaking with quick concern. "You're only makingher tremble.... "

The two stared at each other, slightly frowning. Stanley was the first tocatch himself. "I'll see you at the office later, " he said, and with abow at the little figure on Josiah's arm he added with a touch of irony, "Perhaps I had better wait until you're alone!"

He turned and made his way back to the office, his elbows grown restlessagain. 

"A good thing it isn't a boy, " he thought, "or he might not like me whenhe grows up, either. But a girl... Oh, well, as it happens, girls don'tcount.... And a good thing, too, they don't, " he thoughtfully added. "Agood thing, too, they don't.... "

CHAPTER V

Mary grew, and grew, and grew. 

She never outgrew her aversion to Uncle Stanley, though. 

One day, when she was in Josiah's office, a young man entered and waswarmly greeted by her father. He carried a walking stick, sported a whiteedging on his waistcoat and had just the least suspicion of perfumery onhim--a faint scent that reminded Mary of raspberry jam. 

"He smells nice, " she thought, missing nothing of this. 

"You've never seen my daughter, have you?" asked Josiah. 

"A little queen, " said the young man with a brilliant smile. "I hope I'llsee her often. "

"That's Uncle Stanley's son Burdon, " said Josiah when he had left. "He'sjust through college; he's going to start in the office here. "

Mary liked to hear that, and always after that she looked for Burdon andwatched him with an interest that had something of fascination in it. 

Before she was ten, she and Josiah had become old chums. She knew thefactory by the river almost as well as she knew the house on the hill. Not only that but she could have told you most of the processes throughwhich the bearings passed before they were ready for the shipping room. 

To show you how her mind worked, one night she asked her father, "Whatmakes a machine squeak?"

"Needs oil, " said Josiah, "generally speaking. "

The next Saturday morning she not only kept her eyes open, but her earsas well. 

Presently her patience was rewarded. 

"Squee-e-eak! Squee-e-eak!" complained a lathe which they were passing. Mary stopped her father and looked her very old-fashionedest at the lathehand. 

"Needs oil, " said she, "gen'ly speaking. "

It was one of the proud moments in Josiah's life, and yet when back ofhim he heard a whisper, "Chip of the old block, " he couldn't repress thewell nigh passionate yearning, "Oh, Lord, if she had only been a boy!"

That year an addition was being made to the factory and Mary liked towatch the builders. She often noticed a boy and a dog sitting under thetrees and watching, too. 

Once they smiled at each other, the boy blushing like a sunset. Afterthat they sometimes spoke while Josiah was talking to the foreman. Hisname, she learned, was Archey Forbes, his father was the foreman, andwhen he grew up he was going to be a builder, too. But no matter howoften they saw each other, Archey always blushed to the eyes wheneverMary smiled at him. 

Occasionally a man would be hurt at the factory. Whenever this happened, Aunt Patty paid a weekly call to the injured man until he was well--anold Spencer custom that had never died out. 

Mary generally accompanied her aunts on these visits--which was a part ofthe family training--and in this way she saw the inside of many a home. 

"I wouldn't mind being a poor man, " she said one Saturday morning, breaking a long silence, "but I wouldn't be a poor woman for anything. "

"Why not?" asked Miss Cordelia. 

She couldn't tell them why but for the last half hour she had beencomparing the lives of the men in the factory with the lives of theirwives at home. 

"A man can work in the factory, " she tried to tell them, "and everythingis made nice for him. But his wife at home-now--nobody cares--nobodycares what happens to her--"

"I never saw such a child, " said Miss Cordelia, watching her start withher father down the hill a few minutes later. "And the worst of it is, Ithink we are partly to blame for it. "

"Cordelia!" said Miss Patty. "How?"

"I mean in keeping her surrounded so completely with old people. Wheneverything is said and done, dear, it isn't natural. "

"But we would miss her so much if we sent her to school--"

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of sending her to school--"

Miss Patty was quiet for a time. 

"If we could find some one of her own age, " she said at last, "whom shecould play with, and talk with--some one who would lead her thoughts intomore natural channels--"

This question of companionship for Mary puzzled the two Miss Spencers fornearly a year, and then it was settled, as so many things are, in anunexpected manner. 

In looking up the genealogy of the Spicer family, Miss Patty discoveredthat a distant relative in Charleston had just died, leaving a daughterbehind him--an orphan--who was a year older than Mary. Correspondencefinally led Miss Patty to make the journey, and when she returned shebrought with her a dark-eyed girl who might have been the very spirit ofyouthful romance. 

"My dear, " said Miss Patty, "this is your cousin Helen. She is going tomake us a long visit, and I hope you will love each other very much. "

The two cousins studied each other. Then in her shy way Mary held out herhand. 

"Oh, I love you already!" said Helen impulsively, and hugged her instead. That evening they exchanged confidences and when Miss Cordelia heardabout this, she questioned Mary and enjoyed herself immensely. 

"And then what did she ask you?" finally inquired Miss Cordelia, makingan effort to keep her face straight. 

"She asked me if I had a beau, and I told her 'No. '"

"And then what did she say?"

"She asked me if there was anything the matter with the boys around here, and I told her I didn't know. "

"And then?"

"And then she said, 'I'll bet you I'll soon find out. ' But just then AuntPatty came in and we had to stop. "

Later Miss Patty came downstairs looking thoughtful and spoke to hersister in troubled secret. 

"I've just been in Helen's room, " she said, "and what do you think shehas on her dresser?"

"I give it up, " replied Miss Cordelia in a very rich, voice. 

"Three photographs of young men!"

The two sisters gazed at each other, quite overcome, and if you had beenthere you would have seen that if they had held fans in their hands, theywould have fanned themselves with vigour. 

"Didn't you hear anything of this--in Charleston?" asked Miss Cordelia atlast. 

"Not a word, my dear. I heard she was very popular; that was all. "

"'Popular'... !"

"The one thing, perhaps, that we have never been. "

Miss Cordelia shook her head and made a helpless gesture. "Well, " shesaid at last, "I must confess we were looking for an antidote ... But Inever thought we'd be quite so successful.... "

CHAPTER VI

A few weeks after her arrival, Helen and Mary were walking to thepost-office. Helen had a number of letters to mail, her correspondentsbeing active and her answers prompt. 

They hadn't gone far when a young man appeared in the distance, approaching them. Mary gave him a look to see who it was, and aftersaying to Helen, "This is Bob McAllister--one of our neighbours. He'shome from school, " she continued the conversation and failed to give SirRobert another thought. 

Not so Helen, however. 

One hand went to the back of her hair with a graceful gesture, and nextshe touched her nose with a powdered handkerchief. 

A moment before, she had been looking straight ahead with a ratherthoughtful expression, but now she half turned to Mary, smiling andnodding. In some manner her carriage, even her walk, underwent a change. But when I try to tell you what I mean I feel as tongue-tied as a boy whois searching for a word which doesn't exist. As nearly as I can expressit, she seemed to "wiggle" a little, although that isn't the word. Sheseemed to hang out a sign "Oh, look--look at me!"--and that doesn't quitedescribe it, either. 

Just as Master McAllister reached them, raising his hat and bowing toMary and her friend--Helen's eyes and Helen's smile unconsciouslylingered on him for a second or two until, apparently recollecting thatshe was looking at another, she lowered her glance and peeped at himthrough her eyelashes instead. 

Mary meanwhile was calmly continuing her conversation, never evensuspecting the comedy which was going on by her side, but when Helen shota glance over her shoulder and whispered with satisfaction "He turned tolook!" even Mary began to have some slight idea of what was going on. 

"Helen, " she demurred, "you should never turn around to look at a youngman. "

"Why not?" laughed Helen, her arm going around her cousin's waist. Andspeaking in the voice of one who has just achieved a triumph, she added, "They're all such fo-oo-ools!"

Mary thought that over. 

Helen's correspondents continued active, and as each letter arrived sheread parts of it to her cousin. She was a mimic, and two of the lettersshe read in character one afternoon when Mary was changing her dress fordinner. 

"Oh, Helen, you shouldn't, " said Mary, laughing in spite of herself andfeeling ashamed of it the same moment. "I think it's awful to make fun ofpeople who write you like that. "

"Pooh!" laughed Helen. "They're all such fo-oo-ools!"

"You don't think that of all men, do you!"

"Why not?" laughed Helen again, and tucking the letters into her waistshe started humming. Unobserved Ma'm Maynard had entered to straightenthe room and, through the mirror, Mary saw her grimly nodding her head. 

"Why, Ma'm Maynard, " said Mary, "you don't think that all men are fools, too, do you?"

"Eet is not halways safe to say what one believes, " said Ma'm, pursingher lips with mystery. "Eef mademoiselles, your aunts, should get tohear--"

"Oh, I won't tell. "

"Then, yes, ma cherie, I think at times all men are fools ... And I thinkit is also good at times to make a fool of man. For why? Because it isrevenge. 

"Ah, ma cherie, I who have been three times wed--I tell you I often thinkthe old-world view is right. Man is the natural enemy of a woman. 

"He is not to be trus'. 

"I have heard it discuss' by great minds--things I cannot tell youyet--but you will learn them as you live. And halways the same conclusionarrives: Man is the natural enemy of a woman, and the one best way tokeep him from making a fool of you, is to turn 'round queeck and make ita fool of him!"

"Oh, Ma'm Maynard, no!" protested Mary, who had turned from the mirrorand was staring with wide eyes. "I can't believe it--never!"

"What is it, ma cherie, which you cannot believe?"

"That man is woman's natural enemy. "

"But I tell you, yes, yes.... It has halways been so and it halways will. Everything that lives has its own natural enemy--and a woman's naturalenemy--it is man!

"Think just for a moment, ma cherie, " she continued. "Why are parents socareful? Mon Dieu, you would think it at times that a tiger is out in thestreets at night--such precautions are made if the girl she is out afterdark. And yes, but the parents are right. There is truly a tiger whoroams in the black, but his name--eet is Man!

"Think just for a moment, ma cherie. Why are chaperons require'--even inthe highest, most culture' society? Why is marriage require'? Is it notbecause all the world knows well that a man cannot be left to his ownpromise, but has to be bound by the law as a lion is held in a cage?"

"No, " said Mary, shaking her head, "I'm sure it isn't that way. You'resimply turning things around and making everything seem horrid. "

"You think so, ma cherie? Eh, bien. Three husbands I've had. I am notwithout experience. "

"But you might as well say that woman is man's natural enemy--"

"And some say that, " said Ma'm nodding darkly. "Left to himself, theysay, man might aspire to be as the gods; but halways at his helbow is awoman like a figure of fate--and she--she keeps him down where hebelongs--"

"I hate all that, " said Mary quietly. "Every once in a while I readsomething like it in a book or a magazine, and whenever I do, I put thebook down and open the window and breathe the fresh air. Of course I knowsome married people aren't happy. But it isn't always because they aremarried. Single people are unhappy, too. Aunt Patty has indigestionsometimes, and I suppose a lot of people do. But you wouldn't call food anatural enemy; would you? And some children are just as bad as they canbe. But you wouldn't call children natural enemies, would you--or try toget along without them?"

But Ma'm Maynard would only shrug her shoulders. 

"Eh, bien, " she said. "When you have live' as long as me--"

Through the open window a clock could be heard. 

"Six o'clock!" squealed Helen, "and I'm not changed yet. " As she hurriedto the door she said, "I heard Aunt Patty say that Uncle Stanley wascoming to dinner again tonight. I hope he brings his handsome sonagain--don't you?"

CHAPTER VII

Uncle Stanley of late had been a frequent visitor on the hill, occasionally bringing his son Burdon with him, but generally comingalone. After dinner he and Josiah would sit in the den till well pastmidnight, going over papers and figures, and drafting out instructionsfor Judge Cutler, the firm's lawyer. 

Mary was never able to overcome her aversion to Uncle Stanley. 

"I wish he'd stay away, " she ruefully remarked to her father one night. "Three evenings this week I haven't been able to come in the den. "

"Never mind, dear, " said Josiah, looking at her with love in his sombreeyes. "What we're doing: it's all for you. "

"All for me? How?"

He explained to her that whereas Josiah Spencer & Son had always been afirm, it was now being changed to a corporation. 

"As long as there was a son, " he said, "the partnership arrangement wasall right. But the way things are now--Well, when I'm gone, Mary, you'llown the stock of the company, and draw your dividends, and have noresponsibilities to bother you. "

"But who'll run the factory?"

"I suppose Stanley will, as long as he lives. You'll be the owner, ofcourse, but I don't think you'll ever find anybody to beat Uncle Stanleyas a general manager. "

"And when Uncle Stanley dies--what then?"

"I think you'll find his son Burdon the next best man. "

Mary felt her heart grow heavy. It may have been presentiment, or it mayhave been the thought of her father's possible death. 

"Don't let's talk any more about dying, " she said. "But tell me: Is thatwhy you are making so many additions to the factory--because we arechanging to a corporation?"

Josiah hesitated, struggling to speak to his daughter as though shewere a young man instead of a young woman. But heredity, training andworld-old custom restrained him. What would a girl know about mergers, combinations, fundamental patents, the differences between common andpreferred stock, and all that? "It would only confuse her, " he thought, looking at her with love in his eyes. "She would nod her pretty head tobe polite, but I might as well be talking Greek to her. "

"No, dear, " he said, at last. "I'll tell you why we are making thoseadditions. I have bought options on some of the biggest bearing factoriesin the country--so you won't have so much competition when I'm gone. Andinstead of running those other factories, I'm going to move theirmachinery down here. When the changes are once made, it's more economicalto run one big factory than half a dozen little ones. And of course itwill make it better for New Bethel. "

"But it must make it bad for the towns where the factories are now, " saidMary after a thoughtful pause. "I know how it would hurt New Bethel if weclosed up. "

Josiah nodded his head. "I didn't like it myself at first. "

"It was Uncle Stanley's idea, then?"

"Yes; he's engineering it. "

Again Mary felt her heart grow heavy. 

"It must be costing an awful lot of money, " she said. 

"It is, " said Josiah, leaning over and making a gesture. "Of course we'llget it back, and more, too--but for quite a few years now it's beentaking a lot of money--a dreadful lot of money. Still, I think the end'sin sight--"

He was sitting at his desk with a shaded lamp in front of him, and as heleaned over and gestured with his hands, Mary's eyes caught the shadow onthe wall. She seemed to see a spider--a spider that was spinning andweaving his web--and for the third time that night her heart grew heavywithin her. 

CHAPTER VIII

The next day was Saturday and Mary drove her father down to the factory. A small army of men was at work at the new improvements, and when theyreached the brow of the hill which overlooked the scene below, Josiahfelt that thrill of pride which always ran over him when beholding thismonument to his family's genius. 

"The greatest of its kind in the world, " he said. 

With her free hand, Mary patted his arm. 

"That's us!" she said, as proud as he. "I'll leave you at the officedoor, and then I'm going to drive around and see how the building's goingon--"

There was plenty for Mary to see. 

A gang of structural workers was putting up the steel frame-work for oneof the new buildings. Nearby the brick-layers were busy with mortar andtrowels. Carpenters were swarming over a roof, their hammers beatingstaccato. 

As they worked in the sunshine, they joked and laughed and chatted witheach other, and Mary couldn't help reverting to some of her old thoughts. 

"How nice to be a man!" she half sighed to herself. "Back home, theirwives are working in the kitchens--the same thing every day and nothingto show for it. But the men come out and do all sorts of interestingthings, and when they are through they can say 'I helped build thatfactory' or 'I helped build that ship' or whatever it is that they havebeen doing. It doesn't seem fair, somehow, but I suppose it's the way italways has been, and always will be--"

Near her a trench was being dug for water pipes. At one place the men haduncovered a large rock, and she was still wondering how they were goingto get it out of the way, when a young man came briskly forward and gaveone glance at the problem. 

"We'll rig up a derrick for this little beauty, " he said. "Come on, boys;let's get some timbers. "

They were back again in no time, and before Mary knew what they weredoing, they had raised a wooden tripod over the rock. The apex of thiswas bound together with a chain from which a pulley was hung. Otherchains were slung under the rock. Then from a nearby hoisting engine, acable was passed through the pulley and fastened to the chains below. 

"All right, boys?"

"All right!"

The young man raised his hand. "Let her go!" he shouted. "Tweet-tweet!"sounded a whistle. The engine throbbed. The cable tightened. The littlebeauty began to stir uneasily in its hammock of chains. Then slowly andsteadily the rock arose, and nearly as quickly as I can write the words, it was lying on the side of the trench and the derrick was beingdismantled. 

As the young man hurried away he passed Mary's car. 

"Why, it's Archey!" she thought. Whether or not it was due to telepathy, the young man looked up and his colour deepened under his tan. "It isArchey; isn't it?" asked Mary, leaning forward and smiling. 

"Yes'm, " he said, awkwardly enough, and grammar deserting him in hisconfusion he added: "It's me all right, Miss Spencer. "

"I've been watching you get that rock out, " she began, looking at himwith frank admiration, and then they talked for a few minutes. I need nottell you what they said--it would only sound trivial--but as they talkeda bond of sympathy, of mutual interest, seemed gradually to wind itselfaround them. They smiled, nodded, looking approvingly at each other; andeach felt that feeling of warmth and satisfaction which comes to theheart when instinct whispers, "Make no mistake. You've found a friend. "

"But what are you doing here?" she finally asked. 

"Working, " he grinned. "I graduated last year--construction engineer--andthis is my second job. This winter I was down in old Mexico on bridgework--"

"You must tell me about it some time, " she said, as one of the workmencame to take him away; and driving off in her car she couldn't helpthinking with a smile of amusement, "'Woman's natural enemy'--how sillyit sounds in the open air ... !"

CHAPTER IX

Meanwhile the matter of Mary's education was receiving the attention ofher aunts. 

"Patty, " said Miss Cordelia one day, "do you know that child of ours isseventeen?"

The years had dealt kindly with the Misses Spencer and as they looked ateach other, with thoughtful benignity, their faces were like two studiesin silver and pink. 

"Although I say it myself, " continued Miss Cordelia, "I doubt if we couldhave improved her studies. Indeed she is unusually advanced in French, English and music. But I do think she ought to go to a good finishingschool now for a year or two--Miss Parsons', of course--where she wouldnot only be welcomed because of her family, but where she would formsuitable friendships and learn those lessons of modern deportment whichwe ourselves, I fear, would never be able to teach her. "

But if you had been there when the subject of Miss Parsons' School forYoung Ladies was broached to Mary, I think it would have reminded you ofthat famous recipe for rabbit pie which so wisely begins "First catchyour rabbit. "

Mary listened to all that was said and then, quietly but unmistakably, she put her foot down on Miss Parsons' fashionable institution oflearning. 

I doubt if she herself could have given you all her reasons. 

For one thing, the older she grew, the more democratic, the more Americanshe was becoming. 

Deep in her heart she thought the old original Spencers had done more forthe world than any leaders of fashion who ever lived; and when she reador thought of those who had made America, her mind never went to smartsociety and its doings, but to those great, simple souls who had bravedthe wilderness in search of liberty and adventure--who had toiled, andfought, and given their lives, unknown, unsung, but never in Mary's mindto be forgotten. And whenever she thought of travel, she found she wouldrather see the Rockies than the Alps, rather go to New Orleans than OldOrleans, rather visit the Grand Canyon than the Nile, and wouldinfinitely rather cross the American continent and see three thousandmiles of her own country, than cross the Atlantic and see three thousandmiles of water that belonged to every one in general and no one inparticular. 

"But, my dear, " said Miss Cordelia, altogether taken aback, "you ought togo somewhere, you know. Let me tell you about Miss Parsons' school--"

"It's no use, Aunty. I don't want to go to Miss Parsons' school--"

"Where do you want to go then?"

Like most inspirations, it came like a flash. 

"If I'm going anywhere, I want to go to college--"

To college! A Spencer girl--or a Spicer--going to college! Miss Cordeliagasped. If Mary had been noticing, she might not have pursued herinspiration further, but her mind was running along a breathless panoramaof Niagara Falls, Great Lakes, Chicago, the farms of the Middle West, Yellowstone Park, geysers, the Old Man of the Mountain, Aztec ruins, redwood forests, orange groves and at the end of the vista--like a statueat the end of a garden walk--she imagined a great democratic institutionof learning where one might conceivably be prepared to solve some ofthose problems which life seems to take such deep delight in presentingto us, with the grim command, "Not one step farther shall you go untilyou have answered this!"

"To college?" gasped Miss Cordelia. 

"Yes, " said Mary, still intent upon her panorama, "there's a good one inCalifornia. I'll look it up. "

The more Mary thought of it, the fonder she grew of her idea--which is, Ithink, a human trait and true of nearly every one. It was in vain thather aunts argued with her, pointing out the social advantages which shewould enjoy from attending Miss Parsons' School. Mary's objection wasfundamental. She simply didn't care for those advantages. Indeed, shedidn't regard them as advantages at all. 

Helen did, though. 

In her heart Helen had always longed to tread the stage of society--toher mind, a fairyland of wit and gallantry, masquerades and music, to saynothing of handsome young polo players and titled admirers from foreignshores--"big fools, " all of them, as you can guess, when dazzled by thesmiles of Youth and Beauty. 

"Mary can go to California if she likes, " said Helen at last, "but giveme Miss Parsons' School. "

And Mary did go to California, although I doubt if she would have gainedher point if her father hadn't taken her part. For four years sheattended the university by the Golden Gate, and every time she made thejourney between the two oceans, sometimes accompanied by Miss Cordeliaand sometimes by Miss Patty, she seemed to be a little more serene ofglance, a little more tranquil of brow, as though one by one she weresolving some of those problems which I have mentioned above. 

Meanwhile Helen was in her glory at Miss Parsons'; and though the twoaunts didn't confess it, they liked to sit and listen to her chatter ofthe girls whose friendship she was making, and to whose houses she wasinvited for the holidays. 

When she was home, she sang snatches from the operas, danced withimaginary partners, rehearsed parts of private theatricals and dreamed ofconquests. She had also learned the knack of dressing her hair which, when done in the grand manner, isn't far from being a talent. Pulled downon one side, with a pin or two adjusted, she was a dashing young duchesswho rode to hounds and made the old duke's eyes pop out. Or she could dipit over her ears, change a few pins again and--lo!--she was St. Ceciliaseated at the organ, and butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. 

"She is quite pretty and very clever, " said Miss Cordelia one day. "Ithink she will marry well. "

"Do you think she's as pretty as Mary?" asked Miss Patty. 

"My dear!" said Miss Cordelia with a look that said 'What a question youare asking!' "--is pretty in a way, of course, " she said, "but there issomething about our Mary--"

"I know, " nodded Miss Patty. "Something you can't express--"

"The dear child, " mused Miss Cordelia, looking out toward the west. "Iwonder what she is doing this very moment!"

At that very moment, as it happened, Mary was in her room on the otherside of the continent studying the manufacture of raisin fudge. Theretofore she had made it too soft, or too sugary, but this time shewas determined to have it right. Long ago she had made all the friendsthat her room would hold, and most of them were there. Some werelistening to a girl in spectacles who was talking socialism, while a morefrivolous group, perched on the bed, was arguing the question whether theperfect lover had a moustache or a clean-shaven lip. 

"Money is cruel; it ought to be abolished, " said the earnest girl in thespectacles. "Money is a millstone which the rich use to grind the poor. You girls know it as well as I do. "

Mary stirred away at the fudge. 

"It's a good thing she doesn't know that I'm rich, " she smiled toherself. "I wonder when I shall start grinding the poor!"

"And yet the world simply couldn't get along without the wage-earners, "continued the young orator. "So all they have to do is strike--andstrike--and keep on striking--and they can have everything they want--"

"So could the doctors, " mused Mary to herself, stirring away at thefudge. "Imagine the doctors striking.... And so could the farmers. Imagine the farmers striking for eight hours a day, and no work Sundaysand holidays, and every Saturday afternoon off.... "

Dimly, vaguely, a troubled picture took shape in her mind. She stirredthe fudge more reflectively than ever. 

"I wonder if civil wars are started that way, " she thought, "one classsetting out to show its power over another and gradually coming to blows. Suppose--yes, suppose the women were to go on strike for eight hours aday, and as much money as the men, and Saturday afternoons and Sundaysoff, and all the rest of it.... The world certainly couldn't get alongwithout women. As Becky says, they would only have to strike--andstrike--and keep on striking--and they could get everything theywanted--"

Although she didn't suspect it, she was so close to her destiny at thatmoment that she could have reached out her hand and touched it. But allunconsciously she continued to stir the fudge. 

"I've always thought that women have a poor time of it compared withmen, " she nodded to herself. "Still, perhaps it's the way of the world, like ... Like children have the measles ... And old folks have to wearglasses. "

She put the pan on the sill to cool and stood there for a time, lookingout at the campus, dreamy-eyed, half occupied with her own thoughts andhalf listening to the conversation behind her. 

"There oughtn't to be any such thing as private property--"

"Why, Vera, if he kissed you in the dark, you couldn't tell whether hewas a man or a girl--"

"--Everything should belong to the state--"

"--No, listen. Kiss me both ways, and then tell me which you think is thenicest--"

A squeal of laughter arose from the bed and, turning, Mary saw that oneof the girls was holding the back of a toothbrush against her upper lip. 

"Now, " she mumbled, "this is with the moustache ... Kiss me hard ... "

"The greatest book in the world, " continued the girl with the spectacles, "is Marx's book on Capital--"

Mary turned to the window again, more dreamy-eyed than ever. 

"The greatest book in the world, " she thought, "is the book of life.... Oh, if I could only write a few pages in it ... Myself ... !"

CHAPTER X

Mary "came out" the winter after her graduation. 

If she had been left to herself she would have dispensed with theceremony quite as cheerfully as she had dispensed with Miss Parsons'School for Young Ladies. But in the first place her aunts were adamant, and in the second place they were assisted by Helen. Helen hadn't beengoing to finishing school for nothing. She knew the value of a propersocial introduction. 

Indeed it was her secret ambition to outshine her cousin--an ambitionwhich was at once divined by her two aunts. Whereupon they groomed Maryto such good purpose that I doubt if Society ever looked upon a lovelierdebutante. 

She was dressed in chiffon, wore the Spencer pearls, and carried herselfwith such unconscious charm that more than one who danced with her thatnight felt a rapping on the door of his heart and heard the voice of loveexclaiming "Let me in!"

There was one young man in particular who showed her such attention thatthe matrons either smiled or frowned at each other. Even Miss Cordeliaand Miss Patty were pleased, although of course they didn't show it for amoment. He was a handsome, lazy-looking young rascal when he firstappeared on the scene, lounging against the doorway, drawling a little ashe talked to his friends--evidently a lion, bored in advance with thewhole proceeding and meaning to slip away as soon as he could. But whenhis eye fell on Mary, he stared at her unobserved for nearly a minute andhis ennui disappeared into thin air. 

"What's the matter, Wally?" asked one of his friends. 

"James, " he solemnly replied, "I'm afraid it's something serious. I onlyhope it's catching. " The next minute he was being introduced to Mary andwas studying her card. 

"Some of these I can't dance, " she warned him. 

"Will you mark them with a tick, please--those you can't dance?"

Unsuspectingly she marked them. 

"Good!" said he, writing his name against each tick. "We'll sit thoseout. The next waltz, though, we will dance that. "

"But that's engaged--'Chester A. Bradford, '" she read. 

"Poor Brad--didn't I tell you?" asked Wally. "He fell downstairs a momentago and broke his leg. "

That was the beginning of it. 

The first dance they sat out Wally said to himself, "I shall kiss her, ifit's the last thing I ever do. "

But he didn't. 

The next dance they sat out he said to himself, "I shall kiss her if Inever do another thing as long as I live--"

But he didn't. 

The last dance they sat out he said to himself, "I shall kiss her if Ihang for it. "

He didn't kiss her, even then, but felt himself tremble a little as helooked in her eyes. Then it was that the truth began to dawn upon him. "I'm a gone coon, " he told himself, and dabbed his forehead with hishandkerchief ... 

"You've got him, all right, " said Helen later, going to Mary's roomostensibly to undress, but really to exchange those confidences withoutwhich no party is complete. 

"Got who?" asked Mary. And she a Bachelor of Arts!

"Oh, aren't you innocent! Wally Cabot, of course. Did he kiss you?"

"No, he did not!"

"Of course, if you don't want to tell--!"

"There's nothing to tell. "

"There isn't? ... Oh, well, don't worry.... There soon will be. "

Helen was right. 

From that time forward Mary's own shadow was hardly less attentive thanMaster Wally Cabot. His high-powered roadster was generally doing one ofthree things. It was either going to Mary's, or coming from Mary's, ortaking a needed rest under Mary's porte cochère. 

One day Mary suddenly said to her father, "Who was Paul?"

Fortunately for Josiah the light was on his back. 

"Last night at the dance, " she continued, "I heard a woman saying that Ididn't look the least bit like Paul, and I wondered who he was. "

"Perhaps some one in her own family, " said Josiah at last. 

"Must have been, " Mary carelessly nodded. They went on chatting andpresently Josiah was himself again. 

"What are you going to do about Walter Cabot?" he asked, looking at herwith love in his sombre eyes. 

Mary made a helpless gesture. 

"Has he asked you yet?"

"Yes, " she said in a muffled voice, "--often. "

"Why don't you take him?"

Again Mary made her helpless gesture and, for a long moment she too wason the point of opening her heart. But again heredity, training andage-old tradition stood between them, finger on lip. 

"I sometimes have such a feeling that I want to do something in theworld, " she nearly told him. "And if I married Wally, it would spoil itall. I sometimes have such dreams--such wonderful dreams of doingsomething--of being somebody--and I know that if I married Wally I shouldnever be able to dream like that again--"

As you can see, that isn't the sort of a thing which a girl can very wellsay to her father--or to any one else for that matter, except in fear andhesitation. 

"The way I am now, " she nearly told him, "there are ever so many thingsin life that I can do--ever so many doors that I can open. But if I marryWally, every door is locked but one. I can be his wife; that's all. "

Obviously again, you couldn't expect a girl to speak like that, especially a girl with dreamy eyes and shy. Nevertheless those were thethoughts which often came to her at night, after she had said her prayersand popped into bed and lay there in the dark turning things over in hermind. 

One night, for instance, after Wally had left earlier than usual, shelay with her head snuggled on the pillow, full of vague dreams andvisions--vague dreams of greatness born of the sunsets and stars andflowers--vague visions of proving herself worthy of the heritage of life. 

"I don't think it's a bit fair, " she thought. "As soon as a womanmarries--well, somehow, she's through. But it doesn't seem to make anydifference to the man. He can go right on doing the big things--the greatthings--"

She stopped, arrested by the sound of a mandolin under her window. Thenext moment the strains of Wally's tenor entered the room, mingled withthe moonlight and the scent of the syringa bush. A murmuring, deep-tonedtrio accompanied him. 

"Soft o'er the fountain Ling'ring falls the southern moon--"

The beauty of it brought a thrill to the roots of Mary's hair--broughtquick tears to her eyes--and she was wondering if Wally was right, afterall--if love (as he often told her) was indeed the one great thing oflife and nothing else mattered, when her door opened and Helen cametwittering in. 

"A serenade!" she whispered excitedly. "Im-a-gine!"

She tip-toed to the window and, kneeling on the floor, watched thesingers through the curtain--knowing well it wasn't for her, but drinkingdeep of the moment. 

Slowly, sweetly, the chorus grew fainter--fainter--

"Nita--Juanita Ask thy soul if we should part--"

"What do you think of that!" said Helen, leaning over and giving hercousin a squeeze and a kiss. "He had the two Garde boys and Will Thompsonwith him. I thought he was leaving earlier than usual tonight; didn'tyou? But a serenade! I wonder if the others heard it, too!"

Miss Patty and Miss Cordelia had both heard it, and Helen had hardly gonewhen they came pattering in--each as proud as Punch of Mary for havingcaused such miracles to perform--and gleeful, too, that they had lived inthe land long enough to hear a real, live serenade. And after they hadkissed her and gone, Ma'm Maynard came in with a pretty little speech inFrench. So that altogether Mary held quite a reception in bed. As oneresult, her feeling toward Wally melted into something like tenderness, and if it hadn't been for the tragic event next morning, the things whichI have to tell you might never have taken place. 

"I wonder if your father heard it, " said Miss Patty at the breakfasttable next morning. 

"I wonder!" laughed Mary. "I think I'll run in and see. "

According to his custom Josiah breakfasted early and had gone to his dento look over his mail. Mary passed gaily through the library, but itwasn't long before she was back at the dining room door, looking asthough she had seen a ghost. 

"Come--come and look, " she choked. "Something--something terrible--"

Josiah sat, half collapsed, in his chair. Before him, on the desk, layhis mail. Some he had read. Some he would never, never read. 

"He must have had a stroke, " said Miss Cordelia, her arms around Mary;and looking at her brother she whispered, "I think something upset him. "

When they had sent for the doctor and had taken Mary away, they returnedto look over the letters which Josiah had opened as his last mortal act. 

"I don't see anything in these that could have bothered him, " said MissCordelia, fearfully looking. 

"What's this?" asked Miss Patty, picking up an empty envelope from thefloor. 

It was post-marked "Rio de Janeiro" and the date showed that it had takenthree weeks to make the journey. 

"I have some recollection of that writing, " said Miss Cordelia. 

"So have I, " said Miss Patty in a low voice, "but where's the letter?"

Again it was she who made the discovery. 

"That must be it, " she said. "His ash tray is cleaned out every morning. "

It was a large, brass tray and in it was the char of a paper that hadbeen burned. This ash still lay in its folds and across its surface, black on black, could be seen a few lines which resembled the close of aletter. 

"Can you read it?" she asked. 

Miss Cordelia bent over, and as a new angle of light struck the tray, thewords became as legible as though they had just been written. 

"I thought I knew the writing, " whispered Miss Cordelia, and lowering hervoice until her sister had to hang breathless upon the movement of herlips, she added "Oh, Patty ... We all thought he was dead ... No wonderit killed poor Josiah ... "

Their arms went around each other. Their glances met. 

"I know, " whispered Miss Patty, her lips suddenly gone dry, ".... It wasfrom Paul... !"

CHAPTER XI

For the first few months after her father's death, Mary's dreams seemedto fade into mist. 

Between her and Josiah a bond of love had existed, stronger than eitherhad suspected--and now that he was gone the world seemed unaccountablyempty--and unaccountably cruel. As her father had gone, so must AuntCordelia and Aunt Patty some day surely go ... Yes, and even Mary herselfmust just as surely follow. 

The immemorial doubt assailed her--that doubt which begins inhelplessness and ends in despair. "What's the use?" she asked herself. "We plan and work so hard--like children making things in the sand--andthen Death comes along with a big wave and flattens everything out ... Like that ... "

But gradually her sense of balance began to return. One day she stood onthe brink of the hill looking at the great factory below, and a calmer, surer feeling slowly swept over her. 

"That's it, " she thought. "The real things of life go on, no matter whodies, just as though nothing had happened. Take the first Josiah Spencerand look down there what he left behind him. Why, you might even say thathe was alive today! And see what Washington left behind him--and Fulton, who invented the steamboat--and Morse who invented the telegraph. So it'ssilly to say 'What's the use?' Suppose Columbus had said it--or any ofthe others who have done great things in the world--"

It slowly came to her then, her doubts still lingering, how many arecalled, how few are chosen. 

"That's the trouble, " she said. "We can't all be Washingtons. We can'tall do great things. And yet--an awful lot of people had to live so thatWashington could be born when he was.... 

"His parents: that was two. And his grand-parents: he must have had four. And his great grand-parents: eight of them.... 

"Why, it's like the problem of the horse-shoe nails, " she continued ingrowing excitement. "In twenty-eight generations there must have beenmillions and millions of people who lived--just so George Washingtoncould be born one day at Mt. Vernon--and grow up to make America free!Yes, and every one of them was just as necessary as Washington himself, because if it hadn't been for every single one of them--we would neverhave had him!"

For a moment she seemed to be in touch with the infinite plan. Down thehill she saw a woman in a black dress, crossing the street. 

"Mrs. Ridge going out for the day, " thought Mary, recognizing the figurebelow. "Yes, and who knows? She may be a link in a chain which is leadingstraight down to some one who will be greater than Washington--greaterthan Shakespeare--greater than any man who ever lived... !" And her olddreams, her old visions beginning to return, she added with a sigh, "Oh, dear! I wish I could do something big and noble--so if all those millionswho are back of me are watching, they'll feel proud of what I'm doing andnudge each other as if they were saying, 'You see? She's come at last. That's us!'"

As you will realize, this last thought of Mary's suggested more than ittold--as I believe great thoughts often do--but at least I think you'llbe able to grasp the idea which she herself was groping after. At thesame time you mustn't suppose that she was constantly going arounddreaming, and trying to find expression for those vague strivings andyearnings which come to us all at different times in our lives, especially in the golden days of youth when the flood of ambition isrising high within us--or again in later years when we feel the tide willsoon begin to turn, and we must make haste or it will be too late. 

No, Mary had plenty of practical matters, too, to engage her attentionand keep her feet on the earth. 

For one thing there was Wally Cabot--he who had so lately serenaded Maryin the moonlight. But I'll tell you about him later. 

Then the settlement of her father's estate kept coming up for action. Judge Cutler and Mary's two aunts were the trustees--an arrangement whichdidn't please Uncle Stanley any too well, although he was careful not toshow it. And the more Mary saw of the silvery haired judge with hishawk's eyes and gentle smile, the more she liked him. 

One of the first things they discovered was that Mary's heritageconsisted of the factory by the river--but little else. Practically allthe bonds and investments that Josiah had ever owned had been sold forthe greater glory of Spencer & Son--to buy in other firms and patents--toincrease the factory by the river. As her father had once confided toMary this had taken money--"a dreadful lot of money"--she remembered thewince with which he had spoken--and a safe deposit box which was nearlyempty bore evidence to the truth of what he had said. 

"High and low, " mused the judge when the inventory was at last completed, "it's always the same. The millionaire and the mill-hand--somehow theyalways manage to leave less than every one expected--"

"Why is that?" asked Mary. "Is it because the heirs expect too much?"

"No, child. I think it's the result of pride. As a rule, man is a proudanimal and he doesn't like to tell anything which doesn't redound to hiscredit. If a man buys bonds, for instance, he is very apt to mention itto his family. But if for any reason he has to sell those bonds, he willnearly always do it quietly and say nothing about it, hoping to buy themback again later, or something better yet--

"I've seen so many estates, " he continued, "shrink into next tonothing--so many widows who thought they were well off, suddenly wakingup and finding themselves at the mercy of the world--the little they haveoften being taken away from them by the first glib sharper who comeslong--that I sometimes think every man should give his family a show-downonce a year. It would surely save a lot of worries and heartaches lateron--

"Still, " he smiled, looking down at the inventory, with its noble line offigures at the bottom of the column, "I don't think you'll have muchtrouble in keeping the wolf from the door. "

Mary turned the pages in a helpless sort of way. 

"You'll have to explain some of this, " she said at last. But beforegiving it back to him she looked out of the window for a time--one of herslow, thoughtful glances--and added, "I wonder why girls aren't broughtup to know something about business--the way boys are. "

"Perhaps it's because they have no head for business. "

She thought that over. 

"Can you speak French?" she suddenly asked. 

"No. "

"... I can. I can speak it, and read it, and write it, and think it.... Now don't you think that if a girl can do that--if she can learnthousands and thousands of new words, how to pronounce them, and spellthem, and parse them, and inflect them--how to supply hundreds of rulesof grammar--and if she can learn to do this so well that she can chataway in French without giving it a thought--don't you think she might beable to learn something about the language and rules of business, too, ifthey were only taught to her? Then perhaps there wouldn't be so manyhelpless widows in the world, as you said just now, at the mercy of thefirst glib sharper who comes along. "

This time it was the judge's turn to think it over. 

"You're an exceptional girl, Mary, " he said at last. 

"No, really I'm not, " she earnestly told him. "Any girl can learnanything that a boy can learn--if she is only given a chance. Whereboys and girls go to school together--at the grammar schools and highschools--the girls are just as quick as the boys, and their average marksare quite as high. It was true at college, too. The girls could learnanything that the men could learn--and do it just as well. "

As one result of this, Judge Cutler began giving Mary lessons inbusiness, using the inventory as a text and explaining each item in thesettlement of the estate. He also taught her some of the simpler maxims, beginning with that grand old caution, "Never sign a paper for astranger--"

It wasn't long after this that Uncle Stanley called at the house on thehill. He talked for a time about some of the improvements which werebeing made at the factory and then arose as if to go. 

"Oh, I nearly forgot, " he said, turning back and smiling at hisoversight. "We need a new director to take your father's place. When I'maway Burdon looks after things, so I suppose he may as well take theresponsibility. It's a thankless position, but some one has to fill it. "

"Yes, " murmured Mary, "I suppose they do. "

"They do, " said Uncle Stanley. "So I'll call a stockholders' meetingright away. Meanwhile if you will sign this proxy--"

But just as quietly Mary murmured, "I'd like to think it over. "

They looked at each other then--those two--with that careful, yetcareless-appearing glance which two duellists might employ when somecommon instinct warns them that sooner or later they will cross theirswords. 

Uncle Stanley was the first to lower his eye. 

"The law requires three directors, " he said in his more usual grumpyvoice, "or I wouldn't have bothered you. I'll leave it and you can signit and send it down this afternoon. "

But Mary did neither. Instead she went to see Judge Cutler and whenthe stockholders' meeting was finally called, she attended it inperson--holding practically all the stock--and Judge Cutler was electedto fill the vacancy. 

Uncle Stanley just managed to control himself. It took an effort, but hedid it. 

"We've got to elect a president next, " he said, trying to make a joke ofit, but unable to keep the tremor of testiness out of his voice. "Ofcourse I've been here all my life--if that counts for anything--and I amnow serving in the more or less humble capacity of vice-president--but ifthe judge would like to throw up his law business and try themanufacturing end instead--"

"No, " smiled the judge, lighting a bombshell--though Uncle Stanley littleguessed it--"I think the position calls for some one younger than I am. Besides, my name is Cutler, whereas for eight generations this concernhas been headed by a Spencer. 

"You know, Mr. Woodward, lawyers are sticklers for precedent, and itseems to me that as long as there is a Spencer left in the family, thatgood old name should stand at the head. 

"For the office of president I therefore cast my vote in favour of thelast of the Spencers--Miss Mary--"

That was the bombshell, and oh, but didn't it rock Uncle Stanley back onhis heels!

"Of course, if you want to make a joke of the company, " he said at last, sticking out his lower lip till it made a little shelf, although itwasn't a very steady little shelf because it trembled as though fromemotion. "'President, Mary Spencer'--you know as well as I do what peoplewill think when they see that on the letterhead--"

"Unfortunately, yes, " said the judge, flashing him one of his hawk'sglances but still speaking in his gentle voice. "Still, we can easily getaround that difficulty. We can have the letter-heads lithographed'President, M. Spencer. ' Then if our correspondents have imaginations, they will think that the M stands for Matthew or Mark or Michael orMalachi. One thing sure, " he smiled at the new president, "they'll neverthink of Mary. "

As in the case of the factory, Uncle Stanley had also been vice-presidentof the First National Bank. A few days after the proceedings aboverecorded, the stockholders of the bank met to choose a new president. There was only one vote and when it was counted, Stanley Woodward wasfound to be elected. 

"I wonder what he'll be doing next, " said Mary uneasily when she heardthe news. 

"My dear girl, " gently protested the judge, "you mustn't be sosuspicious. It will poison your whole life and lead you nowhere. "

Mary thought that over. 

"You know the old saying, don't you?" he continued. "'Suspicion is theseed of discord. '"

"Yes, " nodded Mary, trying to smile, though she still looked troubled. "Iknow the old saying--but--the trouble is--I know Uncle Stanley, too, andthat's what bothers me... "

CHAPTER XII

At this point I had meant to tell you more of Wally Cabot--most perfect, most charming of lovers--but first I find that I must describe a passagewhich took place one morning between Mary and Uncle Stanley's son Burdon. 

Perhaps you remember Burdon, the tall, dark young man who "smelled nice"and wore a white edging on the V of his waistcoat. 

As far back as Mary could remember him, he had appealed to herimagination. 

His Norfolk jackets, his gold cigarette case and match box, his air ofdistinction, his wealth of black hair which grew to a point on hisforehead, even the walking stick which he sometimes carried; to Mary'smind these had always been properties in a human drama--a dramabreathless with possibilities, written by Destiny and entitled BurdonWoodward. 

It is hard to express some things, and this is one of them. But amongyour own acquaintances there are probably one or two figures which standout above the others as though they had been selected by Fate to playstrenuous parts--whether Columbine, clown or star. Something is alwayshappening to them. Wherever they appear, they seem to hold the centre ofthe stage, and when they disappear a dullness falls and life seems flatfor a time. You think of them more often than you realize, perhaps with asmile, perhaps with a frown, and generally you dismiss them from yourmind with some such thought as this--"He'll get in trouble yet, " or "Iwouldn't be surprised if he makes a great man some day"--or "Somethingwill happen to that girl yet, if she isn't careful!"

That, in short, was the sort of a character that Burdon Woodward hadalways been to Mary. For as long as she could remember him, she hadassociated him with romance and drama. 

To her he had been Raffles, the amateur cracksman. He had also beenSteerforth in David Copperfield--and time after time she had drowned himin the wreck. In stories of buccaneers he was the captain--sometimesCaptain Morgan, sometimes Captain Kidd--or else he was Black Jack withDora in his power and trembling in the balance whether to become a heroor a villain. As Mary grew older these associations not only lingered;they strengthened. 

Not long before her father died she read in the paper of a youngdesperado, handsome and well-dressed, who held up a New York jeweller atthe point of a gun and relieved him of five thousand dollars' worth ofdiamond rings. The story was made remarkable by a detail. An old womanwas sitting at the corner, grinding a hand-organ, and as the robber ranpast her, he dropped one of the rings into her cup. 

"Oh, dad, " Mary had said, looking up and speaking on impulse, "did I hearyou say last night that Burdon Woodward was in New York?"

"No, dear. Boston. "

"Mm, " thought Mary. "He'd say he was going to Boston for a blind. " Andfor many a week after that she slyly watched his fingers, to see if shecould catch him red-handed so to speak, wearing one of those rings! Yeteven while she glanced she had the grace to smile at her fancies. 

"All the same, " she told herself, "it sounded an awful lot like him. "

The encounter which I am now going to tell you about took place onemorning after Mary had been elected to the presidency of the company. Shehad just finished breakfast when Burdon telephoned. 

"Your father had some private papers in his desk down here, " he said. "Iwas wondering if you'd like to come down and look them over. "

"Thank you, " she said. "I will. "

Josiah's private room in the factory office building had been animpressive one, high-ceiled and flanked with a fire-place which was, however, never lighted. Ancestral paintings and leather chairs had addedtheir notes of distinction. The office of any executive will generallyreflect not only his own personality, but the character of the enterpriseof which he stands at the head. Looking in Josiah's room, I think youwould have been impressed, either consciously or not, that Spencer & Sonhad dignity, wealth and a history behind it. And regarding then the darkcolouring of the appointments, devoid of either beauty or warmth, andfeeling yourself impressed by a certain chilliness of atmosphere, I canvery well imagine you saying to yourself "Not very cheerful!"

But you wouldn't have thought this on the morning when Mary entered it inresponse to Burdon's suggestion. 

A fire was glowing on the andirons. New rugs gave colour and life to thefloor. The mantel had been swept clear of annual reports and technicalbooks, and graced with a friendly clock and a still more friendly pair ofvases filled with flowers. The monumental swivel chair had disappeared, and in its place was one of wicker, upholstered in cretonne. On the deskwas another vase of flowers, a writing set of charming design and atriple photograph frame, containing pictures of Miss Cordelia, Miss Pattyand old Josiah himself. 

Mary was still marvelling when she caught sight of Burdon Woodward in thedoorway. 

"Who--who did this?" she asked. 

He bowed low--as d'Artagnan might have bowed to the queen of France--butcame up smiling. 

"Your humble, obedient servant, " said he. "Can I come in?"

It had been some time since Mary had seen him so closely, and as heapproached she noticed the faultlessness of his dress, the lily of thevalley in his buttonhole, and that slightly ironic but smiling mannerwhich is generally attributed to men of the world, especially to thosewho have travelled far on adventurous and forbidden paths. In another agehe might have worn lace cuffs and a sword, and have just returned from agambling house where he had lost or won a fortune with equal nonchalance. 

"He still smells nice, " thought Mary to herself, "and I think he'shandsomer than ever--if it wasn't for that dark look around his eyes--andeven that becomes him. " She motioned to a chair and seated herself at thedesk. 

"I thought you'd like to have a place down here to call your own, " hesaid in his lazy voice. "I didn't make much of a hit with the governor, but then you know I seldom do--"

"Where did you get the pictures?"

"From the photographers'. Of course it required influence, but I am fullof that--being connected, as you may know, with Spencer & Son. When Itold him why I wanted them, he seemed to be as anxious as I was to findthe old plates. "

"And the fire and the rugs and everything--you don't know how Iappreciate it all. I had no idea--"

"I like surprises, myself, " he said. "I suppose that's why I like tosurprise others. The keys of the desk are in the top drawer, and I haveset aside the brightest boy in the office to answer your buzzer. If youwant anybody or anything--to write a letter--to see the governor--or evento see your humble servant--all you have to do is to press this button. "

A wave of gratitude swept over her. 

"He's nice, " she thought, as Burdon continued his agreeable drawl. "ButHelen says he's wicked. I wonder if he is.... Imagine him thinking ofthe pictures: I'm sure that doesn't sound wicked, and... Oh, dear!.... Yes, he did it again, then!... He--he's making eyes at me asmuch as he dares!... "

She turned and opened a drawer of the desk. 

"I think I'll take the papers home and sort them there, " she said. 

"You're sure there's nothing more I can do?" he asked, rising. 

"Nothing more; thank you. "

"That window behind you is open at the top. You may feel a draft; I'llshut it. "

In his voice she caught the note which a woman never misses, and her mindwent back to her room at college where the girls used to gather in theevenings and hold classes which were strictly outside the regular course. 

"It's simply pathetic, " one of the girls had once remarked, "but nearlyevery man you meet makes love the same way. Talk about sausage forbreakfast every morning in the year. It's worse than that!

"First you catch it in their eye and in their voice: 'Are you sure you'recomfortable?' 'Are you sure you're warm enough?' 'Are you sure you don'tfeel a draft?' That's Chapter One. 

"Then they try to touch you--absent-mindedly putting their arms along theback of your chair, or taking your elbow to keep you from falling whenyou have to cross a doorsill or a curb-stone or some dangerous place likethat. That's always Chapter Two. 

"And then they try to get you into a nice, secluded place, and kiss you. Honestly, the sameness of it is enough to drive a girl wild. Sometimes Isay to myself, 'The next time a man looks at me that way and asks me if Ifeel a draft, I'm going to say, 'Oh, please let's dispense with ChapterTwo and pass directly to the nice, secluded place. It will be such achange from the usual routine!'"

Mary laughed to herself at the recollection. 

"If Vera's right, " she thought, "he'll try to touch me next--perhaps thenext time I come. "

It happened sooner than that. 

After she had tied up the papers and carried them to the car, and hadmade a tour of the new buildings--Archey Forbes blushing like a sunsetthe moment he saw her--she returned to her motor which was waitingoutside the office building. Burdon must have been waiting for her. Hesuddenly appeared and opened the door of the car. 

"Allow me, " he said. When she stepped up, she felt the support of hishand beneath her elbow. 

She slipped into her place at the wheel and looked ahead as dreamy-eyedas ever. 

"Chapter Two... " she thought to herself as the car began to roll away, and taking a hasty mental review of Wally Cabot, and Burdon Woodward andArchey Forbes, she couldn't help adding, "If a girl's thoughts started torun that way, oh, wouldn't they keep her busy!"

It relieved her feelings to make the car roar up the incline that ledfrom the river, but when she turned into the driveway at the house on thehill, she made a motion of comic despair. 

Wally Cabot's car was parked by the side of the house. Inside she heardthe phonograph playing a waltz. 

CHAPTER XIII

Wally stayed for lunch, looking sheepish at first for having been caughtdancing with Helen. But he soon recovered and became his charming self. Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty always made him particularly welcome, listening with approval to his chatter of Boston society, and feelingthemselves refreshed as at some Hebian spring at hearing the broad a'sand the brilliant names he uttered. 

"If I were you, Helen, " said Mary when lunch was over, "I think I'd go onteaching Wally that dance. " Which may have shown that it rankled alittle, even if she were unconscious that it did. "I have some papersthat I want to look over and I don't feel very trippy this afternoon. "

She went to Josiah's old study, but had hardly untied the papers when sheheard the knock of penitence on the door. 

"Come in!" she smiled. 

The door opened and in came Master Wally, looking ready to weep. 

"Wally! Don't!" she laughed. "You'll give yourself the blues!"

"Not when I hear you laugh like that. I know I'm forgiven. " He drew achair to the fire and sat down with an air of luxury. "I can almostimagine that we're an old married couple, sitting in here likethis--can't you?"

"No; I can't. And you've got to be quiet and let me work, or I shall sendyou back to Helen. "

"She asked me to dance with her--of course, you know that--or I neverwould have done it--"

"Oh, fie, for shame, " said Mary absently, "blaming the woman. You knowyou liked to do it. "

"Mary--!"

"Hush!"

He watched her for a time and, in truth, she was worth it. He looked atthe colour of her cheeks, her dreamy eyes like pools of mystery, thecrease in her chin (which he always wanted to kiss), the rise and fall ofthe pendant on her breast. He looked until he could look no longer andthen he arose and leaned over the desk. 

"Mary--!" he breathed, taking her hand. 

"Now, please don't start that, Wally. We'll shake hands if you want to... There! How are you? Now go back to your chair and be good. "

"'Be good!'" he savagely echoed. 

"Why, you want to be good; don't you?" she asked in surprise. 

"I want you to love me. Mary; tell me you love me just a little bit;won't you?"

"I like you a whole lot--but when it comes to love--the way you mean--"

"It's the only thing in life that's worth a hang, " he eagerly interruptedher. "The trouble is: you won't try it. You won't allow yourself to letgo. I was like that once--thought it was nothing. But after I met you--!Oh, girl, it's all roses and lilies--the only thing in the world, anddon't you forget it! Come on in and give it a try!"

"It's not the only thing in the world, " said Mary, shaking her head. "That's the reason I don't want to come in: When a man marries, he goesright on with his life as though nothing had happened. That shows it'snot the only thing with him. But when a woman marries--well, she simplysurrenders her future and her independence. It may be right that sheshould, too, for all I know--but I'm going to try the other way first. I'm going right on with my life, the same as a man does--and see what Iget by it. "

"How long are you going to try it, do you think?"

"Until I've found out whether love _is_ the only thing in a woman's life. If I find that I can't do anything else--if I find that a girl can onlybe as bright as a man until she reaches the marrying age, and then shejust naturally stands still while he just naturally goes forward--why, then, I'll put an advertisement in the paper 'Husband Wanted. MarySpencer. Please apply. '"

"They'll apply over my dead body. "

"You're a dear, good boy to say it. No, please, Wally, don't or I shallgo upstairs. Now sit by the fire again--that's better--and smoke if youwant to, and let me finish these papers. "

They were for the greater part the odds and ends which accumulate inevery desk. There were receipted bills, old insurance policies, lettersthat had once seemed worth prizing, catalogues of things that had neverbeen bought, prospectuses, newspaper clippings, copies of old contracts. And yet they had an interest, too--an interest partly historical, partlypersonal. 

This merry letter, for instance, which Mary read and smiled over--who wasthe "Jack" who had written it? "Dead, perhaps, like dad, " thought Mary. Yes, dead perhaps, and all his fun and drollery suddenly fallen intosilence and buried with him. 

"Isn't life queer!" she thought. "Now why did he save this clipping?"

She read the clipping and enjoyed it. Wally, watching from his chair, sawthe smile which passed over her face. 

"She'll warm up some day, " he confidently told himself, with thatbluntness of thought which comes to us all at times. "See how she flaredup because I danced with Helen. Maybe if I made her jealous... "

At the desk Mary picked up another paper--an old cable. She read it, re-read it, and quietly folded it again; but for all her calmness thecolour slowly mounted to her cheeks, as the recollection of odd words andphrases arose to her mind. 

"Wally, " she said in her quietest voice, "I'm going to ask you aquestion, but first you must promise to answer me truly. "

"Cross my heart and hope to die!"

"Are you ready?"

"Quite ready. "

"Then did you ever hear of any one in our family named Paul?"

"Y-yes--"

"Who was he?"

It was some time before he told the story, but trust a girl to make a manspeak when she wishes it! He softened the recital in every possible way, but trust a girl again to read between the lines when she wants to!

"And didn't he ever come back?" she asked. 

"No; you see he couldn't very well. There was an accident outWest--somebody killed--anyhow, he was blamed for it. Queer, isn't it?" hebroke off, trying to relieve the subject. "The Kaiser can start a war andkill millions. That's glory. But if some poor devil loses his head--"

Mary wasn't through yet. 

"You say he's dead!" she asked. 

"Oh, yes, years ago. He must have been dead--oh, let me see--aboutfifteen or twenty years, I guess. "

"Poor dad!" thought Mary that night. "What he must have gone through!I'll bet he didn't think that love was the only thing in life. And--thatother one, " she hesitated, "who was 'wild after the girls, ' Wally says, and finally ran off with one--I'll bet he didn't think so, either--beforehe got through--to say nothing of the poor thing who went with him. Butdead fifteen or twenty years--that's the queerest part. "

She found the cable again. It was dated Rio Janeiro--

"Gods sake cable two hundred dollars wife children sick desperate nextweek too late. "

It was signed "Paul" and--the point to which Mary's attention wasconstantly returning--it wasn't fifteen or twenty years ago that thisappeal had been received by her father. 

The date of the cable was scarcely three years old. 

CHAPTER XIV

For days Mary could think of little else, but as week followed week, herthoughts merged into memories--memories that were stored away and stirredin their hiding places less and less often. 

"Dad knew best, " she finally told herself. "He bore it in silence allthose years, so it wouldn't worry me, and I'm not going to start now. Perhaps--he's dead, too. Anyhow, " she sternly repeated, "I'm not going toworry. I've seen enough of worry to start doing that. "

Besides, she had too much else on her mind--"to start doing that. "

As the war in Europe had progressed--America drawing nearer the crimsonwhirlpool with every passing month--a Red Cross chapter was organized atNew Bethel. Mary took active part in the work, and whenever visitors cameto speak at the meetings, they seldom went away without being entertainedat the house on the hill. 

"I love to think of it, " she told Aunt Patty one day. "The greatestorganization of mercy ever known--and practically all women's work!Doesn't that mean a lot to you, Aunt Patty? If women can do suchwonderful things for the Red Cross, why can't they do wonderful things inother ways?"

Her own question set her thinking, and something seemed to tell her thatnow or never she must watch her chance to make old dreams come true. Surely never before in the history of the world had woman come to thefront with such a splendid arrival. 

"We'll get things yet, Aunt Delia, " she whispered in confidence, "so thatfolks will be just as proud of a girl baby as a boy baby. " Whereupon shewagged her finger as though to say, "You mark my words!" and went rollingaway to hear a distinguished lecturer who had just returned from Europewith a message to the women in America of what their sisters were doingacross the seas. 

The address was given at the Red Cross rooms, and as Mary listened shesewed upon a flannel swaddling robe that was later to go to Siberia lesta new-born babe might perish. At first she listened conscientiouslyenough to the speaker--"What our European sisters have done inagriculture--"

"I do believe at times that it's the women more than the men who make acountry great, " she thought as she heard of the women ploughing, planting, reaping. To Mary's mind each stoical figure glowed with thelight of heroism, and she nodded her head as she worked. 

"Just as I've always said, " she mused; "there's nothing a man can do thata woman can't do. "

From her chair by the window she chanced to look out at an old circusposter across the street. 

"Now that's funny, too, " she thought, her needle suspended; "I neverthought of that before--but even in such things as lion taming andtrapeze performing--where you would think a woman would really be at adisadvantage--she isn't at all. She's just as good as a man!"

The voice of the speaker broke in upon her thoughts. 

"I am now going to tell you, " she said, "what the women of Europe aredoing in the factories--"

And oh, how Mary listened, then!

It was a long talk--I cannot begin to give it here--but she drank inevery word, and hungered and thirsted for more. 

"There is not an operation in factory, foundry or laboratory, " began thespeaker, "where women are not employed--"

As in a dream Mary seemed to see the factory of Spencer & Son. The longlines of men had vanished, and in their places were women, clear-eyed, dexterous and happy at escaping from the unpaid drudgery of housework. "It may come to that, too, " she thought, "if we go into war. "

"In aeroplane construction, " the speaker continued, "where an undetectedflaw in her work might mean an aviator's life, woman is doing thecarpentry work, building the frame work, making the propellers. They arewelding metals, drilling, boring, grinding, milling, even working on theengines and magnetos--"

A quiver ran up and down Mary's back and her eyes felt wet. "Just whatI've always said, " she thought. "Ah, the poor women--"

"They are making telescopes, periscopes, binoculars, cameras--cutting andgrinding the lenses--work so fine that the deviation of a hair's breadthwould cause rejection--some of the lenses as small as a split pea. Theymake the metal parts that hold those lenses, assemble them, adjust them, test them. These are the eyes of the army and navy--surely no small partfor the woman to supply. "

Mary's thoughts turned to some of the homes she had seen--thesurroundings--the expression of the housewife. "All her life and no helpfor it, " she thought. And again, "Ah, the poor women.... "

"To tell you the things she is making would be to give you a list ofeverything used in modern warfare. They are making ships, tanks, cannon, rifles, cartridges. They are operating the most wonderful trip hammersthat were ever conceived by the mind of man, and under the same roof theyare doing hand work so delicate that the least extra pressure of a filewould spoil a week's labour. More! There isn't a process in which she hasbeen employed where woman has failed to show that she is man's equal inspeed and skill. In many operations she has shown that she is man'ssuperior--doing this by the simple method of turning out more work in aday than the man whose place she took--"

Mary invited the speaker to go home with her, and if you had gone pastthe house on the hill that night, you would have seen lights burningdownstairs until after one o 'clock. 

How did they train the women?

How did they find time to do their washing and ironing?

What about the children? And the babies? And the home?

As the visitor explained, stopping now and then to tell her young hostesswhere to write for government reports giving facts and figures on thesubject which they were discussing, Mary's eyes grew dreamier anddreamier as one fancy after another passed through her mind. And when theclock struck one and she couldn't for shame keep her guest up any longer, she went to her room at last and undressed in a sort of a reverie, herglance inward turned, her head slightly on one side, and with such a lookof thoughtful exaltation that I wish I could paint it for you, because Iknow I can never put it into words. 

Still, if you can picture Betsey Ross, it was thus perhaps that Betseylooked when first she saw the flag. 

Or Joan of Arc might once have gazed that way in Orleans' woods. 

CHAPTER XV

It was in December that Mary's great idea began to assume form. She wroteto the American Ambassadors in Great Britain and France for any documentswhich they could send her relating to the subject so close to her heart. In due time two formidable packages arrived at the house on the hill. 

Mary carried them into the den and opened them with fingers that trembledwith eagerness. 

Yes, it was all true.... All true.... Here it was in black and white, with photographs and statistics set down by impartial observers andprinted by government. Generally a state report is dry reading, but toMary at least these were more exciting than any romances--more beautifulthan any poem she had ever read. 

At last woman had been given a chance to show what she could do. And howshe had shown them!

Without one single straining effort, without the least thought of doinganything spectacular, she had gently and calmly taken up men's tools andhad done men's work--not indifferently well--not in any makeshiftmanner--but "in all cases, even the most technical, her work has equalledthat previously done exclusively by man. In a number of instances, owingto her natural dexterity and colour sense, her work, indeed, has beensuperior. "

How Mary studied those papers!

Never even at college had she applied herself more closely. Shememorized, compared, read, thought, held arguments with herself. Andfinally, when she was able to pass any examination that might be setbefore her, she went down to the office one day and sent for Mr. MacPherson, the master mechanic. 

He came--grey haired, grim faced, a man who seemed to keep his mouthbuttoned-and Mary asked him to shut the door behind him. Whereat Macbuttoned his mouth more tightly than before, and looked grimmer, too, ifthat were possible. 

"You don't look a day older, " Mary told him with a smile. "I remember youfrom the days when my father used to carry me around--"

"He was a grand man, Miss Mary; it's a pity he's gone, " said Mac andpromptly buttoned his mouth again. 

"I want to talk to you about something, " she said, "but first I want youto promise to keep it a secret. "

He blinked his eyes at that, and as much as a grim faced man can looktroubled, he looked troubled. 

"There are vera few secrets that can be kept around this place, " was hisstrange reply. "Might I ask, Miss Mary, of what nature is the subject?"And seeing that she hesitated he added, first looking cautiously over hisshoulder, "Is it anything, for instance, to do wi' Mr. Woodward? Or, say, the conduct of the business?"

"No, no, " said Mary, "it--it's about women--" Mac stared at her, but whenshe added "--about women working in the factory, " he drew a breath ofrelief. 

"Aye, " he said, "I think I can promise to keep quiet about that. "

"Isn't it true, " she began, "that most of the machinery we use doesn'trequire a great deal of skill to run it?"

"We've a lot of automatics, " acknowledged Mac. "Your grandfather's idea, Miss Mary. A grand man. He was one of the first to make the machine thinkinstead of the operator. "

"How long does it take to break in an ordinary man?"

"A few weeks is generally enough. It depends on the man and the tool. "

Mary told him then what she had in her mind, and Mac didn't think much ofit until she showed him the photographs. Even then he was "michtycautious" until he happened to turn to the picture of a munition factoryin Glasgow where row after row of overalled women were doing the lathework. 

"Think of that now, " said he; "in Glasga'!" As he looked, the frost lefthis eye. "A grand lot of lasses, " he said and cleared his throat. 

"If they can do it, we can do it, too--don't you think so?"

"Why not?" he asked. "For let me tell you this, Miss Mary. Those oldcountries are all grand countries--to somebody's way of thinking. ButAmerica is the grandest of them all, or they wouldn't keep coming here asfast as ships can bring them! What they can do, yes, we can do--and addsomething for good measure, if need be!"

"Well, that's it, " said Mary, eagerly. "If we go into the war, we shallhave to do the same as they are doing in Europe--let women do the factorywork. And if it comes to that, I want Spencer & Son to be ready--to bethe first to do it--to show the others the way!"

Mac nodded. "A bit of your grandfather, that, " he thought with approval. 

"So what I want you to do, " she concluded, "is to make me up a list ofmachines that women can be taught to handle the easiest, and let me haveit as soon as you can. "

"I'll do that, " he grimly nodded. "There's far too many vacant now. "

"And remember, please, you are not to say anything. Because, you know, people would only laugh at the idea of a woman being able to do a man'swork. "

"I'm mute, " he nodded again, and started for the door, his mouth buttonedvery tightly indeed. But even while his hand was stretched out to reachthe knob, he paused and then returned to the desk. 

"Miss Mary, " he said, "I'm an old man, and you're a young girl. I knownothing, mind you, but sometimes there are funny things going on in theworld. And a man's not a fool. What I'm going to tell you now, I want youto remember it, but forget who told it to you. Trust nobody. Be careful. I can say no more. "

"He means Uncle Stanley, " thought Mary, uneasily, and a shadow fell uponthe day. She was still troubled when another disturbing incident arose. 

"I'll leave these papers in the desk here, " she thought, taking her keysfrom her handbag. She unlocked the top drawer and was about to place thepapers on top of those which already lay there, when suddenly she pausedand her eyes opened wide. 

On the top letter in her drawer--a grey tinted sheet--was a scatteredmound of cigarette ash. 

"Somebody's been here--snooping, " she thought. "Somebody with a key tothe desk. He must have had a cigarette in his hand when he shut thedrawer, and the ashes jarred off without being noticed--"

Irresistibly her thoughts turned to Burdon Woodward, with his goldcigarette case and match box. 

"It was he who gave me the keys, " she thought. 

She sighed. A sense of walking among pitfalls took possession of her. Asyou have probably often noticed, suspicion feeds upon suspicion, and asMary walked through the outer office she felt that more than one pair ofeyes were avoiding her. The old cashier kept his head buried in hisledger and nearly all the men were busy with their papers and books. 

"Perhaps it's because I'm a woman, " she thought. Ma'm Maynard's wordsarose with a new significance, "I tell you, Miss Mary, it has halwaysbeen so, and it halways will. Everything that lives has its own naturalenemy--and a woman's natural enemy: eet is man!"

But Mary could still smile at that. 

"Take Mr. MacPherson, " she thought; "how is he my natural enemy? Or JudgeCutler? Or Archey Forbes? Or Wally Cabot?" She felt more normal then, butwhen these reflections had died away, she still occasionally felt herthoughts reverting to Mac's warning, the cigarette ash, the avertedglances in the office. 

The nest morning, though, she thought she had found the answer to thelatter puzzle. She had hardly finished breakfast when Judge Cutler wasannounced, his hawk's eyes frowning and never a trace of his smile. 

"Did you get your copy of the annual report?" he asked. 

"Not yet, " said Mary, somehow guessing what he meant. "Why?"

"I got mine in the mail this morning. " He drew it from his pocket and hisfrown grew deeper. "Let's go in the den, " he said; "we've got to talkthis out. "

It was the annual report of Spencer & Son's business and briefly stated, it showed an alarming loss for the preceding twelve months. 

"Ah-ha!" thought Mary, "that's the reason they didn't look up yesterday. They had seen this, and they felt ashamed. "

"As nearly as I can make it out, " said the judge, "there's too manyimprovements going on, and not enough business. We must do something tostop these big expenses, and find a way to get more bearings sold--"

He checked himself then and looked at Mary, much as Mac had looked theprevious day, just before issuing his warning. 

"Perhaps he's thinking of Uncle Stanley, too, " thought Mary. 

"Another bad feature is this, " continued the judge, "the bank is gettingtoo strong a hold on the company. We must stop that before it gets anyworse. "

"Why?" asked Mary, looking very innocent. 

"Because it isn't good business. "

"But Uncle Stanley is president of the bank. You don't think he'd doanything to hurt Spencer & Son; do you?"

The judge tapped his foot on the floor for a time, and then made a noiselike a groan--as though he had teeth in his mind and one of them wasbeing pulled. 

"Many a time, " he said, "I have tried to talk you out of your suspicions. But--if it was any other man than Stanley Woodward, I would say todaythat he was doing his best to--to--"

"To 'do' me?" suggested Mary, more innocent than ever. 

"Yes, my dear--to do you! And another year's work like this wouldn't befar from having that result. "

Curiously enough it was Mary's great idea that comforted her. Instead offeeling worried or apprehensive, she felt eager for action, her eyesshining at the thoughts which came to her. 

"All right, " she said, "we'll have a meeting in a day or two. I'll waittill I get my copy of the report. "

Wally came that afternoon, and Mary danced with him--that is to say shedanced with him until a freckle-faced apprentice came up from the factorywith an envelope addressed in MacPherson's crabbed hand. Mary took onepeep inside and danced no more. 

"If the women can pick it up as quick as the men, " she read, "I havecounted 1653 places in this factory where they could be working in a fewweeks time--that is, if the places were vacant. List enclosed. Respectfully. James O. MacPherson. "

It was a long list beginning "346 automatics, 407 grinders--"

Mary studied it carefully, and then after telephoning to the factory, shecalled up Judge Cutler. 

"I wish you would come down to the office in about half an hour, " shesaid, ".... Directors' meeting. All right. Thank you. "

"What was it dad used to call me sometimes--his 'Little Hustler'?" shethought. "If he could see, I'll bet that's what he would call me now. "

As she passed through the hall she looked in the drawing room to tellHelen where she was going. Helen was sitting on a chaise lounge and Wallywas bending over her, as though trying to get something out of her eyewith the corner of a handkerchief. 

"I don't see anything, " Mary heard him saying. 

"There must be something. It hurts dreadfully, " said Helen. 

Looking again, he lightly dabbed at the eye. "Oh!" breathed Helen. "Don't, Wally!"

She took hold of his hand as though to stop him. Mary passed on withoutsaying anything, her nose rather high in the air. 

Half way down the hill she laughed at nothing in particular. 

"Yes, " she told herself. "Helen--in her own way--I guess that she's alittle Hustler ... Too ... !"

CHAPTER XVI

The meeting was held in Mary's office--the first conference of directorsshe had ever attended. By common consent, Uncle Stanley was chosenchairman of the board. Judge Cutler was appointed secretary. 

Mary sat in her chair at the desk, her face nearly hidden by the flowersin the vase. 

It didn't take the meeting long to get down to business. 

"From last year's report, " began the judge, "it is evident that we musthave a change of policy. "

"In what way?" demanded Uncle Stanley. 

Whereupon they joined issue--the man of business and the man of law. IfMary had been paying attention she would have seen that the judge wasslowly but surely getting the worst of it. 

To stop improvements now would be inviting ruin--They had their hands onthe top rung of the ladder now; why let go and fall to the bottom--? Whatwould everybody think if those new buildings stayed empty--?

Uncle Stanley piled fact on fact, argument on argument. 

Faint heart never won great fortune--As soon as the war was over, and itwouldn't be long now--Before long he began to dominate the conference, the judge growing more and more silent, looking more and more indecisive. 

Through it all Mary sat back in her chair at the desk and said nothing, her face nearly hidden by the roses, but woman-like, she never forgot fora moment the things she had come there to do. 

"What do you think, Mary?" asked the judge at last. "Do you think we hadbetter try it a little longer and see how it works out?"

"No, " said Mary quietly, "I move that we stop everything else but makingbearings. "

In vain Uncle Stanley arose to his feet, and argued, and reasoned, andsat down again, and brought his fist down on his knee, and turned a rich, brown colour. After a particularly eloquent period he caught a sight ofMary's face among the roses--calm, cool and altogether unmoved--and hestopped almost on the word. 

"That's having a woman, in business, " he bitterly told himself. "Might aswell talk to the wind. Never mind ... It may take a little longer--but inthe end.... "

Judge Cutler made a minute in the director's book that all work onimprovements was to stop at once. 

"And now, " he said, "the next thing is to speed up the manufacture ofbearings. "

"Easily said, " Uncle Stanley shortly laughed. 

"There must be some way of doing it, " persisted the judge, taking theargument on himself again. "Why did our earnings fall down so low lastyear?"

"Because I can manufacture bearings, but I can't manufacture men, "reported Uncle Stanley. "We are over three hundred men short, and it'sgetting worse every day. Let me tell you what munition factories arepaying for good mechanics--"

Mary still sat in her wicker chair, back of the flowers, and lookedaround at the paintings on the walls--of the Josiah Spencers who hadlived and laboured in the past. "They all look quiet, as though theynever talked much, " she thought. "It seems so silly to talk, anyhow, whenyou know what you are going to do. "

But still the argument across the desk continued, and again Uncle Stanleybegan to gain his point. 

"So you see, " he finally concluded, "it's just as I said a few minutesago. I can manufacture bearings, but I can't manufacture men!"

From behind the roses then a patient voice spoke. 

"You don't have to manufacture men. We don't need them. "

Uncle Stanley gave the judge a look that seemed to say, "Listen to thewoman of it! Lord help us men when we have to deal with women!" And aloudin quite a humouring tone he said, "We don't need men? Then who's to dothe work?"

Mary moved the vase so she could have a good look at him. 

"Women, " she replied. "They can do the work. Yes, women, " said she. 

Again they looked at each other, those two, with the careful glance withwhich you might expect two duellists to regard each other--two duellistswho had a premonition that one day they would surely cross their swords. And again Uncle Stanley was the first to look away. 

"Women!" he thought. "A fine muddle there'll he!"

In fancy he saw the company's organization breaking down, its outputdecreasing, its product rejected for imperfections. Of course he knewthat women were employed in textile mills and match-box factories andgum-and-glue places like that where they couldn't afford to employ men, and had no need for accuracy. But women at Spencer & Sons! Whose boasthad always been its accuracy! Where every inch was divided into athousand parts!

"She's hanging herself with her own rope, " he concluded. "I'll say nomore. "

Mary turned to the judge. 

"You might make a minute of that, " she said. 

Half turning, she chanced to catch a glimpse of Uncle Stanley'ssatisfaction. 

"And you might say this, " she quietly added, "that Miss Spencer wasplaced in charge of the women's department, with full authority to settleall questions that might arise. "

"That's all?" asked Uncle Stanley. 

"I think that's all this afternoon, " she said. 

He turned to the judge as one man to another, and made a sweeping gesturetoward the portraits on the walls, now half buried in the shadows ofapproaching evening. 

"I wonder what they would think of women working here?" he said in asignificant tone. 

Mary thought that over. 

"I wonder what they would think of this?" she suddenly asked. 

She switched on the electric light and as though by magic a soft whiteradiance flooded the room. 

"Would they want to go back to candles?" she asked. 

CHAPTER XVII

Later, the thing which Mary always thought of first was the ease withwhich the change was accomplished. 

First of all she called in Archey Forbes and told him her plan. 

"I'm going to make you chief of staff, " she said; "that is--if you'd carefor the place. "

He coloured with pleasure--not quite as gorgeously as he once did--butquite enough to be noticeable. 

"Anything I can do for you, Miss Mary?" he said. 

"Then first we must find a place to train the women workers. One of thoseempty buildings would be best, I think. I'll give you a list of machinesto be set in place. "

The "school" was ready the following Monday morning. For "teachers" Maryhad selected a number of elderly men whom she had picked for their quietvoices and obvious good nature. They were all expert machinists and hadfamilies. 

On Saturday the following advertisement had appeared in the local paper:

A CALL FOR WOMEN

Women wanted in machine-shop to do men's work at men's wages for theduration of the war. 

No experience necessary. Easier than washing, ironing, scrubbing orsewing. $21 a week and up. 

Apply Monday morning, 8 o'clock. 

JOSIAH SPENCER & SON, INC. 

As you have guessed, Mary composed that advertisement. It hadn't passedwithout criticism. 

"I don't think it's necessary to pay them as much as the men, " Mac hadsuggested. "To say the least it's vera generous and vera unusual. "

"Why shouldn't they get as much as the men if they are going to do men'swork?" asked Mary. "Besides, I'm doing it for the men's sake, even morethan for the women's. "

Mac stared at that and buttoned his mouth very tightly. 

"They have been all through that in Europe, " she explained. "Don't yousee? If a woman can do a man's work, and do it for less money, it bringsdown men's wages. Because who would hire a man at $21 a week after thewar if they could get a woman to do the same work for $15?"

"You're richt, " said Mac after a thoughtful pause. "I must pass thatalong. I know from myself that the men will grumble when they think thewomen are going to make as much money as themselves. But when theyrichtly understand it's for their own sake, too, they'll hush theirnoise. "

Mary was one of the first at the factory on Monday. 

"Won't I look silly, if nobody comes!" she had thought every time shewoke in the night. But she needn't have worried. There was an argument inthat advertisement, "Easier than washing, ironing, scrubbing or sewing, "that appealed to many a feminine imagination, and when the fancy, thusawakened, played around the promising phrase "$21 a week--and up, " hopepresently turned to desire--and desire to resolution. 

"We'll have to set up more machines, " said Mary to Archey when she sawthe size of her first class. And looking them over with a proudly beatingheart she called out, "Good morning, everybody! Will you please followme?"

From this point on, particularly, I like to imagine the eight JosiahSpencers who had gone before following the proceedings with ghostly stepsand eyes that missed not a move--invisible themselves, but hearing alland saying nothing. And how they must have stared at each other as theyfollowed that procession over the factory grounds, the last of theSpencers followed by a silent, winding train of women, like a new type ofMoses leading her sisters into the promised land!

As Mary had never doubted for a moment, the women of New Bethel provedthemselves capable of doing anything that the women of Europe had done;and it wasn't long before lines of feminine figures in Turkish overallswere bending over the repetition tools in the Spencer shops--starting, stopping, reversing gears, oiling bearings--and doing it all with thatdeftness and assurance which is the mark of the finished workman. 

Indeed, if you had been near-sighted, and watching from a distance, youmight have been pardoned for thinking that they were men--but if youlooked closer you would have seen that each woman had a stool to sit on, when her work permitted, and if you had been there at half past ten andagain at half past three, you would have seen a hand-cart going up anddown the aisles, serving tea, coffee, cake and sandwiches. 

Again at noon you would have seen that the women had a rest room of theirown where they could eat their lunch in comfort--a rest room withcouches, and easy chairs, and palms and flowers, and a piano, and atalking machine, and a floor that you could dance on, if you felt likedancing immediately before or after lunch. And how the eight Josiahswould have stared at that happy, swaying throng in its Turkishoveralls--especially on Friday noon just after the pay envelopes had beenhanded around!

Meanwhile the school was adding new courses of study. The cleverestoperators were brought back to learn how to run more complicatedmachines. Turret lathe hands, oscillating grinders, inspectors weregraduated. In short, by the end of March, Mary was able to report toanother special meeting of the board of directors that where Spencer &Son had been 371 men short on the first of the year, every empty placewas now taken and a waiting list was not only willing but eager to startupon work which was easier than washing, ironing, scrubbing or sewing, and was guaranteed to pay $21 a week--and up!

This declaration might be said to mark an epoch in the Spencer factory. Its exact date was March 31st, 1917. 

On April 2nd of the same year, another declaration was made, never to beforgotten by mankind. 

Upon that date, as you will recall, the Sixty-fifth Congress of theUnited States of America declared war upon the Imperial GermanGovernment. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Wally was the first to go. 

On a wonderful moonlight night in May he called to bid Mary good-bye. Hehad received a commission in the aviation department and was already inuniform--as charming and romantic a figure as the eyes of love couldever wish to see. 

But Mary couldn't see him that way--not even when she tried--making abold little experiment with herself and feeling rather sorry, ifanything, that her heart beat no quicker and not a thrill ran over her, when her hand rested for a moment on Wally's shoulder. 

"I wonder if I'm different from other girls, " she thought. "Or is itbecause I have other things to think about? Perhaps if I had nothing elseon my mind, I'd dream of love as much as anybody, until it amountedto--what do they call it?--a fixed idea?--that thing which comes topeople when they keep turning the same thing over and over in theirminds, till they can't get it out of their thoughts?"

But you mustn't think that Mary didn't care that Wally was going--perhapsnever to return. She knew that she liked him--she knew she would misshim. And when, just before he left, he sang The Spanish Cavalier in thatstirring tenor which always made her scalp tingle and her breast feelfull, she turned her face to the moonlit scene outside and lived one ofthose minutes which are so filled with beauty and the stirring of thespirit that pleasure becomes poignant and brings a feeling which isn'tfar from pain. 

"I'm off to the war--to the war I must go, To fight for my country and you, dear;But if I should fall, in vain I would call The blessing of my country and you, dear--"

All their eyes were wet then, even Wally's--moved by the sadness of hisown song. Aunt Patty, Aunt Cordelia and Helen wiped their tears awayunashamed, but Mary tried to hide hers. 

And when the time came for his departure, Aunt Cordelia kissed him andbreathed in his ear a prayer, and Aunt Patty kissed him and prayed forhim, and Helen kissed him, too, her arms tight around his neck. But whenit came to Mary's turn, she looked troubled and gazed down at her handwhich he was holding in both of his. 

"Come on out for a minute, " he whispered, gently leading her. 

They went out under the moon. 

"Aren't you going to kiss me, too?" he asked. 

Mary thought it over. 

"If I kissed you, I would love you, " she said, and tried to hide hertears no more. 

He soothed her then in the immemorial manner, and soon she was tranquilagain. 

"Good-bye, Wally, " she said. 

"Good-bye, dear. You'll promise to be here when I come back?"

"I shall be here. "

"And you won't let anybody run away with you until I've had anotherchance?"

"Don't worry. "

She watched the light of his car diminish until it vanished over thecrest of the hill. A gathering sense of loneliness began to assail her, but with it was a feeling of freedom and purpose--the feeling that shewas being left alone, clear of distraction, to fight her own fight andachieve her own destiny. 

Archey Forbes was the next to go. His going marked a curious incident. 

He had applied for a commission in the engineers, and his record andtraining being good, it wasn't long before he received the beckoningsummons of Mars. 

Upon the morning of the day when he was to leave New Bethel, he went tothe factory to say good-bye. The one he wished to see the most, however, was the first one he missed. 

"Miss Mary's around the factory somewhere, " said a stenographer. 

Another spoke up, a dark girl with a touch of passion in her smile. "Ithink Mr. Burdon is looking for her, too. "

Archey missed neither the smile nor the tone--and liked neither of them. 

"He'll get in trouble yet, " he thought, "going out with those girls, " andhis frown grew as he thought of Burdon's daily contact with Mary. 

"I'll see if I can find her, " he told himself after he had waited a fewminutes; and stepping out into the full beauty of the June morning, hecrossed the lawn toward the factory buildings. 

On one of the trees a robin sang and watched him with its head atilt. Abee hummed past him and settled on a trellis of roses. In the distancemurmured the falls, with their soothing, drowsy note. 

"These are the days, when I was a boy, that I used to dream of runningaway and seeing the world and having great adventures, " thought Archey, his frown forgotten. He didn't consciously put it into words, but deepfrom his mind arose a feeling of the coming true of great dreams--ofrunning away from the humdrum of life, of seeing the world, of taking apart in the greatest adventure ever staged by man. 

"What a day!" he breathed, lifting his face to the sun. "Oh, Lord, what aday!"

It was indeed a day--one of those days which seem to have wine in theair--one of those days when old ambitions revive and new ones flower intosplendour. Mary, for instance, on her way to the machine shop, was busywith thoughts of a nursery where mothers could bring their children whowere too young to go to school. 

"Plenty of sun, " she thought, "and rompers for them all, and sand piles, and toys, and certified milk, and trained nurses--" And while she dreamedshe hummed to herself in approval, and wasn't aware that the air shehummed was the Spanish Cavalier--and wasn't aware that Burdon Woodwardwas near until she suddenly awoke from her dream and found they were faceto face. 

He turned and walked with her. 

The wine of the day might have been working in Burdon, too, for he hadn'twalked far with Mary before he was reminding her more strongly than ever, of Steerforth in David Copperfield--Baffles in the Amateur Cracksman. Indeed, that morning, listening to his drawl and looking up at the darkhandsome face with its touch of recklessness, the association of Mary'sideas widened. 

M'sieur Beaucaire, just from the gaming table--Don Juan on the NevskiProspekt--Buckingham on his way to the Tuileries--they all might havebeen talking to her, warming her thoughts not so much by what they saidas by what they might say, appealing to her like a romance which must, however, be read to the end if you wish to know the full story. 

They were going through an empty corridor when it happened. Burdon, drawling away as agreeably as ever, gently closed his fingers aroundMary's hand. 

"I might have known, " she thought in a little panic. "It's my own fault. "But when she tried to pull her hand away, her panic grew. 

"No, no, " said Burdon, laughing low, his eyes more reckless than ever, "you might tell--if I stopped now. But you'll never tell a soul onearth--if I kiss you. "

Even while Mary was struggling, her head held down, she couldn't helpthinking, "So that's the way he does it, " and felt, I think, as feels thefly who has walked into the parlour. The next moment she heard a sharpvoice, "Here--stop that!" and running steps approaching. 

"I think it was Archey, " she thought, as she made her escape, her kneesshaking, her breath coming fast. She knew it was, ten minutes later, whenArchey found her in the office--knew it from the way he looked at her andthe hesitation of his speech--but it wasn't until they were shaking handsin parting that she saw the cut on his knuckles. 

"You've hurt yourself, " she said. "Wait; I have some adhesive plaster. "

Even then she didn't guess. 

"How did you do it?" she asked. 

"Oh, I don't know--"

Mary's glance suddenly deepened into tenderness, and when Archey left afew minutes later, he walked as one who trod the clouds, his head amongthe stars. 

An hour passed, and Mary looked in Uncle Stanley's office. Burdon's deskwas closed as though for the day. 

"Where's Burdon?" she asked. 

"He wasn't feeling very well, " said Uncle Stanley after a long look athis son's desk, "--a sort of headache. I told him he had better go home. "

And every morning for the rest of the week, when she saw Uncle Stanley, she gave him such an innocent look and said, "How's Burdon's head thismorning? Any better?"

Uncle Stanley began to have the irritable feelings of an old mouse in thehands of a young kitten. 

"That's the worst of having women around, "--he scowled to himself--"theyare worse than--worse than--worse than--"

Searching for a simile, he thought of a flash of lightning, a steel hooplying on its side, a hornet's nest--but none of these quite suited him. He made a helpless gesture. 

"Hang 'em, you never know what they're up to next!" said he. 

CHAPTER XIX

For that matter, there were times in the next two years when Mary herselfhardly knew what she was up to next, for if ever a girl suddenly foundherself in deep waters, it was the last of the Spencers. Strangelyenough--although I think it is true of many of life's undertakings--itwasn't the big things which bothered her the most. 

She soon demonstrated--if it needed any demonstration--that what thewomen of France and Britain had done, the women of New Bethel could do. At each call of the draft, more and more men from Spencer & Son obeyedthe beckoning finger of Mars, and more and more women presently tooktheir places in the workshops. That was simply a matter of enlarging thetraining school, of expanding the courses of instruction. 

No; it wasn't the big things which ultimately took the bloom from Mary'scheeks and the smile from her eyes. 

It was the small things that worried her--things so trifling inthemselves that it would sound foolish to mention them--the daily naggingdetails, the gathering load of responsibility upon her shoulders, theindifference which she had to dispel, the inertia that had to beovercome, the ruffled feelings to be soothed, the squabbles to besettled, the hidden hostilities which she had to contend against in herown office--and yet pretend she never noticed them. 

Indeed, if it hadn't been for the recompensing features, Mary'senthusiasm would probably have become chilled by experience, and dreamshave come to nothing. But now and then she seemed to sense in the factorya gathering impetus of efficient organization, the human gears workingsmoothly for a time, the whole machine functioning with that beauty ofprecision which is the dream of every executive. 

That always helped Mary whenever it happened. 

And the second thing which kept her going was to see the evidences ofprosperity and contentment which the women on the payroll began toshow--their new clothes and shoes--the hopeful confidence of theirsmiles--the frequency with which the furniture dealers' wagons were seenin the streets around the factory, the sounds of pianos and phonographsin the evening and, better than all, the fact that on pay day at Spencer& Sons, the New Bethel Savings Bank stayed open till half past nine atnight--and didn't stay open for nothing!

"If things could only keep going like this when the war ends, too, "breathed Mary one day. "... I'm sure there must be some way ... Someway.... "

For the second time in her life (as you will presently see) she was likea blind-folded player with arms outstretched, groping for her destiny andmissing it by a hair. 

"Still, " she thought, "when the men come back, I suppose most of thewomen will have to go. Of course, the men must have their places back, but you'd think there was some way ... Some way.... "

In fancy she saw the women going back to the kitchens, back to the oldtoil from which they had escaped. 

"It's silly, of course, " she thoughtfully added, "and wicked, too, to saythat men and women are natural enemies. But--the way some of the menact--you'd almost think they believed it.... "

She thought of Uncle Stanley and has son. At his own request, Burdon hadbeen transferred to the New York office and Mary seldom saw him, butsomething told her that he would never forgive her for the morning whenhe had to go home--"with a sort of a headache. "

"And Uncle Stanley, too, " she thought, her lip quivering as a wave ofloneliness swept over her and left her with a feeling of emptiness. "If Iwere a man, he wouldn't dare to act as he does. But because I'm a girl, Ican almost see him hoping that something will happen to me--"

If that, indeed, was Uncle Stanley's hope, he didn't have to wait muchlonger. 

The armistice was signed, you will remember, in the first week ofNovember, 1918. Two months later Mary showed Judge Cutler the financialstatement for the preceding year. 

"Another year like this, " said the judge, "and, barring strikes andaccidents, Spencer & Son will be on its feet again, stronger than ever!My dear girl, " he said, rising and holding out his hand, "I mustcongratulate you!"

Mary arose, too, her hand outstretched, but something in her mannercaught the judge's attention. 

"What's the matter, Mary?" he asked. "Don't you feel well?"

"Men--women, " she said, unsteadily smiling and giving him her hand, "theyought to be--now--natural partners--not--not--"

With a sigh she lurched forward and fell--a tired little creature--intohis arms. 

CHAPTER XX

Mary had a bad time of it the next few weeks. More than once her faceseemed turned toward the Valley of the Shadow. But gradually health andstrength returned, although it wasn't until April that she was anythinglike herself again. 

She liked to sit--sometimes for hours at a time--reading, thinking, dreaming--and when she was strong enough to go outside she would walkamong the flowers, and look at the birds and the budding trees, and drawdeep breaths as she watched the glory of the sunset appearing anddisappearing in the western sky. 

Helen occasionally walked and sat with her--but not often. Helen's timewas being more and more taken up by the younger set at the Country Club. She came home late, humming snatches of the latest dances and talking ofthe conquests she had made, telling Mary of the men who would dance withno one else, of the compliments they had paid her, of the things they hadtold her, of the competition to bring her home. One night, it appears, they had an old-fashioned country party at the club, and Helen was inhigh glee at the number of letters she had received in the game of postoffice. 

"You mean to say they all kissed you?" asked Mary. 

"You bet they did! Good and hard! That's what they were there for!"

Mary thought that over. 

"It doesn't sound nice to me, somehow, " she said at last. "It sounds--oh, I don't know--common. "

"That's what the girls thought who didn't get called, " laughed Helen. 

She arranged her hair in front of the mirror, pulling it down over herforehead till it looked like a golden turban. "Oh, who do you think wasthere tonight?" she suddenly interrupted herself. 

Mary shook her head. 

"Burdon Woodward--as handsome as ever. Yes, handsomer, I think, if hecould be. He asked after you. I told him you were nearly better. "

"Then he must be down at the factory every day, " thought Mary. But thethought moved her only a little. Whether or not it was due to herillness, she seemed to have undergone a reaction in regard to thefactory. Everything was going on well, Judge Cutler sometimes told her. As the men returned from service, the women were giving up their places. 

"Whatever you do, " he always concluded, "don't begin worrying aboutthings down there. If you do, you'll never get well. "

"I'm not worrying, " she told him, and once she added, "It seems ever solong ago, somehow--that time we had down there. "

As the spring advanced, her thoughts took her further than ever fromtheir old paths. Instead of thinking of something else (as she used todo), when Helen was telling of her love affairs, Mary began to listen tothem--and even to sit up till Helen returned from the club. One night, asHelen was chatting of a young an from Boston who had teased her byfollowing her around until every one was calling him "Helen's littlelamb, " Mary gradually became aware of an elusive scent in the room. 

"Cigarettes, " she thought, "and--and raspberry jam--!" She waited untilher cousin paused for breath and then, "Did Burdon Woodward ride homewith you tonight?" she asked. 

"With Doris and me, " nodded Helen, smiling at herself in the mirror. "Hetold us he went over with some of the boys, but he wanted to go homecivilized. "

Nothing more was said, but a few mornings later, as Helen sat atbreakfast reading her mail, Mary was sure she recognized Burdon's dashinghandwriting. A vague sense of uneasiness passed over her, but this wassoon forgotten when she went to the den to look at her own mail. 

On the top of the pile was a letter addressed to her father. 

"Rio de Janeiro, " breathed Mary, reading the post-mark. "Why, that'swhere the cable came from!"

She opened the letter.... It was signed "Paul. "

"Dear Sir (it began)

"This isn't begging. I am through with that. When you paid no attentionto my cable, I said, 'Never again!' You might like to know that I buriedmy wife and two youngest that time. It hurt then, but I can see now thatthey were lucky. 

"I have one daughter left--twelve years old. She's just at the age whenshe ought to be looked after. This is her picture. She's a pretty girl, and a good girl, but fond of fun and good times. 

"I've done my best, but I'm down and out--tired--through. I guess it's upto you what sort of a granddaughter you want. There's a school near herewhere she could go and be brought up right. It won't cost much. You cansend the money direct--if you want the right sort of a granddaughter. 

"If you want the other kind, all you have to do is to forget it. Thecrowd I go with aren't good for her. 

"Anyway I enclose the card and rates and references of the school. Yousee they give the consuls' names. 

"If you decide yes, you want your granddaughter to have a chance, write aletter to the name and address below. That's me. Then write the school, sending check for one year and say it is for the daughter of the name andaddress below. That is the name I am known by here. 

"I'm sorry for everything, but of course it's too late now. The truestthing in the world is this: As you make your bed, so you've got to lie init. I made mine wrong, but you couldn't help it. I wouldn't bother younow except for Rosa's sake. 

"Your prodigal son who is eating husks now, "PAUL. "

Mary looked at the photograph--a pretty child with her hair over hershoulders and a smile in her eyes. 

"You poor little thing, " she breathed, "and to think you're my niece--andI'm your aunt ... Aunt Mary, " she thoughtfully repeated, and for thefirst time she realized that youth is not eternal and that years goswiftly by. 

"Life's the strangest thing, " she thought. "It's only a sort of anaccident that I'm not in her place, and she's not in mine.... Perhaps Isha'n't have any children of my own--ever--" she dreamed, "and if Idon't--it will be nice to think that I did something--for this one--"

For a moment the chill of caution went over her. 

"Suppose it isn't really Paul, " she thought. "Suppose--it's some sharper. Perhaps that's why dad never wrote him--"

But an instinct, deeper than anything which the mind can express, toldher that the letter rang true and had no false metal in it. 

"Or suppose, " she thought, "if he knows dad is dead--suppose he turns upand makes trouble for everybody--"

Wally's story returned to her memory. "There was an accident outWest--somebody killed. Anyhow he was blamed for it--so he could nevercome back or they'd get him--"

"That agrees with his living under this Russian name, " nodded Mary. "Anyhow, I'm sure there's nothing to fear in doing a good action--for achild like this--"

She propped the picture on her desk and after a great deal of dipping herpen in the ink, she finally began--

"Dear Sir:

"I have opened your letter to my father, Josiah Spencer. He has been deadthree years. I am his daughter. 

"It doesn't seem right that such a nice girl as Rosa shouldn't have everychance to grow up good and happy. So I am writing the school youmentioned, and sending them the money as you suggest. 

"She will probably need some clothes, as they always look at a girl'sclothes so when she goes to school. I therefore enclose something forthat. 

"Trusting that everything will turn out well, I am

"Yours sincerely, "MARY SPENCER. 

"P. S. I would like Rosa to write and tell me how she gets on at school. "

She wrote the school next and when that was done she sat back in herchair and looked out of the window at the birds and the flowers and thebees that flew among the flowers. 

"What a queer thing it is--love, or whatever they call it, " she thought. "The things it has done to people--right in this house! I guess it's likefire--a good servant but a bad master--"

She thought of what it had done to Josiah--and to Josiah's son. Shethought of what it had done to Ma'm Maynard, what it was doing to Helen, how it had left Aunt Cordelia and Aunt Patty untouched. 

"It's like some sort of a fever, " she told herself. "You never knowwhether you're going to catch it or not--or when you're going to catch, it--or what it's going to do to you--"

She walked to the window and rather unsteadily her hand arose to herbreast. 

"I wonder if I shall ever catch it.... " she thought. "I wonder what itwill do to me... !"

CHAPTER XXI

Archey Forbes came back in the beginning of May and the first call hemade was to the house on the hill. He had brought with him a collectionof souvenirs--a trench-made ring, shrapnel fragments of curious shapes, the inevitable helmet and a sword handle with a piece of wire attached. 

"It was part of our work once, " he said, "to find booby traps and makethem harmless. This was in a barn, looking as though some one had triedto hide his sword in the hay. It looked funny to me, so I went at it easyand found the wire connected to a fuse. There was enough explosive toblow up the barn and everybody around there, but it wouldn't blow up ahill of bears when we got through with it. "

He coloured a little through his bronze. "I thought you might like thesethings, " he awkwardly continued. 

"Like them? I'd love them!" said Mary, her eyes sparkling. 

"I brought them for you. "

They were both silent for a time, looking at the souvenirs, but presentlytheir glances met and they smiled at each other. 

"Of course you're going back to the factory, " she said; and when hehesitated she continued, "I shall rely on you to let me know how thingsare going on. "

Again he coloured a little beneath his bronze and Mary found herselfwatching it with an indefinable feeling of satisfaction. And after he wasgone and she was carrying the souvenirs to the den, she also foundherself singing a few broken bars from the Blue Danube. 

"Is that you singing!" shouted Helen from the library. 

"Trying to. "

Helen came hurrying as though to see a miracle, for Mary couldn't sing. "Oh--oh!" she said, her eyes falling on the helmet. "Who sent it? WallyCabot?"

"No; Archey Forbes brought it. "

"Oh-ho!" said Helen again. "Now I see-ee-ee!"

But if she did, she saw more than Mary. 

"Perhaps she thinks I'm in love with him, " she thought, and though thereflection brought a pleasant sense of disturbance with it, it wasn'tlong before she was shaking her head. 

"I don't know what it is, " she decided at last, "but I'm sure I'm not inlove with him. "

As nearly as I can express it, Mary was in love with love, and could nomore help it than she could help the crease in her chin or the dreaminessof her eyes. If Archey had had the field to himself, her heart might soonhave turned to him as unconsciously and innocently as a flower turns itspetals to the sun. But the day after Archey returned, Wally Cabot cameback and he, too, laid his souvenirs at Mary's feet. 

It was the same Wally as ever. 

He had also brought a piece of old lace for Aunt Cordelia, a jet necklacefor Aunt Patty, a prison-camp brooch for Helen. All afternoon he heldthem with tales of his adventures in the air, rolling up his sleeve toshow them a scar on his arm, and bending his head down so they could seewhere a German ace had nicked a bit of his hair out. 

More than once Mary felt her breath come faster, and when Aunt Cordeliainvited him to stay to dinner and he chanced to look at her, she gave abarely perceptible signal "Yes, " and smiled to herself at the warmth ofhis acceptance. 

"I'll telephone mother, " he said, briskly rising. "Where's the phone, Mary? I forget the way. "

She arose to show him. 

"Let's waltz out, " he laughed. "Play something, Helen. Something livelyand happy.... "

It was a long time before Mary went to sleep that night. The moon wasnearly full and shone in her windows, a stream of its rays falling on herbed and bringing to her those immortal waves of fancy which begin wherethe scent of flowers stop, and end where immortal and melancholy musicbegins. Unbidden tears came to her eyes, though she couldn't have toldyou why, and again a sense of the fleeting of time disturbed her. 

"Aunt Mary ... " In a few years she would be old, and her hair would bewhite like Aunt Patty's.... And in a few years more.... 

But even as Wally Cabot kept her from thinking too much of Archey Forbes, so now Archey unconsciously revenged himself and kept her thoughts fromcentring too closely around Wally Cabot. 

Archey called the next afternoon and Mary sat on the veranda steps withhim, while Helen made hay with Wally on a tête-à-tête above. 

The few women who were left in the factory were having things madeunpleasant for them: that was what Archey had come to tell her. Theircanteen had been stopped; the day nursery discontinued; the nursesdischarged. 

"Of course they are not needed there any longer, so far as that isconcerned, " concluded Archey, "but they certainly helped us out of a holewhen we did need them, and it doesn't seem right now to treat themrough. "

At hearing this, a guilty feeling passed over Mary and left her cheekswarm. "They'll think I've deserted them, " she thought. 

"Well, haven't you?" something inside her asked. 

Some of her old dreams returned to her mind, as though to mock her. Shewas going to be a new Moses once, leading her sisters out of the house ofbondage. Woman was to have things different. Old drudgeries were to belifted from her shoulders. The night was over. The dawn was at hand. 

"Well, what can I do?" she thought uneasily. 

"You can stop them from being treated roughly, " something inside heranswered. 

"I can certainly do that, " she nodded to herself. "I'll telephone UncleStanley right away. "

But Uncle Stanley was out, and Mary was going riding with Wally thatafternoon. So she wrote a hurried note and left it at the factory as theypassed by. 

"Dear Uncle Stanley, " it read, "Please see that every courtesy and attention is shown, the women who arestill working. We may need them again some day. 

"Sincerely, "MARY. "

"Now!" she said to Wally, and they started on their ride. And, oh, butthat was a ride!

The afternoon was perfect, the sun warm but not hot, the air crystalclear. It had showered the night before and the world, in its springdress, looked as though it had been washed and spruced for theirapproval. 

"All roses and lilies!" laughed Wally. "That's how I like life!"

They went along hillsides and looked down into the beautiful valleys;they wound around by the sides of rivers and through deep woods; theywent like the wind; they loafed; they explored country lanes and losttheir way, stopped at a farm-house and found it again, shouted withdelight when a squirrel tried to race them along the top of a fence, gasped together when they nearly ran over a turkey, chatted, laughed, sang (though this was a solo, for Mary couldn't sing, though she triednow and then under her breath), and with every mile they rode they seemedto pass invisible milestones along the road which leads from friendshipto love. 

It came to a crisis two weeks later, on an afternoon in June. 

Mary was in the garden picking a bouquet for the table, and Wally went tohelp her. She gave him a smile that made his heart do a trick, and whenhe bent over to help her break a piece of mignonette, his hand touchedhers.... 

"Mary.... " he whispered. 

"Yes?"

"Do you love me a little bit now?"

"I wonder.... " said she, and they both bent over to pick another piece ofmignonette. Away down deep in Mary, a voice whispered, "Somebody'swatching. " She looked toward the house and caught sight of Helen who wassitting sideways on the veranda rail and missing never a move. 

Wally followed Mary's glance. 

"She'll be down here in a minute, " he frowned to himself. At the bottomof the lawn, overlooking the valley, was a summer house of rustic cedar, nearly covered with honeysuckle. 

"Let's take a stroll down there, shall we?" he asked. 

The tremor of his voice told Mary more than his words. 

"He wants to love me, " she thought, and burying her face in her bouquetshe said in a muffled little voice, "... I don't care. "

They went down to the summer house, talking, trying to appearindifferent, but both of them knowing that a truly tremendous moment intheir drama of life was close at hand. 

They seated themselves opposite each other on the bench and Mary's dreamyeyes went out over the valley. 

"Mary.... " he began. She looked at him for a moment and then her glancewent out over the valley again. 

"Don't you think we've waited long enough?" he gently asked. 

But Mary's eyes were still upon the valley below. 

"In a way, I'm glad you've waited, " he said. "Judge Cutler told me someof the wonderful things you did here during the war. But you don't wantto be bothering with a factory as long as you live. It's grubby, narrowwork, and there's so much else in life, so much that's beautiful and--andwonderful--"

For a fleeting moment a picture arose before Mary's eyes: a tired womanbending over a wash-tub with a crying child tugging at her skirt. "Somuch that's beautiful--and wonderful"--the words were still echoingaround her, and almost without thinking she said a peculiar thing. "Suppose we were poor, " said she. 

"But we aren't poor, " smiled Wally. "That's one reason why I want to takeyou away from this. What's the use of having things if you can't enjoythem?"

She thought that over. 

"There is so much that I have always wanted to see, " he continued, "butI've had sense enough to wait until I found the right girl--so we couldgo and see it together. Switzerland--and the Nile--and Japan--and theRiviera, with 'its skies for ever blue. ' Any place we liked, we couldstay till we were tired of it. And a house in New York--and an island inthe St. Lawrence--or down near Palm Beach. There's nothing we couldn'tdo--nothing we couldn't have--"

"But don't you think--" hesitated Mary and then stopped, timid ofbreaking the spell which was stealing over her. 

"Don't I think what, dear?"

"Oh, I don't know--but you see so many married people, who seem to havelost interest in each other--nice people, too. You see them at North EastHarbor--Boston--everywhere--and somehow they are bored at each other'scompany. Wouldn't it be awful if--if we were to be married--and then gotlike that, too?"

"We never, never could! Oh, we couldn't! You know as well as I do that wecouldn't!"

"They must have felt that way once, " she mused, her thoughts still uponthe indifferent ones, "but I suppose if people were awfully careful toguard against it, they wouldn't get that way--"

She felt Wally's arm along the back of the bench. 

"Don't be afraid of love, Mary, " he whispered. "Don't you know by nowthat it's the one great thing in life?"

"I wonder.... " breathed Mary. 

"Oh, but it is. You shouldn't wonder. It's the sweetest story evertold--the greatest adventure ever lived--"

But still old dreams echoed in her memory, though growing fainter withevery breath she drew. 

"It's all right for the man, " she murmured. "If he gets tired of hearingthe story, he's got other thoughts to occupy his mind. He's got hiswork--his career. But what's the woman going to do?"

Instinct told him how to answer her. 

"I love you, " he whispered. 

She looked at him. Somewhere over them a robin began to sing as thoughits breast would burst. The scent of the honeysuckle grew intoxicating. 

"Your heart is beating faster, " he whispered again. "'Tck-tck-tck' it'ssaying. 'There's going to be a wedding next month'--'Tck-tck-tck' it'ssaying. 'Lieutenant Cabot is now about to kiss his future bride--"

Mary's head bent low and just as Wally was lifting it, his hand gentlycupped beneath her chin, he caught sight of Helen running toward them. 

"Oh, Mary!" she called. 

With an involuntary movement, Mary freed herself from Wally's hand. 

"Four women to see you--from the factory, I think, " Helen breathlesslyannounced, and pretending not to notice Wally's scowl she added, "Iwouldn't have bothered you ... Only one of them's crying.... "

CHAPTER XXII

The four women were standing in the driveway by the side of the house, and if you had been there as Mary approached, they might have remindedyou of four lost sheep catching sight of their shepherd. 

"Come and sit down, " said Mary, "and tell me what's the matter. "

"We've been discharged, " said one with a red face. "Of course I know thatwe shouldn't have come to bother you about it, Miss Spencer, but it wasyou who hired us, and I told him, said I, 'Miss Spencer's going to hearabout this. She won't stand for any dirty work. '"

Mary had seated herself on the veranda steps and, obeying her gesture, the four women sat on the step below her, two on one side and two on theother. 

"Who discharged you?" she asked. 

"Mr. Woodward. "

"Which Mr. Woodward?"

"The young one--Burdon. "

"What did he discharge you for?"

"That's it. That's the very thing I asked him. "

"Perhaps they need your places for some of the men who are coming back. "

"No, ma'm. We wouldn't mind if that was it, but there's nobody expectedback this week. "

"Then why is it?"

There was a moment's hesitation, and then the one who had been cryingsaid, "It's because we're women. "

A shadow of unconscious indignation swept over Mary's face and, seeingit, the four began speaking at once. 

"Things have never been the same, Miss Spencer, since you were sick--"

"First they shut down the nursery--"

"Then the rest room--said it was a bad example for the men--"

"A bad example for the men, mind you--us!"

"And then the canteen was closed--"

"And behind our backs, they called us 'Molls. '"

"Not that I care, but 'Molls, ' mind you--"

"Then they began hanging signs in our locker room--"

"'A woman's place is in the home' and things like that--"

"And then they began putting us next to strange men--"

"And, oh, their language, Miss Spencer--"

"Don't tell her--"

As the chorus continued, Mary began to feel hot and uncomfortable. "I hadno right to leave them in the lurch like that, " she thought, and hercheeks stung as she recalled her old plans, her old visions. 

"And now they've got to go back to their kitchens for the rest of theirlives--and told they are not wanted anywhere else--because they arewomen--"

The more she thought about it, the warmer she grew; and the higher herindignation arose, the more remote were her thoughts of Wally--Wally withhis greatest adventure that was ever lived--Wally with his sweetest storyever told. She looked at the hands of the two women below her and sawthree wedding rings. 

"The roses and lilies didn't last long with them, " thought Mary grimly. "Oh, I'm sure it's all wrong, somehow.... I'm sure there's some way thatthings could be made happier for women.... "

She interrupted the quartette, in her voice a note which Wally had neverheard before and which made him exchange a glance with Helen. 

"Now first of all, " she said, "just how badly do you four women need yourpay envelopes every week?"

They told her, especially the one who had been crying, and who nowstarted crying again. 

"Wait here a minute, please, " said Mary, that note in her voice moremarked than before. She arose and went in the house, and Wally guessedthat she had gone to telephone the factory. For a while they couldn'thear her, except when she said "I want to speak to Mr. BurdonWoodward--yes--Mr. Burdon Woodward--"

They could faintly hear her talking then, but toward the end her voicecame full and clear. 

"I want you to set them to work again! They are coming right back! Yes, the four of them! I shall be at the office in the morning. That's all. Good-bye. "

She came out, then, like a young Aurora riding the storm. 

"You're to go right back to your work, " she said, and in a gentler voice, "Wally, can I speak to you, please?"

He followed her into the house and when he came out alone ten minuteslater, he drew a deep sigh and sat down again by Helen, a picture ofutter dejection. 

"Never mind, Wally, " she said, and patted his arm. 

"I can't make her out at times, " he sighed. 

"No, and nobody else, " she whispered. 

"What do you think, Helen?" he asked. "Don't you think that love is thegreatest thing in life?"

"Why, of course it is, " she whispered, and patted his arm again. 

CHAPTER XXIII

In spite of her brave words the day before, when Mary left the house forthe office in the morning, a feeling of uncertainty and regret weighedupon her, and made her pensive. More than once she cast a backward lookat the things she was leaving behind--love, the joys of youth, thepleasure places of the world to see, romance, heart's ease, and "skiesfor ever blue. "

At the memory of Wally's phrase she grew more thoughtful than before. 

"But would they be for ever blue?" she asked herself. "I guess everywoman in the world expects them to be, when she marries. Yes, and theyought to be, too, an awful lot more than they are. Oh, I'm sure there'ssomething wrong somewhere.... I'm, sure here's something wrong.... "

She thought of the four women standing in the driveway by the side of thehouse, looking lost and bewildered, and the old sigh of pity arose in herheart. 

"The poor women, " she thought. "They didn't look as though the sweeteststory ever told had lasted long with them--"

She had reached the crest of the hill and the factory came to her view. Abreeze was rising from the river and as she looked down at the scenebelow, as her forbears had looked so many times before her, she felt as asailor from the north might feel when after drifting around in drowsytropic seas, he comes at last to his own home port and feels the cleanwind whip his face and blow away his languor. 

The old familiar office seemed to be waiting for her, the picturesregarding her as though they were saying "Where have you been, younglady? We began to think you had gone. " Through the window sounded the oldsymphony, the roar of the falls above the hum of the shops, the chorusesand variations of well-nigh countless tools, each having its ownparticular note or song. 

Mary's eyes shone bright. 

Gone, she found, were her feeling of uncertainty, her sighs of regret. Here at last was something real, something definite, something noble andgreat in the work of the world. 

"And all mine, " she thought with an almost passionate feeling ofpossession. "All mine--mine--mine--"

Archey was the first to come in, and it only needed a glance to see thatArchey was unhappy. 

"I'm afraid the men in the automatic room are shaping for trouble, " hesaid, as soon as their greetings were over. 

"What's the matter with them?"

"It's about those four women--the four who came back. "

Mary's eyes opened wide. 

"There has been quite a lot of feeling, " he continued, "and when the fourwomen turned up this morning again and started work, the men went out andheld a meeting in the locker room. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if theautomatic hands went on strike. "

"You mean to say they will go on strike before they will work with theirown wives and sisters?"

"That's the funny part of it. As far as I can find out, the troublewasn't started by our own men--but by strangers--men from New York andBoston--professional agitators, they look like to me--plenty of money andplenty of talk and clever workmen, too. I don't know just how far they'vegone, but--"

The office boy appeared in the doorway and he, too, looked worried. 

"There's a committee to see you, Miss Spencer, " he said, "a bunch fromthe lathe shops. "

"Have they seen Mr. Woodward?"

"No'm. He referred them to you. "

"All right, Joe. Send them in, please. "

The committee filed in and Archey noted that they were still wearingtheir street clothes. "Looks bad, " he told himself. 

There were three men, two of them strangers to Mary, but the third sherecognized as one of the teachers in her old "school"--a thoughtfullooking man well past middle age, with a long grey moustache andreflective eyes. "Mr. Edsol, isn't it?" she asked. 

"Yes'm, " he solemnly replied. "That's me. "

She looked at the other two. The first had the alert glance and actionswhich generally mark the orator, the second was a dark, heavy man whonever once stopped frowning. 

"Miss Spencer, " immediately began the spokesman--he who looked like theorator--"we have been appointed a committee by the automatic shop to tellyou that we do not believe in the dilution of labour by women. Unless thefour women who are working in our department are laid off at once, themen in our shop will quit. "

"Just a moment, please, " said Mary, ringing. "Joe, will you please tellMr. Woodward, Sr. , that I would like to see him?"

"He's just gone out, " said Joe. 

"Mr. Burdon, then. "

"Mr. Burdon sent word he wouldn't be down today. He's gone to New York. "

Mary thought that over. 

"Joe, " she said. "There are four women working in the automatic shop. Iwish you'd go and bring them here. " And turning to the committee shesaid, "I think there must be some way of settling this to everybody'ssatisfaction, if we all get together and try. "

It wasn't long before the four women came in, and again it struck Maryhow nervous and bewildered three of them looked. The fourth, however, held her back straight and seemed to walk more than upright. 

"Now, " smiled Mary to the spokesman of the committee, "won't you tell me, please, what fault you find with these four women?"

"As I understand it, " he replied, "we are not here to argue the point. Same time, I don't see the harm of telling you what we think about it. First place, it isn't natural for a woman to be working in a factory. "

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, if you don't mind me speaking out, because she hasbabies. "

"But the war has proved a baby is lucky to have its mother working in amodern factory, " replied Mary. "The work is easier than housework, thesurroundings are better, the matter is given more attention. As a result, the death rate of factory babies has been lower than the death rate ofhome babies. Don't you think that's a good thing? Wouldn't you like tosee it go on?"

"Who says factory work is easier than housework?"

"The women who have tried both. These four, for instance. "

"Well, another thing, " he said, "a woman can't be looking after herchildren when she's working in a factory. "

"That's true. But she can't be looking after them, either, when she'swashing, or cooking, or doing things like that. They lie and cry--orcrawl around and fall downstairs--or sit on the doorstep--or play in thestreet. 

"Now, here, during the war, " she continued, "we had a day nursery. Younever saw such happy children in your life. Why, almost the only timethey cried was when they had to go home at night!" Mary's eyes brightenedat the memory of it. "Didn't your son's wife have a baby in the nursery, Mr. Edsol?"

"Two, " he solemnly nodded. 

"For another thing, " said the chairman, "a woman is naturally weaker thana man. You couldn't imagine a woman standing up under overtime, forinstance. "

"Oh, you shouldn't say that, " said Mary earnestly, "because everybodyknows that in the human family, woman is the only one who has alwaysworked overtime. "

Here the third member of the committee muttered a gruff aside. "No usetalking to a woman, " said he. 

"You be quiet, I'm doing this, " said the chairman. "Another thing thateverybody knows, " he continued to Mary, "a woman hasn't the natural knackfor mechanics that a man has. "

"During the war, " Mary told him, "she mastered nearly two thousanddifferent kinds of skilled work--work involving the utmost precision. Andthe women who did this weren't specially selected, either. They came fromevery walk of life--domestic servants, cooks, laundresses, girls who hadnever left home before, wives of small business men, daughters of docklabourers, titled ladies--all kinds, all conditions. "

She told him, then, some of the things women had made--read himreports--showed him pictures. 

"In fact, " she concluded, "we don't have to go outside this factory toprove that a woman has the same knack for mechanics that a man has. During the war we had as many women working here as men, and every onewill tell you that they did as well as the men. "

"Well, let's look at it another way, " said the chairman, and he nodded tohis colleagues as though he knew there could be no answer to this one. "There are only so many jobs to go around. What are the men going to doif the women take their jobs?"

"That's it!" nodded the other two. All three looked at Mary. 

"I used to wonder that myself, " she said, "but one day I saw that I wasasking the wrong question. There is just so much work that has to be donein the world every day, so we can all be fed and clothed, and have thosethings which we need to make us happy. Now everybody in this room knowsthat 'many hands make light work. ' So, don't you see? The more who work, the easier it will be for everybody. "

But the spokesman only smiled at this--that smile which always meant toMary, "No use talking to a woman"--and aloud he said, "Well, as I toldyou before, we weren't sent to argue. We only came to tell you what theautomatic hands were going to do if these four women weren't laid off. "

"I understand, " said Mary; and turning to the four she asked, "How do youfeel about it?"

"I suppose we'll have to go, " said Mrs. Ridge, her face red but her backstraighter then ever. "I guess it was our misfortune, Miss Spencer, thatwe were born women. It seems to me we always get the worst end of it, though I'm sure I don't know why. I did think once, when the war was on, that things were going to be different for us women after this. But itseems not.... You've been good to us, and we don't want to get you mixedup in any strike, Miss Spencer.... I guess we'd better go.... "

Judge Cutler's expression returned to Mary's mind: "Another year likethis and, barring strikes and accidents, Spencer & Son will be on itsfeet again--" Barring strikes! Mary was under no misapprehension as towhat a strike might mean.... 

"I want to get this exactly right, " she said, turning to the chairmanagain. "The only reason you wish these women discharged is because theyare women, is that it?"

"Yes; I guess that's it, when you come right down to it. "

"Do you think it's fair?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Spencer, but it's not a bit of use arguing any longer. If these four women stay, the men in our department quit: that's all. "

Mary looked up at the pictures of her forbears who seemed to be listeningattentively for her answer. 

"Please tell the men that I shall be sorry--very sorry--to see them go, "she said at last, "but these four women are certainly going to stay. "

CHAPTER XXIV

From one of the windows of Mary's office, she could see the factory gate. 

"If they do go on strike, " she thought, "I shall see them walk out. "

She didn't have to watch long. 

First in groups of twos and threes, and then thick and fast, the menappeared, their lunch boxes under their arms, all making for the gate. Some were arguing, some were joking, others looked serious. It struckMary that perhaps these latter were wondering what they would tell theirwives. 

"I don't envy them the explanation, " she half smiled to herself. 

But her smile was short-lived. In the hallway she heard a step and, turning, she saw Uncle Stanley looking at her. 

"What's the matter with those men who are going out?" he asked. 

"As if he didn't know!" she thought, but aloud she answered, "They'regoing on strike. "

"What are they striking for?"

"Because I wouldn't discharge those four women. "

He gave her a look that seemed to say, "You see what you've done--thinkyou could run things. A nice hornet's nest you've stirred up!" At firsthe turned away as though to go back to his office, but he seemed to thinkbetter of it. 

"You might as well shut down the whole plant, " he said. "We can't doanything without the automatics. You know that as well as I do. "

He waited for a time, but she made no answer. 

"Shall I tell the rest of the men?" he asked. 

"Tell them what, Uncle Stanley?"

"That we're going to shut down till further notice?"

Mary shook her head. 

"It would be a pity to do that, " she said, "because--don't yousee?--there wouldn't be anything then for the four women to do. "

At this new evidence of woman's utter inability to deal with largeaffairs, Uncle Stanley snorted. "We've got to do something, " said he. 

"All right, Uncle, " said Mary, pressing the button on the side of herdesk, "I'll do the best I can. "

For in the last few minutes a plan had entered her mind--a plan which hasprobably already presented itself to you. 

"When the war was on, " she thought, "nearly all the work in that room wasdone by women. I wonder if I couldn't get them back there now--just toshow the men what we can do--"

In answer to her ring, Joe knocked and entered, respectful admiration inhis eye. You may remember Joe, "the brightest boy in the office. " In thethree years that Mary had known him, he had grown and was now in thetransient stage between office boy and clerk--wore garters around hisshirt sleeves to keep his cuffs up, feathered his hair in the front, andwore a large black enamel ring with the initial "J" worked out in"diamonds. "

"Joe, " she said, "I want you to bring me the employment cards of all thewomen who worked here during the war. And send Miss Haskins in, please; Iwant to write a circular letter. "

She hurried him away with a nod and a quick smile. 

"Gee, I wish there was a lion or something out here, " he thought as hehurried through the hall to the outer office, and after he had taken Marythe cards and sent Miss Haskins in, he proudly remarked to the otherclerks, "Maybe they thought she'd faint away and call for the doctor whenthey went on strike, but, say, she hasn't turned a hair. I'll bet she'sup to something, too. "

It wasn't a long letter that Mary sent to the list of names which shegave Miss Haskins, but it had that quiet pull and power which messageshave when they come from the heart. 

"Oh, I know a lot will come, " said Mrs. Ridge when Mary showed her a copyof it. "They would come anyhow, Miss Spencer. Most of them never mademoney like they made it here. They've been away long enough now to missit and--Ha-ha-a!--Excuse me. " She suddenly checked herself and lookedvery red and solemn. 

"What are you laughing at?" asked Mary. 

"I was thinking of my next door neighbour, Mrs. Strauss. She's neverthrough saying that the year she was here was the happiest year of herlife; and how she'd like to come back again. She'll be one of the firstto come--I know she will. And her husband is one of the strikers--that'sthe funny part of it!"

Mary smiled herself at that, and she smiled again the next morning whenshe saw the women coming through the gate. 

"Report in your old locker room, " her letter had read, "and bring yourworking clothes. "

By nine o'clock more than half the automatic machines were busy, andwomen were still arriving. 

"The canteen's going again, " ran the report up and down the aisles. 

At half past ten the old gong sounded in the lathe room, and the old teawagon began its old-time trundling. In addition to refreshments eachwoman received a rose-bud--"From Miss Spencer. With thanks and bestwishes. "

"Do you know if the piano's here yet?" asked a brisk looking matron insky blue overalls. 

"Yep, " nodded the tea girl. "When I came through, they were taking thecover off it, and fixing up the rest room. "

"Isn't it good to be back again!" said the brisk young matron to herneighbour. "Believe me or not, I haven't seen a dancing floor since Iquit work here. "

Mrs. Ridge had been appointed forewoman. Just before noon she reported toMary. 

"There'll be a lot more tomorrow, " she said. "When these get home, they'll do nothing but talk about it; and I keep hearing of women whoare fixing things up at home so they can come in the morning. So don'tyou worry, Miss Spencer, this strike isn't going to hurt you none, but--Ha-ha-ha!--Excuse me, " she said, suddenly checking her mirth againand looking very red and solemn. 

"I like to hear you laugh, " said Mary, "but what's it about this time!"

"Mrs. Strauss is here. I told you she would be. She left her husband hometo do the housework and today is washday--that's the funny part of it!"

Whatever Mrs. Ridge's ability as a critic of humour might be, at leastshe was a good prophet. Nearly all the machines were busy the nextmorning, and new arrivals kept dropping in throughout the day. 

Mary began to breathe easy, but not for long. 

"I don't want to be a gloom, " reported Archey, "but the lathe hands aretrying to get the grinders to walk out. They say the men must sticktogether, or they'll all lose their jobs. "

She looked thoughtful at that. 

"I think we had better get the nursery ready, " she said. "Let's go andfind the painters. "

It was a pleasant place--that nursery--with its windows overlooking theriver and the lawn. In less than half an hour the painters had spreadtheir sheets and the teamster had gone for a load of white sand. The cotsand mattresses were put in the sun to air. The toys had been stored inthe nurse's room. These were now brought out and inspected. 

"I think I'll have the other end of the room finished off as akindergarten, " said Mary. "Then we'll be able to take care of anychildren up to school age, and their mothers won't have to worry a bit. "

She showed him where she wished the partition built, and as he ran hisrule across the distance, she noticed a scar across the knuckles of hisright hand. 

"That's where I dressed it, that time, " she thought. "Isn't life queer!He was in France for more than a year, but the only scar that I can seeis the one he got--that morning--"

Something of this may have shown in her eyes for when Archey straightenedand looked at her, he blushed ("He'll never get over that!" thoughtMary)--and hurried off to find the carpenters. 

These preparations were completed only just in time. 

On Thursday she went to New York to select her kindergarten equipment. OnFriday a truck arrived at the factory, filled with diminutive chairs, tables, blackboards, charts, modelling clay, building blocks, and moremiscellaneous items than I can tell you. And on Saturday morning thegrinders sent a committee to the office that they could no longer labouron bearings which had passed through the hands of women workers. 

Mary tried to argue with them. 

"When women start to take men's jobs away--" began one of the committee. 

"But they didn't, " she said. "The men quit. "

"When women start to take men's jobs away from them, " he repeated, "it'stime for the men to assert themselves. "

"We know that you mean well, Miss Spencer, " said another, "but you arestarting something here that's bad. You're starting something that willtake men's work away from them--something that will make more workersthan there are jobs. "

"It was the war that started it, " she pleaded, "not I. Now let me ask yousomething. There is so much work that has to be done in the world everyday; isn't there?"

"Yes, I guess that's right. "

"Well, don't you see? The more people there are to do that work, theeasier it will be for everybody. "

But no, they couldn't see that. So Mary had to ring for Joe to bring inthe old employment cards again, and that night and all day Sunday, Mrs. Ridge's company spread the news that four hundred more women were wantedat Spencer & Son's--"and you ought to see the place they've got forlooking after children, " was invariably added to the mothers of tots, "free milk, free nurses, free doctoring, free toys, rompers, littlechairs and tables, animals, sand piles, swings, little pails andshovels--you never saw anything like it in your life--!"

If the tots in question heard this, and were old enough to understand, their eyes stood out like little painted saucers, and mutely then orloudly they pleaded Mary's cause. 

CHAPTER XXV

It sometimes seems to me that the old saying, "History repeats itself, "is one of the truest ever written. At least history repeated itself inthe case of the grinders. 

Before the week was over, the places left vacant by the men had beenfilled by women, and the nursery and kindergarten had proved to beunqualified successes. 

Many of the details I will reserve till later, including the growth ofthe canteen, the vanishing mirror, an improvement in overalls, to saynothing of daffodils and daisies and Mrs. Kelly's drum. And though someof these things may sound peculiar at first, you will soon see that theywere all repetitions of history. They followed closely after things thathad already been done by other women in other places, and were onlyadopted by Mary first because they added human touches to a ratherserious business, and second because they had proved their worthelsewhere. 

Before going into these affairs, however, I must tell you about thereporters. 

The day the grinders went on strike, a local correspondent sent a storyto his New York paper. It wasn't a long story, but the editor sawpossibilities in it. He gave it a heading, "Good-bye, Man, Says She. Woman Owner of Big Machine Shop Replaces Men With Women. " He also sent aspecial writer and an artist to New Bethel to get a story for the Sundayedition. 

Other editors saw the value of that "Good-bye, Man" idea and they alsosent reporters to the scene. They came; they saw; they interviewed; andalmost before Mary knew what was happening, New Bethel and Spencer & Sonwere on their way to fame. 

Some of the stories were written from a serious point of view, others ina lighter vein, but all of them seemed to reflect the opinion that arather tremendous question was threatening--a question that was bound tocome up for settlement sooner or later, but which hadn't been expected sosoon. 

"Is Woman Really Man's Equal?" That was the gist of the problem. Was herequality theoretical--or real? Now that she had the ballot and could nolonger be legislated against, could she hold her own industrially onequal terms with man? Or, putting it as briefly as possible, "Could shemake good?"

Some of these articles worried Mary at first, and some made her smile, and after reading others she wanted to run away and hide. Judge Cutlermade a collection of them, and whenever he came to a good one, he showedit to Mary. 

"I wish they would leave us alone, " she said one day. 

"I don't, " said the judge seriously. "I'm glad they have turned thespotlight on. "

"Why?"

"Because with so much publicity, there's very little chance of roughwork. Of course the men here at home wouldn't do anything against theirown women folks, but quite a few outsiders are coming in, and if theycould work in the dark, they might start a whisper, 'Anything to win!'"

Mary thought that over, and somehow the sun didn't shine so brightly forthe next few minutes. Ma'm Maynard's old saying arose to her mind:

"I tell you, Miss Mary, it has halways been so and it halways will:Everything that lives has its own natural enemy--and a woman's naturalenemy: eet is man!"

"No, sir, I don't believe it!" Mary told herself. "And I never shallbelieve it, either!"

The next afternoon Judge Cutler brought her an editorial entitled, "WeShall See. "

"The women of New Bethel (it read) are trying an experiment which, carried to its logical conclusion, may change industrial history. 

"Perhaps industrial history needs a change. It has many dark pages wherenone but man has written. 

"If woman is the equal of man, industrially speaking, she is bound tofind her natural level. If she is not the equal of man, the New Bethelexperiment will help to mark her limitations. 

"Whatever the outcome, the question needs an answer and those who claimthat she is unfitted for this new field should be the most willing to lether prove it. 

"By granting them the suffrage, we have given our women equal rights. Unless for demonstrated incapacity, upon what grounds shall we now denythem equal opportunities?

"The New Bethel experiment should be worked out without hard feeling orrancour on either side. 

"Can a woman do a man's work?

"Let us watch and we shall see. "

Mary read it twice. 

"I like that, " she said. "I wish everybody in town could see that. "

"Just what I thought, " said the judge. "What do you say if we have itprinted in big type, and pasted on the bill-boards?"

They had it done. 

The day after the bills were posted, Archey went around to see how theywere being received. 

"It was a good idea, " he told Mary the next morning, but she noticed thathe looked troubled and absent-minded, as though his thoughts weren't inhis words. 

"What's the matter, Archey?" she quietly asked. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he said, and with the least possible touch ofirritation he added, "Sometimes I think it's because I don't like him. Everything that counts against him sticks--and I may have been mistakenanyway--"

"It's something about Burdon, " thought Mary, and in the same quiet voiceas before she said, "What is it, Archey?"

"Well, " he said, hesitating, "I went out after dinner last night--to seeif they were reading the bill-boards. I thought I'd walk down JayStreet--that's where the strikers have their headquarters. I was walkingalong when all at once I thought I saw Burdon's old car turning a cornerahead of me. 

"It stopped in front of Repetti's pool-room. Two men came out and got in. 

"A little while later I was speaking to one of our men and he said somerough actors were drifting in town and he didn't like the way they weretalking. I asked him where these men were making their headquarters andhe said, 'Repetti's Pool Room. '"

Mary thought that over. 

"Mind you, I wouldn't swear it was Burdon's old car, " said Archey, moretroubled than before. "I can only tell you I'm sure of it--and I might bemistaken at that. And even if it was Burdon, he'd only say that he hadgone there to try to keep the strike from spreading--yes, and he might beright at that, " he added, desperately trying to be fair, "but--well, heworries me--that's all. "

He was worrying Mary, too, although for a different reason. 

With increasing frequency, Helen was coming home from the Country Clubunconsciously scented with that combination of cigarette smoke andraspberry jam. Burdon had a new car, a swift, piratical craft which hadbeen built to his order, and sometimes when he called at the house on thehill for Helen, Mary amused herself by thinking that he only needed alittle flag-pole and a Jolly Roger--a skirted coat and a featheredhat--and he would be the typical younger son of romance, scouring themain in search of Spanish gold. 

Occasionally when he rolled to the door, Wally's car was already there, for Wally--after an absence--was again coming around, pale and in need ofsympathy, singing his tenor songs to Helen's accompaniment and withgreater power of pathos than ever, especially when he sang the sad onesat Mary's head--

"There in the churchyard, crying, a grave I se-ee-eeNina, that sweet dove flying was thee-ee-ee, was thee--"

"Ah, I have sighed for rest--"

"--And if she willeth to destroy meI can die.... I can die.... "

After Wally had moved them all to a feeling of imminent tears, he wouldhover around Helen with a vague ambition of making her cousin jealous--aproceeding which didn't bother Mary at all. 

But she did worry about the growing intimacy between Helen and Burdonand, one evening when Helen was driving her up to the house from thefactory, Mary tried to talk to her. 

"If I were you, Helen, " she said, "I don't think I'd go around withBurdon Woodward quite so much--or come to the office to see him quite sooften. "

Helen blew the horn, once, twice and again. 

"No, really, dear, I wouldn't, " continued Mary. "Of course you know he'sa terrible flirt. Why he can't even leave the girls at the office alone. "

Quite unconsciously Helen adopted the immemorial formula. 

"Burdon Woodward has always acted to me like a perfect gentleman, " saidshe. 

"Of course he has, dear. If he hadn't, I know you wouldn't have gone outwith him last night, for instance. But he has such a reckless, headstrongway with him. Suppose last night, instead of coming home, he had turnedthe car toward Boston or New York, what would you have done then?"

"Don't worry. I could have stopped him. "

"Stopped him? How could you, if he were driving very fast?"

"Oh, it's easy enough to stop a car, " said Helen. "One of the girls atschool showed me. " Leaning over, she ran her free hand under theinstrument board. 

"Feel these wires back of the switch, " she said. "All you have to do isto reach under quick and pull one loose--just a little tug like this--andyou can stop the wildest man, and the wildest car on earth.... See?"

In the excitement of her demonstration she tugged the wire too hard. Itcame loose in her hand and the engine stopped as though by magic. 

"It's a good thing we are up to the house, " she laughed. "You needn'tlook worried. Robert can fix it in a minute. "

It wasn't that, though, which troubled Mary. 

"Think of her knowing such a thing!" she was saying to herself. "How hermind must run at times!"

But of course she couldn't voice a thought like that. 

"All the same, Helen, " she said aloud, "I wouldn't go out with him somuch, if I were you. People will begin to notice it, and you know the waythey talk. "

Helen tossed her head, but in her heart she knew that her cousin wasright--a knowledge which only made her the more defiant. Yes ... Peoplewere beginning to notice it.... 

The Saturday afternoon before, when Burdon was taking her to the club inhis gallant new car, they had stopped at the station to let a train pass. A girl on the sidewalk had smiled at Burdon and stared at Helen withequal intensity and equal significance. 

"Who was that?" asked Helen, when the train had passed. 

"Oh, one of the girls at the office. She's in my department--sort of abookkeeper. " Noticing Helen's silence he added more carelessly thanbefore, "You know how some girls act if you are any way pleasant tothem. "

It was one of those trifling incidents which occasionally seem to havethe deepest effect upon life. That very afternoon, when Mary had tried towarn her cousin, Helen had gone to the factory apparently to bring Maryhome, but in reality to see Burdon. She had been in his private office, perched on the edge of his desk and swinging her foot, when the same girlcame in--the girl who had smiled and stared near the station. 

"All right, Fanny, " said Burdon without looking around. "Leave thechecks. I'll attend to them. "

It seemed to Helen that the girl went out slowly, a sudden spot of colouron each of her cheeks. 

"You call her Fanny!" Helen asked, when, the door shut again. 

"Yes, " he said, busy with the checks. "They do more for you, when you aredecent with them. "

"You think so?"

He caught the meaning in her voice and sighed a little as he sprawled hissignature on the next check. "I often wish I was a sour, old crab, " hesaid, half to Helen and half to himself. "I'd get through life a wholelot better than I do. "

Mary had come to the door then, ready to start for home. When Helenpassed through the outer office she saw the girl again, her cheek on herpalm, her head bent over her desk, dipping her pen in the red ink andthen pushing the point through her blotter pad. None of this was lost onHelen, nor the girl's frown, nor the row of crimson blotches thatstretched across the blotter. 

"She'll go in now to get those checks, " thought Helen, as the car startedup the hill, and it was just then that Mary started to warn her aboutgoing out so much with Burdon. 

Once in the night Helen awoke and lay for a long time looking at thesilhouette of the windows. "... I wonder what they said to each other.... "she thought. 

The next morning Mary was going through her mail at the office when shecame to an envelope with a newspaper clipping in it. This had been cutfrom the society notes of the New Bethel _Herald_. 

"Burdon Woodward has a specially designed new car which is attractingmuch attention. "

The clipping had been pasted upon a sheet of paper, and underneath it, the following two questions were typewritten:

"How can a man buy $8, 000 cars on a $10, 000 salary?

"Why don't you audit his books and see who paid for that car?"

Mary's cheeks stung with the brutality of it. 

"What a horrible thing to do!" she thought. "If any one paid attention tothings like this--why, no one would be safe!"

She was on the point of tearing it to shreds when another thought struckher. 

"Perhaps I ought to show it to him, " she uneasily thought. "If a thinglike this is being whispered around, I think he ought to get to thebottom of it, and stop it.... I know I don't like him for some things, "she continued, more undecided than ever, "but that's all the more reasonwhy I should be fair to him--in things like this, for instance. "

She compromised by tucking the letter in her pocket, and when JudgeCutler dropped in that afternoon, she first made him promise secrecy, andthen she showed it to him. 

"I feel like you, " he said at last. "An anonymous attack like this isusually beneath contempt. And I feel all the more like ignoring itbecause it raises a question which I have been asking myself lately: How_can_ a man on a ten thousand dollar salary afford to buy an eightthousand dollar car?"

Mary couldn't follow that line of reasoning at all. 

"Why do you feel like ignoring it, if it's such a natural question?" sheasked. 

"Because it's a question that might have occurred to anybody. "

That puzzled Mary, too. 

"Perhaps Burdon has money beside his salary, " she suggested. 

"He hasn't. I know he hasn't. He's in debt right now. "

They thought it over in silence. 

"I think if I were you, I'd tear it up, " he said at last. 

She promptly tore it into shreds. 

"Now we'll forget that, " he said. "I must confess, however, that it hasraised another question to my mind. How long is it since your bookkeepingsystem was overhauled here?"

She couldn't remember. 

"Just what I thought. It must need expert attention. Modern conditionscall for modern methods, even in bookkeeping. I think I'll get a goodfirm of accountants to go over our present system, and make such changesas will keep you in closer touch with everything that is going on. "

Mary hardly knew what to think. 

"You're sure it has nothing to do with this?" she asked, indicating thefragments in the waste-basket. 

"Not the least connection! Besides, " he argued, "you and I know verywell--don't we?--that with all his faults, Burdon would never do anythinglike that--"

"Of course he wouldn't!"

"Very well. I think we ought to forget that part of it, and never referto it again--or it might be said that we were fearing for him. "

This masculine logic took Mary's breath away, but though she thought itover many a time that day, she couldn't find the flaw in it. 

"Men are queer, " she finally concluded. "But then I suppose they thinkwomen are queer, too. To me, " she thought, "it almost seems insulting toBurdon to call accountants in now; but according to the judge it would beinsulting to Burdon not to call them in--"

She was still puzzling over it when Archey, that stormy petrel of badnews, came in and very soon took her mind from anonymous letters. 

"The finishers are getting ready to quit, " he announced. "They had a votethis noon. It was close, but the strikers won. "

They both knew what a blow this would be. With each successive wave ofthe strike movement, it grew harder to fill the men's places with women. 

"If this keeps on, I don't know what we shall do, " she thought. "By thetime we have filled these empty places, we shall have as many womenworking here as we had during the war. "

Outwardly, however, she gave no signs of misgivings, but calmly set inmotion the machinery which had filled the gaps before. 

"If you're going to put that advertisement in again, " said Archey, "Ithink I'd add 'Nursery, Restaurant, Rest-room, Music'"

She included the words in her copy, and after a moment's reflection sheadded "Laundry. "

"But we have no laundry, " objected Archey, half laughing. "Are youforgetting a little detail like that?"

"No, I'm not, " said Mary, her eyes dancing. "You must do the same withthe laundry as I did with the kindergarten. Go to Boston thisafternoon.... Take a laundryman with you if you like.... And bring thethings back in the morning by motor truck. We have steam and hot waterand plenty of buildings, and I'm sure it won't take long to get themachines set up when you once get them here--"

At such moments there was something great in Mary. To conceive a plan andput it through to an irresistible conclusion: there was nothing in whichshe took a deeper delight. 

That night, at home, she told them of her new plan. 

"Just think, " she said, "if a woman lives seventy years, and the washingis done once a week, you might say she spent one-seventh of her life--orten whole years--at the meanest hardest work that was ever invented--"

"They don't do the washing when they're children, " said Helen. 

"No, but they hate it just as much. I used to see them on wash days whenAunt Patty took me around, and I always felt sorry for the children. "

Wally came in later and listened sadly to the news of the day. 

"You're only using yourself up, " he said, "for a lot of people who don'tcare a snap of the finger for you. It seems to me, " he added, "that you'dbe doing better to make one man happy who loves you, than try to please athousand women who never, never will. "

She thought that over, for this was an angle which hadn't occurred to herbefore. 

"No, " she said, "I'm not doing it to gain anything for myself, but tolift the poor women up--to give them something to hope for, something tolive for, something to make them happier than they are now. Yes, and fromeverybody's point of view, I think I'm doing something good. Because whenthe woman is miserable, she can generally make her man miserable. Butwhen the woman is happy, she can nearly always make the man happy, too. "

"I wish you'd make me happy, " sighed poor Wally. 

"Here comes Helen, " said Mary with just the least trace of wickedness inher voice. "She'll do her best, I'm sure. "

Helen was dressed for the evening, her arms and shoulders gleaming, hercoiffure like a golden turban. 

"Mary hardly ever dresses any more, " she said as she came down thestairs, "so I feel I have to do double duty. "

On the bottom landing she stopped and with extravagant motions of herbody sang the opening lines of the Bedouin's Love Song, Wally joining inat last with his plaintive, passionate tenor. 

"If you ever lose your money, Wally, " she said, coming down the remainingstairs, "we'll take up comic opera. " Curtseying low she simpered, "Mylord!" and gave him her hand to kiss. 

"She knows how to handle men, " thought Mary watching, "just as the womenat the factory know how to handle metal. I wonder if it comes natural toher, or if she studies it by herself, or if she learned any of it at MissParsons'. "

She was interrupted by a message from Hutchins, the butler. The spread ofthe strike had been flashed out by the news association early in theafternoon, and the eight-ten train had brought a company of reporters. 

"There are half a dozen of them, " said Hutchins, noble in voice anddeportment. "Knowing your kindness to them before, I took the liberty ofshowing them into the library. Do you care to see them, or shall I tellthem you are out?"

Mary saw them and they greeted her like old friends. It didn't take longto confirm the news of the strike's extension. 

"How many men are out now?" one of them asked. 

"About fifteen hundred. "

"What are you going to do when you have used up all your local women?"asked another. 

"What would you do?" she asked. 

"I don't know, " he replied. "I guess I'd advertise for women in othercities-cities where they did this sort of thing during the war. "

"Bridgeport, for instance, " suggested another. 

"Pittsburgh--there were a lot of women doing machine work there--"

"St. Louis, " said a fourth. "Some of the shops in St. Louis were halffull of women--" With the help they gave her, Mary made up a list. 

"Even if you could fill the places locally, " said the first, "I thinkI'd get a few women from as many places as possible. It spreads theidea--makes a bigger story--rounds out the whole scheme. "

After they had gone Mary sat thoughtful for a few minutes and thenreturned to the drawing room. When she entered, Helen and Wally wereseated on the music bench, and it seemed to Mary that they suddenly drewapart--or if I may express a distinction, that Wally suddenly drew apartwhile Helen played a chord upon the piano. 

"Poor Wally, " thought Mary a little later. "I wish he wouldn't look likethat when he sings.... Perhaps he feels like I felt this spring.... Iwonder if Ma'm was right.... I wonder if people do fall in love withlove.... "

Her reflections took a strange turn, half serious, half humorous. 

"It's like a trap, almost, when you think of it that way, " she thought. "When a man falls in love, he can climb out again and go on with hiswork, and live his life, and do wonderful things if he has a chance. Butwhen a woman falls in the trap, she can never climb out and live her ownlife again. I wonder if the world wouldn't be better off if the women hadbeen allowed to go right on and develop themselves, and do big thingslike the men do.... 

"I'm sure they couldn't do worse.... 

"Look at the war--the awfullest thing that ever happened: that's a sampleof what men do, when they try to do everything themselves.... But they'llhave to let the women out of their traps, if they want them to help.... 

"I wonder if they ever will let them out.... 

"I wonder if they ought to come out.... 

"I wonder.... "

To look at Mary as she sat there, tranquil of brow and dreamy-eyed, youwould never have guessed that thoughts like these were passing throughher mind, and later when Helen took Wally into the next room to show himsomething, and returned with a smile that was close to ownership, youwould never have guessed that Mary's heart went heavy for a moment. 

"Helen, " she said, when their visitor had gone, "do you really loveWally--or are you just amusing yourself?"

"I only wish that Burdon had half his money. "

"Helen!"

"Oh, it's easy for you to say 'Helen'! You don't know what it is to bepoor.... Well, good-night, beloved--

"Good-night, good-nightMy love, my own--"

she sang. "I've a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. "

Mary had a busy day, too. 

Nearly two hundred women responded to her new advertisement in themorning, and as many more at noon. Fortunately some of these werefamiliar with the work, and the most skilful were added to the corps ofteachers. In addition to this, new nurses were telephoned for to takecare of the rapidly growing nursery, temporary tables were improvised inthe canteen, another battery of ranges was ordered from the gas company, and preparations were made for Archey's arrival with the laundryequipment. 

Yes, it was a busy day and a busy week for Mary; but somehow she felt aglory in every minute of it--even, I think, as Molly Pitcher gloried inher self-appointed task so many years ago. And when at the close of eachday, she locked her desk, she grew into the habit of glancing up andnodding at the portraits on the walls--a glance and a nod that seemed tosay, "That's us!"

For myself, I like to think of that long line of Josiah Spencers, holdingghostly consultations at night; and if the spirits of the dead can everreturn to the scenes of life which they loved the best, they must havespent many an hour together over the things they saw and heard. 

Steadily and surely the places left vacant by the men were filled withwomen, naturally deft of hand and quick of eye; but the more apparent itbecame that the third phase of the strike was being lost by the men, themore worried Archey looked--the oftener he peeped into the future andfrowned at what he saw there. 

"The next thing we know, " he said to Mary one day, "every man on theplace will walk out, and what are we going to do then?"

She told him of the reporter's suggestion. 

"A good idea, too, " he said. "If I were you, I'd start advertising inthose other cities right away, and get as many applications on file asyou can. Don't just ask for women workers. Mention the kind you want:machine tool hands, fixers, tool makers, temperers, finishers, inspectors, packers--I'll make you up a list. And if you don't mind I'llenlarge the canteen, and change the loft above it into a big dining room, and have everything ready this time--"

A few days later Spencer & Son's advertisement appeared for the firsttime outside of New Bethel, and soon a steady stream of applicationsbegan to come in. 

Although Mary didn't know it, her appeal had a stirring note like thepeal of a silver trumpet. It gripped attention and warmed imagination allthe way from its first line "A CALL TO WOMEN" to its signature, "JosiahSpencer & Son, Inc. Mary Spencer, President. "

"That's the best yet, " said Archey, looking at the pile of applicationson the third day. "I sha'n't worry about the future half as much now. "

"I don't worry at all any more, " said Mary, serene in her faith. "Or atleast I don't worry about this, " she added to herself. 

She was thinking of Helen again. 

The night before Helen had come in late, and Mary soon knew that she hadbeen with Burdon. Helen was quiet--for her--and rather pale as well. 

"Did you have a quarrel?" Mary had hopefully asked. 

"Quarrel with Burdon Woodward?" asked Helen, and in a low voice sheanswered herself, "I couldn't if I tried. "

"... Do you love him, Helen?"

To which after a pause, Helen had answered, much as she had spokenbefore, "I only wish he had half of Wally's money.... " And would say nomore. 

"I have warned her so often, " said Mary. "What more can I say?" Sheuneasily wondered whether she ought to speak to her aunts, but soon shookher head at that. "It would only bother them, " she told herself, "andwhat good could it do?"

Next day at the factory she seemed to feel a shadow around her and aweight upon her mind. 

"What is it?" she thought more than once, pulling herself up short. Theanswer was never far away. "Oh, yes--Helen and Burdon Woodward. Well, I'mglad she's going out with Wally today. She's safe enough with him. "

It had been arranged that Wally should drive Helen to Hartford to do someshopping, and they were expected back about nine o'clock in the evening. But nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven o'clock and midnight came--andstill no sign of Wally's car. 

"They must have had an accident, " thought Mary, and at first she picturedthis as a slight affair which simply called for a few hours' delay at alocal garage--perhaps the engine had overheated, or the battery hadfailed. 

But when one o'clock struck, and still no word from the absent pair, Mary's fancies grew more tragic. 

By two o'clock she imagined the car overturned at the bottom of someembankment, and both of them badly hurt. At three o'clock she began tohave such dire forebodings that she went and woke up Aunt Cordelia, andwas on the point of telephoning Wally's mother when the welcome rumblingof a car was heard under the porte cochère. It was Wally and Helen, andthough Helen looked pale she had that air of ownership over herapologetic escort which every woman understands. 

Mary already divined the end of the story. 

"We were coming along all right, " said Wally, "and would have been homebefore ten. But when we were about nine miles from nowhere and going overa bad road, I had a puncture. 

"Of course that delayed me a little--to change the wheels--but when Itried to start the car again, she wouldn't go. 

"I fussed and fixed for a couple of hours, it seems to me, and then Ithought I'd better go to the nearest telephone and have a garage send acar out for us. But Helen, poor girl, was tired and of course I couldn'tleave her there alone. So I tackled the engine again and just when I wasgiving up hope, a car came along. 

"They couldn't take us in--they were filled--but they promised to wake upa garage man in the next town and send him to the rescue. It was halfpast two when he turned up, but it didn't take him long to find thetrouble, and here we are at last. "

He drew a full breath and turned to Helen. 

"Of course I wouldn't have cared a snap, " he said, "if it hadn't been forpoor Helen here. "

"Oh, I don't mind--now, " she said. 

"I knew it!" thought Mary. "They're engaged... " And though she tried tosmile at them both, for some reason which I can never hope to explain, ittook an effort. Wally and Helen were still looking at each other. 

"Tired, dear?" he asked. 

Helen nodded and glanced at Mary with a look that said, "Did you hear himcall me 'Dear'?"

"I think if I were you, I'd go to bed, " continued Wally, all gentlesolicitude. She took an impulsive step toward him. He kissed her. 

"We're engaged, " he said to Mary. 

What Mary said in answer, she couldn't remember herself when she tried torecall it later, for a strange thought had leaped into her mind, drivingout everything else. 

"I almost hate to ask, " she thought. "It would be too dreadful to know. "

But curiosity has always been one of mankind's fateful gifts, and at thebreakfast table next morning, Mary had Wally to herself. 

"Oh, Wally, " she said. "What did the garage man find was the trouble withyour car?"

"The simplest thing imaginable, " he said. "One of the wires leading tothe switch on the instrument board had worked loose--that awful road, youknow. "

"I knew it, " Mary quietly told herself, and in her mind she again sawHelen demonstrating how to quell the wildest car on earth. Mary ought tohave stopped there, but a wicked imp seemed to have taken possession ofher. 

"Did Helen cry, when she saw how late it was getting?"

"She did at first, " he said, looking very solemn, "but when I told her--"

His confessions were interrupted by Hutchins, who whispered to Mary thatshe was wanted on the telephone. 

"It's Mr. Forbes, " he said. 

Archey's voice was ringing with excitement when he greeted Mary over thewire. 

"Can you come down to the office early this morning?" he asked. 

"What's the matter?"

"I just found out that the rest of the men had a meeting last night--andthey voted to strike. There won't be a man on the place this morning ... And I think there may be trouble.... "

CHAPTER XXVI

Afterwards, when Mary looked back at the leading incidents of the bigstrike it wasn't the epic note which interested her the most, althoughthe contest had for her its moments of exaltation. 

Nor did her thoughts revert the oftenest to those strange things whichmight have engrossed the chance observer--work and happiness walking handin hand, for instance, to the accompaniment of Mrs. Kelly's drum--orwoman showing that she can acquire the same dexterity on a drillingmachine as on a sewing machine, the same skill at a tempering oven as ata cook stove, the same competence and neatness in a factory as in ahouse. 

Indeed, when all is said and done, the sound of the work which women werepresently doing at New Bethel was only an echo of the tasks which womenhad done during four years of war, and being a repetition of history, itdidn't surprise Mary when she stopped to think it over. But looking backat the whole experience later, these were the two reflections whichinterested her the most. 

"They have always called woman a riddle, " she thought. "I wonder if thatis because she could never be natural. If woman has been a riddle in thepast, I wonder if this is the answer now.... "

That was her first reflection. 

Her second was this, and in it she unconsciously worded one of the greatlessons of life. "The things I worried about seldom happened. It wassomething which nobody ever dreamed of--that nearly ended everything. "

And when she thought of that, her breath would come a little quicker andsoon she would shake her head, and try to put her mind on something else;although if you had been there I think you would have seen a suspiciousmoisture in her eye, and if she were in her room at home, she would go toa photograph on the wall-the picture of a gravely smiling girl on aconvent portico--signed "With all my love, Rosa. "

Still, as you can see, I am running ahead of my story, and so that youmay better understand Mary's two reflections and the events which led tothem, I will now return to the morning when she received Archey's messagethat every man in the factory had gone on strike as a protest against theemployment of women. 

As soon as she reached the office she sent a facsimile letter to theskilled women workers who had applied from out of town. 

"If we only get a third of them, " she thought, "we'll pull throughsomehow. "

But Mary was reckoning without her book. For one thing, she was unawareof the publicity which her experiment was receiving, and for anotherthing perhaps it didn't occur to her that the same yearnings, the samelongings, the same stirrings which moved her own heart and mind sooften--the same vague feeling of imprisonment, the same vague groping fora way out--might also be moving the hearts and minds of countless otherwomen, and especially those who had for the first time in their livesachieved economic independence by means of their labour in the war. 

Whatever the reason, so many skilled women journeyed to New Bethel thatweek, coming with the glow of crusaders, eager to write their names onthis momentous page of woman's history, that Mary's worry turned into asource of embarrassment. However, by straining every effort, accommodations were found for the visitors and the work ofre-organization was at once begun. 

The next six weeks were the busiest, I had almost said the most feverish, in Mary's life. 

The day after the big strike was declared, not a single bearing was madeat Spencer & Son's great plant. For a factory is like a road of manybridges, and when half of these bridges are suddenly swept away, trafficis out of the question. 

So the first problem was to bridge the gaps. 

From the new arrivals, fixers, case-hardeners and temperers were set towork--women who had learned their trades during the war. 

Also a call was issued for local workers and the "school" was opened, larger than ever. For the first few weeks it might be said that half thefactory was a school of intensive instruction; and then, one day whichMary will never forget, a few lonely looking bearings made laboriousprogress through the plant--only a few, but each one embodying a secretwhich I will tell you about later. 

The missing bridges weren't completed yet, you understand--not by anymanner of means--but at least the foundations had been laid, and everyday the roadway became a little wider and a little firmer--and theprogress of the bearings became a little thicker and a little quicker. 

And, oh, the enthusiasm of the women--their shining eyes, theirbreathless attention--as they felt the roadway growing solid beneaththeir feet and knew it was all their work!

"If we keep on at this rate, " said Archey, looking at the reports inMary's office one morning, "it won't be long before we're doing somethingbig. "

There was just the least touch of astonishment in his voice--masculine, unconscious--which raised an equally unconscious touch of exultation inMary's answer. 

"Perhaps sooner than you think, " she said. 

For no one knew better than she that the new organization was rapidlyfinding itself now that the roadway of production had been rebuilt. Everyday weak spots had been mended, curves straightened out, narrow placesmade wider. 

"Let's speed up today, " she finally said, "and see what we can do. "

At the end of that day the reports showed that all the departments hadmade an improvement until the bearings reached the final assembling roomand there the traffic had become congested. For the rest of the week theassembly room was kept under scrutiny, new methods were tried, more womenwere set to work. 

"Let's speed up again today, " said Mary one morning, "and see if we canmake it this time--"

And finally came the day when they _did_ make it! For four consecutivedays their output equalled the best ever done by the factory, and thenjust as every woman was beginning to thrill with that jubilation whichonly comes of a hard task well done, a weak spot developed in thehardening department. 

Oh, how everybody frowned and clicked their tongues! You might havethought that all the cakes in the world had suddenly burned in theovens--that every clothes line in America had broken on a muddy washday!

"Never mind, " said Mary. "We're nearly there. One more good try, and overthe top we'll go.... "

One more good try, and they _did_ go over the top. For two days, threedays, four days, five days, a whole week, they equalled the best man-maderecords. For one week, two weeks, three weeks, the famous Spencerbearings rolled out of the final inspection room and into their woodencases as fast as man had ever rolled them. And when Mary saw that at lastthe first part of her vision had come true, she did a feminine thing, that is to say a human thing. She simultaneously said, "I told you so, "and sprung her secret by sending the following message to the newspapers:

"The three thousand women at this factory are daily turning out the samenumber of bearings that three thousand men once turned out. 

"The new bearings are identical with the old ones in every detail butone, namely: they are one thousandth of an inch more accurate thanSpencer bearings were ever made before. 

"Our customers appreciate this improvement and know what it means. 

"Our unfriendly critics, I think, will also appreciate it and know whatit means. "

Upon consideration, Mary had that last paragraph taken out. 

"I'll leave that to their imaginations, " she said, and after she hadsigned each letter, she did another feminine thing. 

She had a gentle little cry all by herself, and then through her tearsshe smiled at her silent forbears who seemed to be watching her moreattentively than ever from their frames of tarnished gilt upon the walls. 

"It hasn't been all roses and lilies, " she told them, "but--that's us!"

CHAPTER XXVII

Meanwhile, as you will guess, it hadn't been "all roses and lilies"either, for the men who had gone on strike. 

"Didn't you say you expected trouble?" Mary asked Archey one morning justafter the big strike was declared. 

"Yes, " he told her. "They were talking that way. But they are so sure nowthat we'll have to give in, that they are quite good natured about it. "

Mary said nothing, but her back grew stiff, something like Mrs. Ridge's;and when she saw Uncle Stanley in the outer office a few minutes laterand he smiled without looking at her--smiled and shook his head tohimself as though he were thinking of something droll--Mary went back toher room in a hurry, and stayed there until she felt tranquil again. 

"What are the men saying now?" she asked Archey the following week. 

"They are still taking it as a sort of a joke, " he told her, "but hereand there you catch a few who are looking thoughtful--especially thosewho have wives or daughters working here. "

That pleased her. 

The next time the subject was mentioned, Archey brought it up himself. 

"There was quite a fight on Jay Street yesterday, " he said. 

As Mary knew, Jay Street was the headquarters of the strikers, andsuddenly she became all attention. 

"Those out-of-town agitators are beginning to feel anxious, I guess. Twoof them went around yesterday whispering that the women at the factoryneeded a few good scares, so they'd stay home where they belonged. Theytackled Jimmy Kelly, not knowing his wife works here. 'What do you mean:good scares?' he asked. 'Rough stuff, ' they told him, on the quiet. 'What do you mean, rough stuff?' he asked them. They whisperedsomething--nobody knows what it was--but they say Jimmy fell on them bothlike a ton of bricks on two bad eggs. 'Try a little rough stuff, yourself, ' he said, 'and maybe you'll stay home where you belong. '"

Mary's eyes shone. It may be that blood called to blood, for if youremember one of those Josiah Spencers on the walls had married a MaryMcMillan. 

"It's things like that, " she said, "that sometimes make me wish I was aman, " and straightway went and interviewed Mrs. James Kelly, and gave hera message of thanks to be conveyed to her double-fisted husband. 

The next week Mary didn't have to ask Archey what the men were doing, because one of the Sunday papers had made a special story of the subject. 

Some of the men were getting work elsewhere, she read. 

Others were on holidays, or visiting friends out of town. 

Some were grumpy, some were merry, one had been caught red-handed--or atleast blue-aproned--cooking his own dinner. All who could be reached hadbeen asked how they thought the strike would end, and the reply which Iam quoting is typical of many. 

"They may bungle through with a few bearings for a while, " said Mr. Reisinger, "but they won't last long. It stands to reason that a womancan't do man's work and get away with it. "

Mary was walking through the factory the next day when she heard twowomen discussing that article. 

"I told Sam Reisinger what I thought about him last night, " said theyounger. "He was over to our house for supper. 

"'So it stands to reason, does it?' I said to him, 'that a woman can't doa man's work and get away with it? Well, I like your nerve! What do youunderstand by a man's work?' I said to him. 

"'Do you think she ought to have all the meanest, hardest work in theworld, and get paid nothing for it, working from the time she gets up inthe morning till she goes to bed at night? Is that your idea of woman'swork?' I said to him. 'But any nice, easy job that only has to be workedat four hours in the morning, and four hours in the afternoon, and has apay envelope attached to it: I suppose you think that's a man's work!' Isaid to him. 

"'Listen to me, Sam Reisinger, there's no such thing as man's work, andthere's no such thing as woman's work, ' I said to him. 'Work's work, andit makes no difference who does it, as long as it gets done!

"'Take dressmaking, ' I said to him. 'I suppose you call that woman'swork. Then how about Worth, and those other big men dressmakers?

"'Maybe you think cooking is woman's work. Then how about the chefs atthe big hotels?' I said to him. 

"'Maybe you think washing is woman's work. Then how about the steamlaundries where nearly all the shirt ironers are men?' I said to him. 

"'Maybe you think that working in somebody else's house is woman's work. Then how about that butler up at Miss Spencer's?' I said to him. 

"'And maybe we can bungle through with a few bearings for a while, canwe?' I said to him, very polite. 'Well, let me tell you one thing, SamReisinger, if that's the way you think of women, you can bungle over tothe movies with yourself tomorrow night. I'm not going with you!'"

For a long time after that when things went wrong, Mary only had torecall some of the remarks which had been made to a certain Mr. SamReisinger on a certain Sunday afternoon, and she always felt better forit. 

"What are the men saying now?" she asked Archey at the end of their firstgood week. 

"They're not saying much, but I think they're up to something. They'vecalled a special meeting for tonight. "

The next morning was Sunday. Mary was hardly downstairs when Archeycalled. 

"I've found out about their meeting last night, " he said. "They haveappointed a committee to try to have a boycott declared on our bearings. "

It didn't take Mary long to see that this might be a mortal thrust unlessit were parried. 

"But how can they?" she asked. 

"They are going to try labour headquarters first. 'Unfair tolabour'--that's what they are going to claim it is--to allow women to dowhat they're doing here. They're going to try to have a boycott declared, so that no union man will handle Spencer bearings, the teamsters won'ttruck them, the railways won't ship them, the metal workers and mechanicswon't install them, and no union man will use a tool or a machine thathas a Spencer bearing in it. That's their program. That's what they aregoing to try to do. "

From over the distance came the memory of Ma'm Maynard's words:

"I tell you, Miss Mary, it has halways been so and it halways will:Everything that lives has its own natural enemy--and a woman's naturalenemy--eet is man!"

"No, sir!" said Mary to herself, as resolutely as ever, "I don't believeit. They're trying to gain their point--that's all--the same as I'mtrying to gain mine.... But aren't they fighting hard when they do athing like that... !"

It came to her then with a sharp sense of relief that no organization--nounion--could well afford to boycott products simply because they weremade by women. "Because then, " she thought, "women could boycott thingsthat were made by unions, and I'm sure the unions wouldn't want that. "

She mentioned this to Archey and it was decided that Judge Cutler shouldfollow the strikers' committee to Washington and present the women's sideof the case. 

Archey went, but the atmosphere of worry which he had brought with himstayed behind. Mary seemed to breathe it all day and to feel itsoppression every time she awoke in the night. 

"What a thing it would be, " she thought, "if they did declare a boycott!All the work we've done would go for nothing--all our hopes andplans--everything wiped right out--and every woman pushed right back inher trap--and a man sitting on the lid--with a boycott in his hand... !"

The next day after a bad night, she was listlessly turning over the pagesof a production report, when Mrs. Kelly came in glowing with enthusiasm, holding in her hand a book from the rest room library. 

"Miss Spencer, " she said, "it's in this book that over on the other sidethe women in the factories had orchestras. I wonder if we couldn't havean orchestra now!"

Mary's listlessness vanished. 

"I've talked it over with a lot of the women, " continued Mrs. Kelly, "andthey think it's great. I've come to quite a few that play differentinstruments. I only wish I knew my notes, so I could play something, too. "

Mary thought that over. It didn't seem right to her that the originatorof the idea couldn't take part in it. 

"Couldn't you play the drum?" she suddenly asked. 

"Why, so I could!" beamed Mrs. Kelly in rare delight. "Do you mind thenif I start a subscription for the instruments?"

"No; I'll do that, if you'll promise to play the drum. "

"It's a promise, " agreed Mrs. Kelly, and when she reached the halloutside and saw the size of Mary's subscription she joyfully smote animaginary sheepskin, "Boom.... Boom.... Boom-boom-boom... !"

That is the week that Wally was married--with a ceremony that Helen haddetermined should be the social event of the year. 

She was busy with her plans for weeks, making frequent trips to New Yorkand Boston in the building up of her trousseau, arranging the details ofthe breakfast, making preparations for the decorations at the church andat the house on the hill, preparing and revising her list of those to beinvited, ordering the cake and the boxes, attending to the engraving, choosing the music, keeping in touch with the bridesmaids and theirdresses. 

"Why, she's as busy as I am, " thought Mary one day, in growing surpriseat Helen's knowledge and ability; and dimly she began to see that inherself and Helen were embodied two opposite ideas of feminine activity. 

"Of course she believes her way is the best, " continued Marythoughtfully, "just the same as I believe mine is. But I can't helpthinking that it's best to be doing something useful, something thatreally makes a difference in the world--so that at the end of every weekwe can say to ourselves, 'Well, I did this' or 'I did that'--'I haven'tlived this week for nothing.... '"

Mary started dreaming then, and the next day when she accompanied Helenup the aisle of St. Thomas's as maid of honour, her eyes went dreamierstill. And yet if you had been there I think you might have seen theleast trace of a shadow in their depths--just the least suspicion of awavering, unguessed doubt. 

But when Wally, with his wife at his side, started his car an hour laterand rolled smoothly on his wedding tour in search of the great adventure, in search of the sweetest story--Mary changed her dress and hurried backto the factory where she made a tour of her own. And as she walkedthrough the workshops with their long lines of contented women, passingup one aisle and down another--nearly every face turning for a moment andflashing her a smile--the shadows vanished from her eyes and her doubtswent with them. 

"This is the best, " she told herself, "I'm sure I did right, choosingthis instead of Wally. It's best for me, and best for these threethousand women--" Her imagination caught fire. She saw her three thousandpioneers growing into three hundred thousand, into three million. Amoment of greatness fell upon her and in fancy she thus addressed herunsuspecting workers:

"You are doing something useful--something that you can be proud of. Yourdaily labour isn't wasted. There isn't a country in the world that won'tprofit by it. 

"Because of these bearings which you are making, automobiles and truckswill carry their loads more easily, tractors will plough better, engineswill run longer, water will be pumped more quickly, electric light willbe sold for less money. 

"You are helping transportation--agriculture--commerce. And if that isn'tbetter, nobler work than washing, ironing, getting your own meals, washing your own dishes, and doing the same old round of profitlesschores day after day, and year after year, from the hour you are oldenough to work, till the hour you are old enough to die--well, then, I'mwrong and Helen's right; and I ought to have married Wally--and not oneof you women ought to be here today!"

A whisper arose in her mind. ".... Somebody's got to do the housework.... "

"Yes, but it needn't take up a woman's whole life, " she shortly toldherself, "any more than it does a man's. I'm sure there must be someway... Some way.... "

She stopped, a sudden flush striking along her cheek as she caught thefirst glimpse of her golden vision--that vision which may some day changethe history of the human race. "Oh, if I only could!" she breathed toherself. "If I only could!"

She slowly returned to the office. Judge Cutler was waiting to see her, just back from his visit to Washington. 

"Well?" she asked eagerly, shutting the door. "Are they going to boycottus?"

"I don't think so, " he answered. "I told them how it started. As far as Ican find out, the strike here is a local affair. The men I saw disclaimedany knowledge or responsibility for it. 

"Of course, I pointed out that women had the vote now, and that boycottswere catching.... But I don't think you need worry. 

"They're splendid men--all of them. I'm sure you'd like them, Mary. Theyare all interested in what you are doing, but I think they are markingtime a little--waiting to see how things turn out before they committhemselves one way or the other. "

Mary thrilled at that. 

"More than ever now it depends on me, " she thought, and another surge ofgreatness seemed to lift her like a flood. 

The judge's voice recalled her. 

"On my way back, " he was saying, "I stopped in New York and engaged afirm of accountants to come and look over the books. They are busy now, but I told them there was no hurry--that we only wanted theirsuggestions--"

"I had forgotten about that, " said Mary. 

"So had I. What do you suppose reminded me of it?"

She shook her head. 

"One of the first men I saw in Washington was Burdon Woodward. "

"I think it just happened that way, " said Mary uneasily. "He told me hewas going away for a few days, but I'm sure he only did it to get out ofgoing to Helen's wedding. "

"Well, anyhow, no harm done. It was the sight of him down there thatreminded me: that's all.... How has everything been running here?Smoothly, I hope?"

Smoothly, yes. That was the week when Mary sent her letters to thepapers, announcing that the women at Spencer & Son's had not onlyequalled past outputs, but were working within a closer degree ofaccuracy. 

And all that month, and the next month, and the next, the work at Spencer& Son's kept rolling out as smoothly as though it were moving on its ownbearings--not only the mechanical, but the welfare work as well. 

The dining room was re-modelled, as you will presently see. The bandprogressed, as you will presently hear. The women were proud and happy inthe work they were doing, and Mary was proud because they were proud, happy because they were happy, and all the time she was nursing anothersecret, no one dreaming what was in her mind. 

Along in the third month, Wally and Helen came back from their weddingtour. Mary looked once, and she saw there was something wrong with Wally. A shadow of depression hung over him--a shadow which he tried to hidewith bursts of cheerfulness. But his old air of eagerness was gone--thatair with which he had once looked at the future as a child might starewith delighted eyes at a conjurer drawing rabbits and roses out of oldhats and empty vases. 

In a word, he looked disenchanted, as though he had seen how the illusionwas produced, how the trick was done, and was simultaneously abating hisapplause for the performer and his interest in the show. 

"He's found her out, " thought Mary, and with that terrible franknesswhich sometimes comes unbidden to our minds she added with a sigh, "I wasalways afraid he would. "

Wally had taken a house near the country club--one of those brickmansions surrounded by trees and lawns which are somehow reminiscent oftitled society and fox hunters in buckskin and scarlet. There Helen wassoon working her way to the leadership of the younger set. 

She seldom called at the house on the hill. 

"I'm generally dated up for the evening, and you're never there in thedaytime. So I have to drop in and see you here, " she said one afternoon, giving Mary a surprise visit at the office. "Do you, know you're gettingto be fashionable?" she continued. 

"Who? Me?"

"Yes. You. Nearly everywhere we went, they began quizzing us as soon asthey found Miss Spencer was a cousin of mine. "

Mary noted Helen's self-promotion to the head of the cousinship, but shekept her usual tranquil expression. 

"It's because she's Mrs. Cabot now, " she thought. "Perhaps she wouldn'thave called at all if these people hadn't mentioned me!"

But when Helen arose to go, Mary revised her opinion of the reason forher cousin's call. 

"Well, I must be going, " said Helen, rising. "I'll drop in and see Burdonfor a few minutes on my way out. "

"That's it, " thought Mary, and her reflections again taking uponthemselves that terrible frankness which can seldom be put in words, sheadded to herself, "Poor Wally.... I was always afraid of it.... "

She was still looking out of the window in troubled meditation when thearrival of the afternoon mail turned her thoughts into another track. AsHelen had said, the New Bethel experiment had become fashionable. Takingit as their text, the women's clubs throughout the country were givingmuch of their time to a discussion of the changed industrial relationsdue to the war. Increasingly often, visitors appeared at the factory, asking if they could see for themselves--well-known, even famous figuresamong them. But on the afternoon when Helen Cabot made her first call, Mary received a letter which took her breath away, so distinguished, soillustrious were the names of those who were asking if they could pay avisit on the following day. 

Mary sent a telegram and then, her cheeks coloured with pride, she made atour through the factory to make sure that everything would be in order, whispering the news here and there, and knowing that every woman wouldhear it as unmistakably as though it had been pealed from the heavens intones of thunder. 

The visitors arrived at ten o'clock the next morning. 

There were four in the party--two men and two women. Mary recognizedthree of them at the first glance and felt a glow of pride warm her asthey seated themselves in her office. 

"Not even you, " she thought with a glance at the attentive figures on thewalls, "not even you ever had visitors like these. " And in some subtlemanner which I simply cannot describe to you, she felt that the portrayedfigures were proud of the visitors, too--and prouder yet of thedreamy-eyed girl who had brought it about, flesh of their flesh, blood oftheir blood, who was looking so queenly and chatting so quietly to theelect of the earth. 

The fourth caller was introduced as Professor Marsh, and Mary soonperceived that he was a hostile critic. 

"I shall have to be careful of him, " she thought, "or I shall be givinghim some good, hard bouncers before I know it--and that would never dotoday. " So putting the temptation behind her she presently said, "We'llstart at the nursery, if you like--any time you're ready. "

You have already seen something of that nursery, its long row of windowsfacing the south, its awnings, toys, sand-piles and white-robed nurses. Since then Mary had had time to elaborate the original theme with akitchen for preparing their majesties' food, linen closets and arest-room for the nurses. 

The chief glory of the nursery, however, was its noble line ofplay-rooms, each in charge of two nurses. 

"Let's look in here, " said Mary, opening a door. 

They came upon an interesting scene. In this room were twelve children, about two years old. The nurses were feeding them. Each nurse sat on theinside of a kidney shaped table, large enough to accommodate sixchildren, but low enough to avoid the necessity for high chairs with theconsequent dangling between earth and heaven. 

In front of each child was a plate set in a recess in the table--this toguard against overturning in the excitement of the moment--and in eachplate was a generous portion of chicken broth poured over broken bread. 

It was evidently good. Approval shone on each pink face. A brisk play ofspoons and the smacking of lips seemed to be the order of the day. 

"Each play room has its own wash room--" said Mary. 

She opened another door belonging to this particular suite and discloseda bathroom with special fixtures for babies. Large bowls, with hot andcold water, were set in porcelain tables. 

"What's the use of having so many bath-bowls in this table, " askedProfessor Marsh, "when you only have two nurses to do the bathing?"

"Every woman with a baby has half an hour off in the morning, and anotherhalf hour in the afternoon, " he was told. "In the morning, she bathes herbaby. In the afternoon she loves it. "

In the next play-room which they visited, the babies were of the bottleage, and were proving this to the satisfaction of every one concerned. 

In the next, refreshments were over; and some of the youngsters sleptwhile others were starting large engineering projects upon the sand pile. 

"I never saw such nurseries, " said the most distinguished visitor. Helooked at the artistic miniature furniture, the decorations, the lowpadded seat which ran around the walls--at once a seat and a cupboard fortoys. He looked at the sunlight, the screened verandah, the awning, theflowers, the birds hopping over the lawn, the river gleaming through thetrees. 

"Miss Spencer, " he said, "I congratulate you. If they could understandme, I would congratulate these happy youngsters, too. "

"But don't you think it's altogether wrong, " said Professor Marsh, "todeprive a child of the advantages of home life?"

"I read and hear that so often, " said Mary, "that I have adopted my ownmethod of replying to it. "

She led her visitors into a small room with a low ceiling. It wasfurnished with a cookstove, a table, a small side-board, an old conch anda few chairs. The floor was splintery and only partly covered by frayedrugs and worn oil cloth. The paper on the walls was a dark mottled green. The ceiling was discoloured by smoke. 

"This is the kitchen of an average wage-earner, " said Mary. "Some arebetter. Some are worse. I bought the furniture out of a room, just as itstood, and had the whole place copied in detail. "

Three of the visitors looked at each other. 

"Imagine a tired woman, " continued Mary, "standing over thatstove--perhaps expecting another baby before long. She has been washingall morning and now she is cooking. The room is damp with steam, theceiling dotted with flies. Then imagine a child crawling around thefloor, its mother too busy to attend to it, and you'll get an idea ofwhere some of these children in the nursery would be--if they weren'there. Mind, " she earnestly continued, "I'm not saying that home life forpoor children doesn't have its advantages, but we mustn't forget that ithas its disadvantages, too. "

She led them next to the kindergarten. 

A recess was on and the children were out in the play-ground--someswinging, some sliding down the chutes, others playing in amerry-go-round which was pushed around by hand. 

"Every other hour they have for play, " said Mary. "In the alternate hoursthe teachers read to them, talk to them, teach them their letters, teachthem to sing and give them the regular kindergarten course. If theyweren't here, " she said, half turning to Professor Marsh, "most of themwould probably be playing on the street. "

The next place they visited was the dining room--which occupied the upperfloor of one of the great buildings which Mary's father had planned. Butto look at it, you would never have suspected the original purpose forwhich the place had been intended. It was a dining room that any hotelwould be glad to call its own, with its forest-colour decorations, itsgrowing palms and ferns on every side. 

"The compartments around the walls are for the families, " explained Mary. "It is, of course, optional with those who work here whether they use thedining room or not. We supply all food at cost. This was this morning'sbreakfast. "

The bill of fare is too long to quote in full, but the visitors notedthat it included a choice of fruit, choice of cereal, choice of tea, coffee, milk or cocoa--and for the main dish, either fish, ham and eggs, oyster stew or small steak. 

"What you have seen so far, " said Mary, "is a side issue. Many of ourworkers are young women not yet married, others have some one at home tolook after the children. In fact the woman with a baby or little childrenis in the minority, but I thought it only right to provide for them--fora number of reasons--"

"Including sympathy?" smiled one of the ladies. 

Mary gave her a grateful glance. 

"We will now have an inspection of our real work here, " she said, "--thesame being the manufacture of bearings. "

The first room they entered was the ground floor of one of the buildingswhich housed the automatic department. At the nearer machines were longlines of women stamping out the metal discs which held the balls androllers in their places. 

"When these machines were operated by men, " said Mary, "it requiredconsiderable strength to throw the levers. But by a very simpleimprovement we changed the machines so that the lightest touch on thehandle is sufficient to do the work. We also put backs on the stools--andelbow rests--and racks for the feet--"

They followed her glances to each of these changes but their attentionsoon turned to the business-like speed and precision with which eachwoman did her work. 

"Women, of course, are naturally quick, " said Mary as though readingtheir thoughts. "You know what they can do on a typewriter, forinstance--or on a sewing machine. As you can see, it is much simpler tooperate one of these automatic machines than it is to typewrite a legaldocument--or make a dress. "

Together they looked up the long aisle at the double line of workers intheir creams and browns, their fingers deftly placing the blanks inposition and removing the finished discs. Somewhere, unseen, a phonographstarted playing a lively tune. 

"Where do they get their flowers?" asked one of the guests, noticing thateach woman was wearing a rose or a carnation. 

"They find them in their locker rooms every morning, " said Mary. "Theyusually sing when the phonograph plays, " she added, "but perhaps theyfeel nervous--at having company--"

This was confirmed when they left the room, for as they stood in thehallway first a hum was heard behind them here and there, and soon amellow toned chorus arose. 

"They certainly seem happy, " said one of the visitors. 

"They are, " said Mary. "And, indeed, why shouldn't they be? Their work islight and interesting; they are paid well; and more than anything else, Ithink, they all know they are making something useful--somethingtangible--something they can look upon with satisfaction and pride. "

They ascended a stairway and suddenly the scene changed. Below, the workhad been cast as though in a light staccato key, but here the music forthe machinery had a more powerful note. 

"These are the oscillating grinders, " said Mary, raising her voice abovethe skirling symphony. "It isn't everybody who can run them. "

She wondered whether her visitors caught the unconscious air of pridewhich many of the women wore in this department. At one end of the room asteady stream of rough castings came flowing in, while at the other endan equally steady volume of finished cones went flowing out. Mary hadalways liked to watch the oscillators and as she stood there, her gueststemporarily forgotten, her eyes filled with the almost human movements ofthe whirling machines, her ears with the triumphant music of the abrasivewheels biting into the metal, that same unconscious air of pride fellupon her, too, and although she didn't know it, her glance deepened andher head went up--quite in the old Spencer manner. 

"Is their work fairly accurate?" asked one of the visitors, breaking thespell. 

"Let's go and see, " said Mary, leading the way. 

The cones left the grinders upon an endless conveyor which carried themto an inspection room. Here at long tables were lines of attentive women, each with a set of gauges in front of her. The visitors stopped behindone of these inspectors just as she picked up a cone to put it throughits course of tests. 

First she slipped it into a gauge to see if it was too large. A pointeron a dial before her swung to "O. K. " Almost without stopping the motionof her hand, she inserted it into another gauge to see if it was toosmall. Again the pointer swung to "O. K. " The third test was to verify theangle of the cone, and for the third time the pointer said "O. K. " Thenext moment the cone had been dropped into a box and another was goingthrough the same course. 

"How many have been rejected today?" asked one of the visitors. 

"Two, " said the inspector. 

These two unfortunates lay on a rack in front of her. Interrupting herwork she picked up one of them. At the second operation the pointerturned to a red segment of the dial and a bell rang. 

"I don't hear many bells ringing, " commented the visitor, quizzicallylooking around the room. 

Mary smiled with quiet pleasure. 

"Next, " she said, "I'm going to take you to a department where womennever worked before. "

She led the way to one of the tempering buildings--a building equippedwith long lines of ovens--each as large as a baker's oven--where metalcones were heated instead of rolls. 

"Here, too, as you will see, " said Mary, "we have tried to reduce theelement of human error as far as possible. In each oven is an electricthermometer and when the bearings have reached the proper degree of heat, an incandescent bulb is automatically lighted in front of the oven.... See?"

They made their way to the oven where a white light had appeared. Awoman-worker had already opened the door and was pulling a lever. Asthough by magic, a bunch of castings, wired together, came travelling outof their heat bath and were immediately lowered into a large tank whichheld the tempering liquid. 

"What would have happened if the oven hadn't been opened when the whitelight appeared?" asked another of the visitors. 

"In five minutes a red lamp would have been automatically lighted, " saidMary "--a signal for the forewoman to come and take charge of the oven. "

"And suppose the red lamp had been disregarded?"

"In five minutes more an alarm bell would have started. You would haveheard it over half the factory--and it would have kept ringing until thesuperintendent herself had come and stopped it with a key which only sheis allowed to carry. "

"Is that the bell now?" he asked, as a mellow chime came from one of thedistant buildings. 

"No, " smiled Mary, listening, "that's the lunch bell. In another tenminutes I shall have a surprise for you. "

At the end of that time, they made their way to the dining room, whichwas already filled with eager women. In one corner was a private room, glass-partitioned. As Mary followed her guests toward it, the full, subdued strains of the Crusader March suddenly sounded in harmoniousgreeting from the other end of the room. 

"Ah!" said the most distinguished visitor, turning to look. "Men atlast!"

Mary let him look and then she beamed with pleasure at his glance ofappreciation. 

"Our own orchestra--one hundred pieces, " she said. "This is their firstpublic appearance. "

Oh, but it was a red-letter day for Mary!

Whether it was the way she felt, or because the sound became softened andmellowed in travelling the length of the dining room, it seemed to herthat she had never heard music so sweet, had never listened to soundsthat filled her heart so full or lifted her thoughts so high. 

The climax came at the end of the dessert. A shy girl entered, a smallleather box in her hand. 

"I have a souvenir for your visitor, Miss Spencer, " she said, and turningto him she added, "We made it with our own hands, thinking you might liketo use it as a paper weight--as a reminder of what women can do. "

The box was lined with blue velvet and contained a small model of theSpencer bearing, made of gold, perfect to the last ball and the lastroller. The visitor examined it with admiration--every eye in the diningroom (which could be brought to bear) watching him through the glasspartition. 

"If I ever received a more interesting souvenir, " he said, "I fail torecall it. Thank you, and please thank the others for me. Tell them howvery much I appreciate it, and tell them, too, if you will, that here inthis factory today I have had my outlook on life widened to an extentwhich I had thought impossible. For that, too, I thank you. "

Of course they couldn't hear him in the main room, but they could seewhen he had finished speaking. They clapped their hands; the band played;and when he arose and bowed, they clapped and played louder than before. And a few minutes later when the party left the dining room to thestrains of El Capitan, it seemed to Mary that after the closing chord sheheard two vigorous beats of the drum--soul expression of Mrs. Kelly, signifying "That's us!"

The visitors departed at last, and Mary returned to her office to findother callers awaiting her. 

The first was Helen, togged to the nines. 

"Somehow she heard they were here, " thought Mary, "and she came downthinking to meet them. She thought surely I would bring them in hereagain. " But her next reflection made her frown a little. "--Partly that, I guess, " she thought, "and partly to see Burdon, as usual. "

A knock on the door interrupted her, and Joe entered, bearing two cards. 

"These gentlemen have been waiting since noon, " he announced, "but theysaid they didn't mind waiting when I told them who was with you. "

The cards bore the name of a firm of public accountants. 

"Oh, yes, " said Mary. "Show them in, please, Joe. And ask Mr. Burdon if Ican see him for a few minutes. "

If you had been there, you might have noticed a change pass over Helen. Amoment before Burdon's name was mentioned she was sitting relaxed andrather dispirited, as you sometimes see a yacht becalmed, riding thewater without life or interest. But as soon as it appeared that Burdonwas about to enter, a breeze suddenly seemed to fill Helen's sails. Herbeauty, passive before, became active. Her bunting fluttered. Her flagsbegan to fly. 

The door opened, but Helen's smiling glance was disappointed. The twoauditors entered. 

One was grey, the other was young; but each had the same pale, incuriousair of detachment. They reminded Mary of two astronomy professors of hercollege days, two men who had just such an air of detachment, who alwaysseemed to be out of their element in the daylight, always waiting for thenight to come to resume the study of their beloved stars. 

"I have sent for our treasurer, Mr. Woodward, " said Mary. "Won't you beseated for a few minutes?"

They sat down in the same impersonal way and glanced around the room witheyes that seemed to see nothing. By the side of the mantel was a framedpiece of history, an itemized bill of the first generation of the firm, dated June 28, 1706, and quaint with its old spelling, its triple columnof pounds, shillings and pence. 

"May I look at that?" asked one of the accountants, rising. The otherfollowed him. Their heads bent over the document.... It occurred to Marythat they were verifying the addition. 

Again the door opened and this time it was Burdon, his dashingpersonality immediately dominating the room. 

Mary introduced the accountants to him. 

"With our new methods, " she said, "we probably need a new system ofbookkeeping. I also want to compare our old costs with present costs--"

Burdon stared at her, but Mary--half-ashamed of what she was doing--kepther glance upon the two accountants. 

"Mr. Burdon will give you all the old records, all the old books youwant, " she said, "and will help you in every possible way--"

And still Burdon stared at her--his whole life concentrated for a momentin his glance. And still Mary looked at the two accountants who completedthe triangle by looking at Burdon, as they naturally would, waiting forhim to turn and speak to them. As Mary watched them, she became consciousof a change in their manner, a tenseness of interest, such as the twoastronomers aforesaid might display at the sight of some disturbance inthe heavens. 

"What do they see?" she thought, and looked at Burdon. But Burdon at thesame moment had turned to the accountants, his manner as large, his airas dashing as ever. 

"Anything you want, gentlemen, " he said, "you have only to ask for it. "

When Mary reached home that evening, you can imagine how Aunt Patty andAunt Cordelia listened to her recital, their white heads nodding at theperiods, their cheeks pink with pride. Now and then they exchangedglances. "Our baby!" these glances seemed to say, and then turned back toMary with such love and admiration that finally the object of thispantomime could stand it no longer, but had to kiss them both till theircheeks turned pinker than ever and they gasped for breath. 

That night, when Mary went to her room and stood at the window, lookingout at the world below and the sky above, she threw out her arms and, turning her face to the moonlight, she felt that world-old wish toexpress the inexpressible, to put immortal yearnings into mortal words. 

Life--thankfulness for life--a joy so deep that it wasn't far frompain--hoping--longing-yearning ... For what? Mary herself could not havetold you--perhaps to be one with the starlight and the scent offlowers--to have the freedom of infinity--to express the inexpressible--

For a long time she stood at the window, the moon looking down upon herand bathing her face in its radiance.... Insensibly then the earthrecalled her and her thoughts began to return to the events of the day. 

"Oh, yes, " she suddenly said to herself, "I knew there was something.... I wonder why the accountants stared at Burdon so.... "

CHAPTER XXVIII

Far away, that same moon was watching another scene--a ship on theSouthern sea throbbing its way to New York. 

It was a steamer just out of Rio, its drawing rooms and upper decksfilled with tourists doubly happy because they were going home. 

On the steerage deck below, in the apron of a kitchen worker, a man wasstanding with his elbows on the rail--an uncertain figure in themoonlight. Once when he turned to look at the deck above, a lamp shoneupon him. If you had been there you would have seen that while a beardcovered much of his face, his cheeks were wasted and his eyes looked asthough he needed rest. 

He turned his glance out over the sea again, looking now to the northstar and now to the roadway of ripples that led to the moon. 

"I wonder if Rosa's asleep, " he thought. "Eleven o'clock. She ought tobe. It's a good school. She's lucky. So was I, that the old gentlemandidn't get my letter.... "

On the deck above, a violin and harp were accompanying a piano. 

"That's where I ought to be--up there, " he thought, "not peeling potatoesand scouring pans down here. All I have to do is to go up and announcemyself.... " He smiled--a grim affair. "Yes, all I have to do is to go upand announce myself.... They'd take care of me, all right!"

He lifted his hand and thoughtfully rubbed his beard. 

"As long as I stick to Russian, I'm safe. Nicholas Rapieff--nobody hassuspected me now for fifteen years. Paul Spencer's dead--dead long ago. But, somehow or other, I have taken it into my head that I would like tosee the place where he was born.... "

His glance were on the ripples that led to the moon. 

"I wonder if the orchard is still back of the house, " he thought, "andthe winesap tree I fell out of. I wonder if old Hutch is dead yet. Iremember he carried me in the house, and the very next week I knocked theclock down on him.... I wonder if that swimming hole is still there wherethe river turns below the dam. That was the best of all.... I rememberhow I liked to lie there--an innocent kid--and dream what I was going todo when I was a man.... Lord in Heaven, what wouldn't I give to dreamthose dreams again.... "

On the upper deck the dance had come to an end. 

"Time to turn in, " thought Paul. 

He crossed to the steerage door and a moment later the moon was shiningon an empty deck. 

CHAPTER XXIX

As time went on, it became increasingly clear to Mary that Wally wasn'thappy--that the "one great thing in life" for him was turning out badly. Never had a Jason sailed forth with greater determination to find theGolden Fleece of Happiness, but with every passing week he seemed to befurther than ever from the winning of his prize. 

Mary turned it over in her mind for a long time before she found a clueto the answer. 

"I believe it's because Helen has nothing useful to occupy her mind, " shethought one day; and more quickly than words can describe the fancy, sheseemed to see the wives at each end of the social scale--each groupengaged from morning till night on a never-ending round of unproductiveactivities, walkers of treadmills, drudges of want and wealth. 

"They are in just the same fix--the very rich and the very poor, "she thought, "grinding away all day and getting nowhere--neversatisfied--never happy--because way down in their hearts they knowthey're not doing anything useful--not doing anything that counts--"

Her mind returned to Helen's case. 

"I'm sure that's it, " she nodded. "Helen hasn't found happiness, so shegoes out looking for it, and never thinks of trying the only thing thatwould help her. Yes, and I believe that's why so many rich people havedivorces. When you come to think of it, you hardly ever heard of divorcesduring the war--because for the first time in their lives a lot of peoplewere doing something useful--"

Hesitating then she asked herself if she ought not to speak to Helen. 

"I didn't get any thanks the last time I tried it, " she ruefullyremarked. "But perhaps if I used an awful lot of tact--"

She had her chance that afternoon when Helen dropped in at the office onher way back from the city. 

"Shopping--all day--tired to death, " she said, sinking into the chair bythe side of the desk. "How are you getting on?"

Mary felt like replying, "Very well, thank you.... But how are yougetting on, Helen?.... You and Wally?"

Somehow, though, it sounded dreadful, even to hint that everything wasn'tas it should be between Wally and his wife. 

"Besides, " thought Mary, "she'd only say, 'Oh, all right, ' and yawn andchange the subject--and what could I do then?" She answered herself, "Nothing, " and thoughtfully added, "It will take a lot of tact. "

Indeed there are some topics which require so much tact in theirpresentation that the article becomes lost in its wrappings, and itspresence isn't even suspected by the recipient. 

"How's Wally?" asked Mary. 

"Oh, he's all right. "

"When I saw him the other day, I thought he was looking a bit under. "

"Oh, I don't know--"

As Mary had guessed, Helen patted her hand over her mouth to hide a yawn. "How's Aunt Patty and Aunt Cordelia?" she asked. 

Mary sighed to herself. 

"What can I do?" she thought. "If I say, 'Helen, you know you're nothappy. Folks never are unless they are doing something useful, ' she wouldonly think I was trying to preach to her. But if I don't sayanything--and things go wrong--"

One of the accountants entered--the elder one--with a sheaf of papers inhis hand. On seeing the visitor, he drew back. 

"Don't let me interrupt you, " whispered Helen to Mary. "I'll run in andsee Burdon for a few minutes--"

Absent-mindedly Mary began to look at the papers which the accountantplaced before her--her thoughts elsewhere--but gradually her interestcentred upon the matter in hand. 

"What?" she exclaimed. "A shortage as big as that last year? Never!"

The accountant looked at her with the same quizzical air as an astronomermight assume in looking at a child who had just said, "What? The sunninety million miles away from the earth? Never!"

"Either that, " he said, "or a good many bearings were made in the factorylast year--and lost in the river--"

"Oh, there's some mistake, " said Mary earnestly. "Perhaps the factorydidn't make as many bearings as you think. "

Again he gave her his astronomical smile, as though she were saying now, "Perhaps the moon isn't as round as you think it is; it doesn't alwayslook round to me. "

"I thought it best to show you this, confidentially, " he said, gatheringthe papers together, "because we have lately become conscious of afeeling of opposition--in trying to trace the source of this discrepancy. It seems to us, " he suggested, speaking always in his impersonal manner, "that this is a point which needs clearing up--for the benefit of everyone concerned. "

"Yes, " said Mary after a pause "Of course you must do that. It isn'tright to raise suspicions and then not clear them up.... Besides, " sheadded, "I know that you'll find it's just a mistake somewhere--"

After he had gone, Helen looked in, Burdon standing behind her, holdinghis cane horizontally, one hand near the handle, the other near theferrule. In the half gloom of the hall he looked more dashing--morereckless--than Mary had ever visioned him. His cane might have been asword ... His hat three-cornered with a sable feather in it.... 

"I just looked in to say good-bye, " said Helen. "I'm going to take Burdonhome. "

"I need somebody to mind me, " said Burdon, flashing Mary one of hisviolent smiles; and turning to go he said to Helen over his shoulder, "Come, child. We're late. "

"He calls her 'child'... " thought Mary. 

That night Wally was a visitor at the house on the hill--and when Marysaw how subdued he was--how chastened he looked--her heart went out tohim. 

"It seems so good to be here, calling again like this, " he said. "Does itremind you of old times, the same as it does me?"

But Mary wouldn't follow him there. As they talked it occurred to hermore than once that while Wally appeared to be listening to her, histhoughts were elsewhere--his ears attuned for other sounds. 

"What are you listening for!" she asked him once. 

He answered her with a puzzle. 

"For the Lorelei's song, " he said, and going to the piano he sang it, hisclear, plaintive tenor still retaining its power to make her nose smartand the dumb chills to run up and down her back. She was sitting near thepiano and when he was through, he turned around on the bench. 

"Have you ever been the least bit sorry, " he asked, "that you turned medown--for a business career?"

"I didn't turn you down, " she said. "We couldn't agree on certain things:that's all. "

"On what, for instance?"

"That love is the one great thing in life, for instance. You always saidit was--especially to a girl. And I always said there were other thingsin a woman's life, too--that love shouldn't monopolize her any more thanit does a man. "

"You were wrong, Mary, and you know you were wrong. "

"I was right, Wally, and you know I was right. Because, don't yousee?--if love is the only thing in life, and love fails, a person's wholelife is in ruins--and that isn't fair--"

"It's true, though, " he answered, more to himself than to her. Again heunconsciously assumed a listening attitude, as one who is trying to catcha sound from afar. 

"Wally!" said Mary. "What on earth are you listening for?"

Again it pleased him to answer her with a riddle. 

"Italian opera, " he said; and turning back to the keyboard he began--

"Woman is fickle False altogether Moves like a feather Borne on the breezes--"

"Did you ever sing when you were flying?" she asked, trying to shake himout of his mood. 

The question proved a happy one. For nearly two hours they chatted andsmiled and hummed old airs together--that is to say, Wally hummed themand Mary tried, for, as you know, she couldn't sing but could only followthe melody with a sort of a deep note far down in her throat, alwayspretending that she wasn't doing it and shyly laughing when Wally noddedin encouragement and tried to get her to sing up louder. 

"Eleven o'clock!" he exclaimed at last. "That's the first time in threemonths--"

Whatever it was, he didn't finish it, but when he bade her good-bye hesaid in a low voice, "Young lady, do you know that you played the veryOld Ned with my life when you turned me down?"

But Mary wouldn't follow him there, either. 

"Good-bye, Wally, " she said, and just before he went down to his car, shesaw him standing on the step, his face turned toward the drive as thoughstill listening for that distant sound--that sound which never came. 

The riddle was solved the next morning. 

Helen appeared at the office soon after nine and the moment she saw Maryshe said, "Has Wally 'phoned you this morning?"

"No, " said Mary. 

Her cousin looked relieved. 

"I want you to fib for me, " she said. "You know the way the men sticktogether.... Well, the women have to do it, too.... At dinner yesterday, "she continued, "Wally happened to ask me where I was going that evening, and I told him I was coming over to see you. And really, dear, I meant itat the time. Instead, a little crowd of us happened to get together andwe went to the club. 

"Well, that was all right. But it was nearly twelve when I got home, andhe looked so miserable that I hated to tell him that I had been offenjoying myself, so I pretended I had been over to see you. "

Mary blinked at the inference, but was too breathless, too alarmed tospeak. 

"He asked me if I got to your house early, " resumed Helen, "and I said, 'Oh, about eight. ' And then he said, 'What time did you leave Mary's?'and I said, 'Oh, about half-past eleven. '

"Of course, I thought everything was all right, but I could tell fromsomething he said this morning that he didn't believe me. So if he callsyou up, tell him that I was over at your house last night--willyou?--there's a dear--"

"But I can't, " said Mary, more breathless, more alarmed than ever. "Wallywas over himself last night--and, oh, Helen, now I know! He was listeningfor your car every minute!"

Helen stared ... And then suddenly she laughed--a laugh that had no mirthin it--that sound, half bitter, half mocking, which is sometimes used asironical applause for ironical circumstance. 

"I guess I can square it up somehow, " she said. "I'll drop in and seeBurdon for a few minutes. "

Before her cousin knew it, she was gone. 

"I'll speak to her when she comes out, " Mary told herself, but while shewas trying to decide what to say, the morning mail was placed on her deskand the routine of the day began. Half an hour later she heard the soundof Helen's car rolling away. 

"She went without saying good-bye, " thought Mary. "Oh, well, I'll see heragain before long. "

To her own surprise the events of the last few days worried her less thanshe expected. For one reason, she had lived long enough to notice that nomatter how involved things may look, Time has an astonishing faculty ofstraightening them out. And for another reason, having two worries tothink about, each one tended to take her mind off the other. 

Whenever she started thinking about the accountant's report, shepresently found herself wondering how Helen proposed to square it up withWally. 

"Oh, well, " she thought again, realizing the futility of trying to readthe future, "let's hope everything will come out right in the end.... Italways has, so far.... "

Archey came in toward noon, and Mary went with him to inspect a colony ofbungalows which she was having built on the heights by the side of thelake. 

Another thing that she had lived long enough to notice was the differenteffect which different people had upon her. Although she preserved, ortried to preserve, the same tranquil air of interest toward them all--atranquillity and interest which generally required no effort--some of thepeople she met in the day's work subconsciously aroused a feeling ofantagonism in her, some secretly amused her, some irritated her, somemade her feel under a strain, and some even had the queer, vampirisheffect of leaving her washed out and listless--psychological puzzleswhich she had never been able to solve. But with Archey she always feltrestful and contented, smiling at him and talking to him without exertionor repression and--using one of those old-fashioned phrases which areoften the last word in description--always "feeling at home" with him, and never as though he had to be thought of as company. 

They climbed the hill together and began inspecting the bungalows. 

"I wouldn't mind living in one of these myself, " said Archey. "What areyou going to do with them?"

But that was a secret. Mary smiled inscrutably and led the way into thekitchen. 

I have called it a kitchen, but it was just as much a living room, adining room. A Pullman table had been built in between two of the windowsand on each side of this was a settee. At the other end of the room was agas range. When Wally opened the refrigerator door he saw that it couldbe iced from the porch. Electric light fixtures hung from the ceiling andthe walls. 

"Going to have an artists' colony up here?" teased Archey, and lookingaround in admiration he repeated, "No, sir! I wouldn't mind living in oneof these houses myself--"

They went into the next room--the sitting room proper--unusual for itsbig bay window, its built-in cupboards and bookshelves. Then came thebathroom and three bed-rooms, all in true bungalow style on one floor. 

When they had first entered, Mary and Archey had chatted freely enough, but gradually they had grown quieter. There is probably no place in theworld so contributive to growing intimacy as a new empty house--whenviewed by a young man and a younger woman who have known each other formany years--

The place seems alive, hushed, expectant, watching every move of itsvisitors, breathing suggestions to them--

"Do you like it?" asked Mary, breaking the silence. 

Archey nodded, afraid for the moment to trust himself to speak. Theylooked at each other and, almost in haste, they went outside. 

"He'll never get over that trick of blushing, " thought Mary. At the endof the hall was a closet door with a mirror set in it. She caught sightof her own cheeks. "Oh, dear!" she breathed to herself. "I wonder if I'mcatching it, too!"

Once outside, Archey began talking with the concentration of a man who istrying to put his mind on something else. 

"This work up here was a lucky turn for some of the strikers, " he said. "Things are getting slack again now and men are being laid off. Here andthere I begin to hear the old grumbling, 'Three thousand women keepingthree thousand men out of jobs. ' So whenever I hear that, I remind themhow you found work for a lot of the men up here--and then of course Itell them it was their own fault--going on strike in the firstplace--just to get four women discharged!"

"And even if three thousand women are doing the work of three thousandmen, " said Mary, "I don't see why any one should object--if the womendon't. The wages are being spent just the same to pay rent and buy foodand clothes--and the savings are going into the bank--more so than whenthe men were drawing the money!"

"I guess it's a question of pride on the man's part--as much as anythingelse--"

"Oh, Archey--don't you think a woman has pride, too?"

"Well, you know what I mean. He feels he ought to be doing the work, instead of the woman. "

"Oh, Archey, " she said again. "Can't you begin to see that the averagewoman has always worked harder than the average man? You ask any of thewomen at the factory which is the easiest--the work they are doingnow--or the work they used to do. "

"I keep forgetting that. But how about this--I hear it all the time. Suppose the idea spreads and after a while there are millions of womendoing work that used to be done by men--what are the men going to do?"

"That's a secret, " she laughed. "But I'll tell you some day--if you'regood--"

The friendly words slipped out unconsciously, but for some reason hertone and manner made his heart hammer away like that powerful downwardpassage of the Anvil Chorus. "I'll be good, " he managed to say. 

Mary hardly heard him. 

"I wonder what made me speak like that, " she was thinking. "I must bemore dignified--or he'll think I'm bold.... " And in a very dignifiedvoice indeed, she said, "I must be getting back now. I wish you'd findthe contractor and ask him when he'll be through. "

She went down the hill alone. On the way a queer thought came to her. Isha'n't attempt to explain it--only to report it. 

"Of course it isn't the only thing in life--that's ridiculous, " shethought. "But sooner or later ... I guess it becomes quite important.... "

CHAPTER XXX

A few hours later, Mary was sitting in her office, thinking of this andthat (as the old phrase goes) when a knock sounded on the door and theelderly accountant entered. 

"We have finished the first part of our work, " he said, "that dealingwith factory costs. I will leave this with you and when you have read it, I would like to go over it with you in detail. "

It was a formidable document, nearly three hundred typewritten pages, neatly bound in hard covers. Mary hadn't looked in it far when she knewshe was examining a work of art. 

"How he must love his work!" she thought, and couldn't help wonderingwhat accidental turn of life had guided his career into the field offigures. 

"How interesting he makes it!" she thought again. "Why, it's almost likea novel. "

Brilliant sentences illuminated nearly every page. "This system, admirable in its way, is probably a legacy from the past, when thebookkeepers of Spencer & Son powdered their hair and used quill pens. --""Under these conditions, a stock clerk must become a prodigy and dependupon his memory. When memory fails he must become a poet, for he hasnothing but imagination to guide him. " "Thus one department wouldcorroborate another, like two witnesses independently sworn and eachexamined in private--"

The back of the volume, she noticed, was filled with tables of figures. "This won't be so interesting, " she told herself, turning the leaves. Butsuddenly she stopped at one of the open pages--and read it again--andagain--

"Comparative Efficiency of Men's Labour and Women's Labour, " the sheetwas headed. And there it was in black and white, line after line, justhow much it had cost to make each Spencer bearing when the men did thework, and just how much it was costing under the new conditions. 

"There!" said Mary, "I always knew we could do it, if the women in Europecould! There! No wonder we've been making so much money lately--!"

She took the report home in triumph to show to her aunts, and when dinnerwas over she carried the volume to her den, and never a young lady inbye-gone days sat down to Don Juan with any more pleasurable anticipationthan Mary felt when she buried herself in her easy chair and opened thatreport again. 

She was still gloating over the table of women's efficiency when Hutchinsappeared. 

"Mr. Archibald Forbes is calling. "

Archey had news. 

"The men had a meeting this afternoon, " he said. "They've been getting upa big petition, and they are going to send another committee toWashington. "

"What for?"

"To press for that boycott. Headquarters put them off last time, butthere are so many men out of work now at other factories that they hopeto get a favourable decision. "

"I'll see Judge Cutler in the morning, " promised Mary, and noticingArchey's expression, she said, "Don't worry. I'm not the least alarmed. "

"What bothers me, " he said, "is to have this thing hanging over all thetime. It's like old What's-his-name who had the sword hanging over hishead by a single hair all through the dinner. "

The sword didn't seem to bother Mary, though. That comparative table hadgiven her another idea--an idea that was part plan and part pride. Whenshe reached the office in the morning she telephoned Judge Cutler andUncle Stanley. 

"A directors' meeting--something important, " she told them both; andafter another talk with the accountant she began writing another of heradvertisements. She was finishing this when Judge Cutler appeared. Aminute later Uncle Stanley followed him. 

Lately Uncle Stanley had been making his headquarters at the bank--hisattitude toward the factory being one of scornful amusement. 

"Women mechanics!" he sometimes scoffed to visitors at the bank. "Womenforemen! Women presidents! By Judas, I'm beginning to think Old Nedhimself is a woman--the sort of mischief he's raising lately!... Something's bound to crack before long, though. "

In that last sentence you have the picture of Uncle Stanley. Even as Mr. Micawber was always waiting for something to turn up, so Uncle Stanleywas always waiting for something to go wrong. 

Mary opened the meeting by showing the accountants' report and thenreading her proposed advertisement. If you had been there, I think youwould have seen the gleam of satisfaction in Uncle Stanley's eye. 

"I knew I'd catch her wrong yet, " he seemed to be saying to himself. "Assoon as she's made a bit of money, she wants everybody to have it. It'sthe hen and the egg all over again--they've simply got to cackle. "

Thus the gleam in Uncle Stanley's eye. Looking up at the end of herreading, Mary caught it. "How he hates women!" she thought. "Still, in away, you can't wonder at it.... If it hadn't been for women and thethings they can do he would have had the factory long ago. " Aloud shesaid, "What do you think of it?"

"I think it's a piece of foolishness, myself, " said Uncle Stanleypromptly. "But I know you are going to do it, if you've made up your mindto do it. "

"I'm not so sure it's foolish, " said the judge. "It seems to me it'sgoing to bring us a lot of new business. "

"Got all we can handle now, haven't we?"

"Well, we can expand! It wouldn't be the first time in Spencer & Son'shistory that the factory has been doubled, and, by Jingo, I believeMary's going to do it, too!"

Mary said nothing, but a few mornings later when the advertisementappeared in the leading newspapers throughout the country, she made aremark which showed that her co-directors had failed to see at least twoof the birds at which she was throwing her stone.... She had thenewspapers brought to her room that morning, and was soon reading thefollowing quarter page announcement:

THE FRUITS OF HER LABOUR

For the past six months, Spencer bearings have been made exclusively bywomen. 

The first result of this is a finer degree of accuracy than had ever beenattained before. 

The second result is a reduction in the cost of manufacture, thisnotwithstanding the fact that every woman on our payroll has alwaysreceived man's wages, and we have never worked more than eight hours aday. 

To those who watched the work done by women in the war, neither of theabove results will be surprising. 

Because of the accuracy of her work, Spencer bearings are giving bettersatisfaction than ever before. 

Because of her dexterity and quickness, we are able to make the followingpublic announcement:

We are raising the wages of every woman in our factory one dollar a day;and we are reducing the price of our bearings ten per cent. 

These changes go into effect immediately. 

JOSIAH SPENCER & SON, INC. MARY SPENCER, President. 

"There!" said Mary, sitting up in bed and making a gesture to the worldoutside. "That's what women can do! ... Are you going to boycott us now?"

CHAPTER XXXI

If you can imagine a smiling, dreamy-eyed bombshell that explodes insilence, aimed at men's minds instead of their bodies, rocking fixedideas upon their foundations and shaking innumerable old notions upontheir pedestals until it is hard to tell whether or not they are going tofall, perhaps you can get an idea of the first effect of Mary'sadvertisement. Wherever skilled workmen gathered together herannouncement was discussed, and nowhere with greater interest than in herown home town. 

"Seems to me this thing may spread, " said a thoughtful looking striker inRepetti's pool-room. "Looks to me as though we had started somethingthat's going to be powerful hard to stop. "

"What makes you think it's going to spread?" asked another. 

"Stands to reason. If women can make bearings cheaper than men, the otherbearing companies have got to hire women, too, or else go out ofbusiness. And you can bet your life they won't go out of business withoutgiving the other thing a try. "

"Hang it all, there ought to be a law against women working, " said athird. 

"You mean working for wages?"

"Sure I mean working for wages. "

"How are you going to pass a law like that when women can vote?"impatiently demanded a fourth. 

"Bill's right, " said another. "We've started something here that's goingto be hard to stop. "

"And the next thing you know, " continued Bill, looking more thoughtfulthan ever, "some manufacturer in another line of business--sayautomobiles--is going to get the idea of cutting his costs and loweringhis prices--and pretty soon you'll see women making automobiles, too. Youcan go to sleep at some of those tools in a motor shop. Pie for theladies!"

"What are us men going to do after a while?" complained another. "Washthe dishes? Or sweep the streets? Or what?"

"Search me. I guess it'll come out all right in the end; but, believe me, we certainly pulled a bonehead play when we went on strike because ofthose four women. "

"I was against it from the first, myself, " said another. 

"So was I. I voted against the strike. "

"So did I!"

"So did I!"

It was a conversation that would have pleased Mary if she could haveheard it, especially when it became apparent that those who had causedthe strike were becoming so hard to find. But however much they might nowregret the first cause, the effect was growing more irresistible withevery passing hour. 

It began to remind Mary of the dikes in Holland. 

For centuries, working unconsciously more often than not, men had builtwalls that kept women out of certain industries. 

Then through their own strike, the men at New Bethel had made a smallhole in the wall--and the women had started to trickle through. With thegrowth of the strike, the gap in the wall had widened and deepened. Moreand more women were pouring through, with untold millions behind them, aflowing flood of power that was beginning to make Mary feel solemn. LikeWilliam the Thoughtful, she, too, saw that she had started somethingwhich was going to be hard to stop.... 

All over the country, women had been watching for the outcome of herexperiment, and when the last announcement appeared, a stream of lettersand inquiries poured upon her desk.... The reporters returned in greaterstrength than ever.... It sometimes seemed to Mary that the whole dikewas beginning to crack.... Even Jove must have felt a sense of awe whenhe saw the effect of his first thunderbolt.... 

"If they would only go slowly, " she uneasily told herself, "it would beall right. But if they go too fast... "

She made a helpless gesture--again the gesture of those who have startedsomething which they can't stop--but just before she went home thatevening she received a telegram which relieved the tension. 

"May we confer with you Monday at your office regarding situation at NewBethel?"

That was the telegram. It was signed by three leaders of labour--the samemen, Mary remembered, whom Judge Cutler had seen when he had visitedheadquarters. 

"Splendid men, all of them, " she remembered him reporting. "I'm sureyou'd like them, Mary. "

"Perhaps they'll be able to help, " she told herself. "Anyhow, I'm notgoing to worry any more until I have seen them. "

That night, after dinner, two callers appeared at the house on the hill. 

The first was Helen. 

Dinner was hardly over when Mary saw her smart coupé turn in to thegarage. A minute later Helen ran up the steps, a travelling bag in herhand. She kissed her cousin twice, quotation marks of affection whichenclosed the whisper, "Do you mind if I stay all night?"

"Of course I don't, " said Mary, laughing at her earnestness. "What's thematter? Wally out of town?"

"Oh, don't talk to me about Wally! ... No; he isn't out of town. That'swhy I'm here.... Can I have my old room?"

She was down again soon, her eyes brighter than they should have been, her manner so high strung that it wasn't far from being flighty. Asthough to avoid conversation, she seated herself at the piano and playedher most brilliant pieces. 

"I think you might tell me, " said Mary, in the first lull. 

"I told you long ago. Men are fools! But if he thinks he can bully me--!"

"Who?"

"Wally!" Mary's exclamation of surprise was drowned in the ballet fromCoppelia. "I don't allow any man to worry me!" said Helen over hershoulder. 

"But, Helen--don't you think it's just possible--that you've beenworrying him?"

A crashing series of chords was her only answer. In the middle of a runHelen topped and swung around on the bench. 

"Talking about worrying people, " she said. "What's the matter with Burdondown at the office lately? What have you been doing to him?"

"Helen! What a thing to say!"

"Well, that's how it started, if you want to know! I was trying to cheerhim up a little ... And Wally thought he saw more than he did.... "

For a feverish minute she resumed Delibes' dance, but couldn't finish it. She rose, half stumbling, blinded by her tears and Mary comforted her. 

"Now, go and get your bag, dear, " she said at last, "and I'll go homewith you, and stay all night if you like. "

But Helen wouldn't have that. 

"No, " she said, "I'm going to stay here a few days. I told my maid whereshe could find me--but I made her promise not to tell Wally tillmorning--and I'm not going back till he comes for me. "

"I wonder what he saw... " Mary kept thinking. "Poor Wally!" And then moregently, "Poor Helen! ... It's just as I've always said. "

Mary was a long time going to sleep that night, thinking of Helen, andWally and Burdon. 

Yes, Helen was right about Burdon. Something was evidently worrying him. For the last few days she had noticed how irritable he was, how drawn helooked. 

"I do believe he's in trouble of some sort, " she sighed. "And he looks soreckless, too. I'm glad that Wally did speak to Helen. He isn't safe. "And again the thought recurring, "I wonder what Wally saw.... "

A sound from the lawn beneath her window stopped her. At first shethought she was dreaming--but no, it was a mandolin being played on mutedstrings. She stole to the window. In the shadow stood a figure and at thefirst subdued note of his song, Mary knew who it was. 

"Soft o'er the fountain Ling'ring falls the southern moon--"

"If that isn't Wally all over, " thought Mary. "He thinks Helen's here, and he wants to make up. "

But how did he know Helen was there? And why was he singing so sadly, soplaintively just underneath Mary's window? Another possibility came toher mind and she was still wondering what to do when Helen came in, evenas she had come in that night so long ago when Wally had sung Juanitabefore. 

"Wait till morning! He'll hear from me!" said Helen in indignation. 

Wally's song was growing fainter. He had evidently turned and was walkingtoward the driveway. A minute later the rumble of a car was heard. 

"If he thinks he can talk to me the way he did, " said Helen, moreindignant than before, "and then come around here like that--serenadingyou--!"

"Oh, Helen, don't, " said Mary, trembling. "... I think he was sayinggood-bye.... Wait till I put the light on.... "

The distress in her voice cheeked Helen's anger, and a moment later thetwo cousins were staring at each other, two tragic figures suddenlyuncovered from the mantle of light. 

"I won't go back to my room; I'll stay here, " whispered Helen at last. "Don't fret, Mary; he won't do anything. "

It was a long time, though, before Mary could stop trembling, but an hourlater when the telephone bell began ringing downstairs, she found thather old habit of calmness had fallen on her again. 

"I'll answer it, " she said to Helen. "Don't cry now. I'm sure it'snothing. "

But when she returned in a few minutes, Helen only needed one glance totell her how far it was from being nothing. 

"Your maid, " said Mary, hurrying to her dresser. "Wally's car ran intothe Bar Harbor express at the crossing near the club.... He's terriblyhurt, but the doctor says there's just a chance.... You run and dressnow, as quickly as you can.... I have a key to the garage.... "

CHAPTER XXXII

The first east-bound express that left New York the following morningcarried in one of its Pullmans a famous surgeon and his assistant, boundfor New Bethel. In the murk of the smoker ahead was a third passengerwhose ticket bore the name of the same city--a bearded man with roundedshoulders and tired eyes, whose clothes betrayed a foreign origin. 

This was Paul Spencer on the last stage of his journey home. 

Until the train drew out of the station, the seat by his side wasunoccupied. But then another foreign looking passenger entered and madehis way up the aisle. 

You have probably noticed how some instinctive law of selection seems toguide us in choosing our companion in a car where all the window seatsare taken. The newcomer passed a number of empty places and sat down bythe side of Paul. He was tall, blonde, with dusty looking eyebrows and abeard that was nearly the colour of dead grass. 

"Russian, I guess, " thought Paul, "and probably thinks I am something ofthe same. "

The reflection pleased him. 

"If that's the way I look to him, nobody else is going to guess. "

When the conductor came, Paul's seat-mate tried to ask if he would haveto change cars before reaching his destination, but his language was sobroken that he couldn't make himself understood. 

"I thought he was Russian, " Paul nodded to himself, catching a word hereand there; and, aloud, he quietly added in his mother's tongue, "It's allright, batuchka; you don't have to change. "

The other gave him a grateful glance, and soon they were talkingtogether. 

"A Bolshevist, " thought Paul, recognizing now and then a phrase or anargument which he had heard from some of his friends in Rio, "but what'she going to New Bethel for?"

As the train drew nearer the place of his birth, Paul grew quieter. Oldlandmarks, nearly forgotten, began to appear and remind him of the past. 

"What time do we get there?" he asked a passing brakeman. 

"Eleven-thirty-four. "

Paul's companion gave him a look of envy. 

"You speak English well, " said he. 

Paul didn't like that, and took refuge behind one of those Slavonicindirections which are typical of the Russian mind--an indirectionhinting at mysterious purpose and power. 

"There are times in a life, " said he, "when it becomes necessary to speaka foreign language well. "

They looked at each other then, and simultaneously they nodded. 

"You are right, batuchka, " said the blonde giant at last, matchingindirection with indirection. "For myself, I cannot speak Englishwell--ah, no--but I have a language that all men understand--andfear--and when I speak, the houses fall and the mountains shake theirheads. "

His eyes gleamed and he breathed quickly--intoxicated by the poetry ofhis own words; but Paul had heard too much of that sort of imagery to beimpressed. 

"A Bolshevist, sure enough, " he thought. 

A familiar landscape outside attracted his attention. 

"We'll be there in a few minutes, " he thought. "Yes, there's the road ... And there's the lower bridge.... I hope that old place at the bend of theriver's still there. I'll take a walk down this afternoon, and see. "

At the station he noted that his late companion was being greeted by agroup of friends who had evidently come to meet him. Paul stood for a fewminutes on the platform, unrecognized, unheeded, jostled by the throng. 

"The prodigal son returns, " he sighed, and slowly crossed the square.... 

Late in the afternoon a tired figure made its way along the river belowthe factory. The banks were high, but where the stream turned, a smallgrass-covered cove had been hollowed out by the edge of the water. 

"This is the best of all, " thought Paul after he had climbed down thebank and, sinking upon the grass, he lay with his face to the sun, as hehad so often lain when he was a boy, dreaming those golden dreams ofyouth which are the heritage of us all. 

"I was a fool to come, " he told himself. "I'll get back to the shiptomorrow.... "

For where he had hoped to find pleasure, he had found little butbitterness. The sight of the house on the hill, the factory in the hollowbelow the dam, even the faces which he had recognized had given him afeeling of sadness, of punishment--a feeling which only an outcast canknow to the full--an outcast who returns to the scene of his home aftermany years, unrecognized, unwanted, afraid almost to speak for fear hewill betray himself.... 

For a long time Paul lay there, sometimes staring up at the sky, sometimes half turning to look up the river where he could catch aglimpse of the factory grounds and, farther up, the high cascade of waterfalling over the dam--the bridge just above it.... 

Gradually a sense of rest, of relaxation took possession of him. "This isthe best of all, " he sighed, "but I'll get back to the ship tomorrow.... "

The sun shone on his face.... His eyes closed.... 

When he opened them again it was dark. 

"First time I've slept like that for years, " he said, sitting up andstretching. Around him the grass was wet with dew. "Must be gettinglate, " he thought. "I'd better get under shelter. "

On the bridge above the dam he saw the headlights of a car slowly moving. In the centre it stopped and the lights went out. 

"That's funny, " he thought. "Something the matter with his wires, maybe. "

He stood up, idly watching. After a few minutes the lights switched onagain and the car began to move forward. Behind it appeared theapproaching lights of a second machine. 

"That first car doesn't want to be seen, " thought Paul. At each end ofthe bridge was an arc lamp. As the first car passed under the light, hecaught a glimpse of it--a grey touring car, evidently capable of speed. 

Paul didn't think of this again until he was near the place where he haddecided to pass the night. At the corner of the street ahead of him agrey car stopped and three men got out--his blonde companion of the trainamong them, conspicuous both on account of his height and his beard. 

"That's the same car, " thought Paul, watching it roll away; and frowningas he thought of his Russian acquaintance of the morning he uneasilyadded, "I wonder what they were doing on that bridge.... "

CHAPTER XXXIII

The next morning Wally was a little better. 

He was still unconscious, but thanks to the surgeon his breathing wasless laboured and he was resting more quietly. Mary had stayed with Helenovernight, and more than once it had occurred to her that even as itrequires darkness to bring out the beauty of the stars, so in the shadowof overhanging disaster, Helen's better qualities came into view andshone with unexpected radiance. 

"I know... " thought Mary. "It's partly because she's sorry, and partlybecause she's busy, too. She's doing the most useful work she ever did inher life, and it's helping her as much as it's helping him--"

They had a day nurse, but Helen had insisted upon doing the night workherself. There were sedatives to be given, bandages to be kept moist. Mary wanted to stay up, too, but Helen didn't like that. 

"I want to feel that I'm doing something for him--all myself, " she said, and with a quivering lip she added, "Oh, Mary... If he ever gets overthis... !"

And in the morning, to their great joy, the doctor pronounced him alittle better. Mary would have stayed longer, but that was the day whenthe labour leaders were to visit the factory; so after hearing thephysician's good report, she started for the office. 

At ten o'clock she telephoned Helen who told her that Wally had justfallen off into his first quiet sleep. 

"I'm going to get some sleep myself, now, if I can, " she added. "Thenurse has promised to call me when he wakes. "

Mary breathed easier, for some deep instinct told her that Wally wouldcome through it all right. She was still smiling with satisfaction whenJoe of the Plumed Hair came in with three cards, the dignity of hismanner attesting to the importance of the names. 

"All right, Joe, send them in, " she said. "And I wish you'd find Mr. Forbes and Mr. Woodward, and tell them I would like to see them. "

"Mr. Woodward hasn't come down yet, but I guess I know where Mr. Forbesis--"

He disappeared and returned with the three callers. 

Mary arose and bowed as they introduced themselves, meanwhile studyingthem with tranquil attentiveness. 

"The judge was right, " she told herself. "I like them. " And when they satdown, there was already a friendly spirit in the air. 

"This is a wonderful work you are doing here, Miss Spencer, " said one. 

"You think so?" she asked. "You mean for the women to be makingbearings?"

"Yes. Weren't you surprised yourself when your idea worked out so well?"

"But it wasn't my idea, " she said. "It was worked out in the war--oh, ever so much further than we have gone here. We are only making bearings, but when the war was on, women made rifles and cartridges and shells, cameras and lenses, telescopes, binoculars and aeroplanes. I can't beginto tell you the things they made--every part from the tiniest screws asbig as the end of this pin--to rough castings. They did designing, anddrafting, and moulding, and soldering, and machining, and carpentering, and electrical work--even the most unlikely things--things you wouldnever think of--like ship-building, for instance!

"Ship-building! Imagine!" she continued. 

"Why, one of the members of the British Board of Munitions said that ifthe war had lasted a few months longer, he could have guaranteed to builda battleship from keel to crow's-nest--with all its machinery andequipment--all its arms and ammunition--everything on it--entirely bywoman's labour!

"So, you see, I can't very well get conceited about what we are doinghere--although, of course, I am proud of it, too, in a way--"

She stopped then, afraid they would think she was gossipy--and she letthem talk for a while. The conversation turned to her last advertisement. 

"Are you sure your figures are right?" asked one. "Are you sure yourwomen workers are turning out bearings so much cheaper than the men did?"

"They are not my figures, " she told them. "They are taken from an auditby a firm of public accountants. "

She mentioned the name of the firm and her three callers nodded withrespect. 

"I have the report here, " she said--and showed them the table ofcomparative efficiency. 

"Remarkable!" said one. 

"It only confirms, " said Mary, "what often happened during the war. "

"Perhaps you are working your women too hard. "

"If you would like to go through the factory, " said Mary, "you can judgefor yourselves. "

Archey was in the outer office and they took him with them. They beganwith the nursery and went on, step by step, until they arrived at theshipping room. 

"Do you think they are overworked?" asked Mary then. 

The three callers shook their heads. They had all grown rather silent asthe tour had progressed, but in their eyes was the light of those whohave seen revelations. 

"As happy a factory as I have ever seen, " said one. "In fact, it makes itdifficult to say what we wanted to say. "

They returned to the office and when they were seated again, Mary said, "What is it you wanted to say?"

"We wanted to talk to you about the strike. As we understand yourprinciple, Miss Spencer, you regard it as unfair to bar a woman from anyline of work which she may wish to follow--simply because she is awoman. "

"That's it, " she said. 

"And for the same reason, of course, no man should be debarred fromworking, simply because he's a man. "

They smiled at that. 

"Such being the case, " he continued, "I think we ought to be able to findsome way of settling this strike to the satisfaction of both sides. Ofcourse you know, Miss Spencer, that you have won the strike. But I thinkI can read character well enough to know that you will be as fair to themen as you wish them to be with the women. "

"The strike was absolutely without authority from us, " said one of theothers. "The men will tell you that. It was a mistake. They will tell youthat, too. Worse than a mistake, it was silly. "

"However, that's ancient history now, " said the third. "The presentquestion is: How can we settle this matter to suit both sides?"

"Of course I can't discharge any of the women, " said Mary thoughtfully, "and I don't think they want to leave--"

"They certainly don't look as if they did--"

"I have another plan in mind, " she said, more thoughtfully than before, "but that's too uncertain yet.... The only other thing I can think of isto equip some of our empty buildings and start the men to work there. Since our new prices went into effect we have been turning businessaway. "

"You'll do that, Miss Spencer?"

"Of course the men would have to do as much work as the women are doingnow--so we could go on selling at the new prices. "

"You leave that to us--and to them. If there's such a thing as pride inthe world, a thousand men are going to turn out as many bearings as athousand women!"

"There's one thing more, " said the second; "I notice you have raised yourwomen's wages a dollar a day. Can we tell the men that they are going toget women's wages?"

They laughed at this inversion of old ideas. 

"You can tell them they'll get women's wages, " said Mary, "if they can dowomen's work!"

But in spite of her smile, for the last few minutes she had becomeincreasingly conscious of a false note, a forced conclusion in theirplans--had caught glimpses of future hostilities, misunderstandings, suspicions. The next remark of one of the labour leaders cleared herthoughts and brought her back face to face with her golden vision. 

"The strike was silly--yes, " one of the leaders said. "But back of themen's actions I think I can see the question which disturbed their minds. If women enter the trades, what are the men going to do? Will there bework enough for everybody?"

Even before he stopped speaking, Mary knew that she had found herself, knew that the solid rock was under her feet again. 

"There is just so much useful work that has to be done in the world everyday, " she said, "and the more hands there are to do it, the quicker itwill get done. "

That was as far as she had ever gone before, but now she went a stepfarther. 

"Let us suppose, for instance, that we had three thousand married menworking here eight hours a day to support their families. If now we allowthree thousand women to come out of those same homes and work side byside with the men--why, don't you see?--the work could be done in fourhours instead of eight, and yet the same family would receive just thesame income as they are getting now--the only difference being thatinstead of the man drawing all the money, he would draw half and his wifewould draw half. "

"A four hour day!" said one of the leaders, almost in awe. 

"I'm sure it's possible if the women help, " said Mary, "andI know they want to help. They want to feel that they are doingsomething--earning something--just the same as a man does. They want toprogress--develop--

"We used to think they couldn't do men's work, " she continued. "I used tothink so, myself. So we kept them fastened up at home--something likesquirrels in cages--because we thought housework was the only thing theycould do.... 

"But, oh, how the war has opened our eyes!... 

"There's nothing a man can do that a woman can't do--nothing! And now thequestion is: Are we going to crowd her back into her kitchen, when if welet her out we could do the world's work in four hours instead of eight?"

"Of course there are conditions where four hours wouldn't work, " said oneof the leaders half to himself. "I can see that in many places it mightbe feasible, but not everywhere--"

"No plan works everywhere. No plan is perfect, " said Mary earnestly. "I've thought of that, too. The world is doing its best to progress--tomake people happier--to make life more worth living all the time. But nosingle step will mark the end of human progress. Each step is a step:that's all... 

"Take the eight hour day, for instance. It doesn't apply to women atall--I mean house women. And nearly half the people are house women. Itdoesn't apply to farmers, either; and more than a quarter of the peoplein America are on farms. But you don't condemn the eight hour day--doyou?--just because it doesn't fit everybody?"

"A four hour day!" repeated the first leader, still speaking in tones ofawe. 

"If that wouldn't make labour happy, " said the second, "I don't know whatwould. "

"Myself, I'd like to see it tried out somewhere, " said the third. "Itsounds possible--the way Miss Spencer puts it--but will it work?"

"That's the very thing to find out, " said Mary, "and it won't take long. "

She told them about the model bungalows. 

"I intended to try it with twenty-five families first, " she said, takinga list from her desk. "Here are the names of a hundred women workinghere, whose husbands are among the strikers. I thought that out of thesehundred families, I might be able to find twenty-five who would bewilling to try the experiment. "

The three callers looked at each other and then they nodded approval. 

"So while we're having lunch, " she said, "I'll send these women out tofind their husbands, and we'll talk to them altogether. "

It was half past one when Mary entered the rest room with her threevisitors and Archey. Nearly all the women had found their men, and theywere waiting with evident curiosity. 

As simply as she could, Mary repeated the plan which she had outlined tothe leaders. 

"So there you are, " she said in conclusion. "I want to find twenty-fivefamilies to give the idea a trial. They will live in those newbungalows--you have probably all seen them. 

"There's a gas range in each to make cooking easy. They have steam heatfrom the factory--no stoves--no coal--no ashes to bother with. There'selectric light, refrigerator, bathroom, hot and cold water--everything Icould think of to save labour and make housework easy. 

"Now, Mrs. Strauss, suppose you and your husband decide to try this newarrangement. You would both come here and work till twelve o'clock, andthe afternoons you would have to yourselves. 

"In the afternoons you could go shopping, or fishing, or walking, orboating, or skating, or visiting, or you could take up a course of study, or read a good book, or go to the theatre, or take a nap, or work in yourgarden--anything you liked.... 

"In short, after twelve o'clock, the whole day would be your own--foryour own development, your own pleasure, your own ideas--anything youwanted to use it for. Do you understand it, Mrs. Strauss?"

"Indeed I do. I think it's fine. "

"Is Mr. Strauss here? Does he understand it?"

"Yes, I understand it, " said a voice among the men. Assisted by hisneighbours he arose. "I'm to work four hours a day, " he said, "and so'sthe wife. Instead of drawing full money, I draw half and she draws half. We'd have to chip in on the family expenses. Every day is to be likeSaturday--work in the morning and the afternoon off. Suits me to a dot, if it suits her. I always did think Saturday was the one sensible day inthe week. "

A chorus of masculine laughter attested approval to this sentiment andMr. Strauss sat down abashed. 

"Well, now, if you all understand it, " said Mary, "I want twenty-fivefamilies who will volunteer to try this four-hour-a-day arrangement--sowe can see how it works. All those who would like to try it--will theyplease stand up?"

Presently one of the labour leaders turned to Mary with a beaming eye. 

"Looks as though they'll have to draw lots, " said he... "They are allstanding up... !"

CHAPTER XXXIV

The afternoon was well advanced when her callers left, and Mary had tomake up her work as best she could. 

A violent thunder-storm had arisen, but in spite of the lightning shetelephoned Helen. 

Wally was still improving. 

"I'll be over as soon as I've had dinner, " said Mary, "but don't expectme early. "

She was hanging up the receiver when the senior accountant entered, alittle more detached, a little more impersonal than she had ever seenhim. 

"We shall have our final report ready in the morning, " he said. 

"That's good, " said Mary, starting to sign her letters. "I'll be glad tosee it any time. "

At the door he turned, one hand on the knob. 

"I haven't seen Mr. Woodward, Jr. , today. Do you expect him tomorrow?"

At any other time she would have asked herself, "Why is he inquiring forBurdon?"--but she had so much work waiting on her desk, demanding herattention, that it might be said she was talking subconsciously, hardlyknowing what was asked or answered. 

It was dusk when she was through, and the rain had stopped for a time. Near the entrance to the house on the hill--a turn where she always hadto drive slowly--a shabby man was standing--a bearded man with roundedshoulders and tired eyes. 

"I wonder who he is?" thought Mary. "That's twice I've seen him standingthere.... "

Without seeming to do so, a pretence which only a woman can accomplish, she looked at him again. "How he stares!" she breathed. 

As you have guessed, the waiting man was Paul. 

For the first time that morning he had heard about the strike--hadheard other things, too--in the cheap hotel where he had spent thenight--obscure but alarming rumours which had led him to change his plansabout an immediate return to his ship. A bit here, a bit there, he hadpieced the story of the strike together--a story which spared no names, and would have made Burdon Woodward's ears burn many a time if he hadheard it. 

"There's a bunch of Bolshevikis come in now--" this was one of the thingswhich Paul had been told. "'Down with the capitalists who prey on women!'That's them! But it hasn't caught on. Sounds sort of flat around here tothose who know the women. So this bunch of Bols has been laying low thelast few days. They've hired a boat and go fishing in the lake. Theydon't fool me, though--not much they don't. They're up to some deviltry, you can bet your sweet life, and we'll be hearing about it before long--"

Paul's mind turned to the blonde giant who had ridden on the train fromNew York, and the group of friends who had been waiting for him at thestation. 

"He was up to something--the way he spoke, " thought Paul. "And last nighthe was in that car on the bridge.... Where do these Bols hang out?" heasked aloud. 

He was told they made their headquarters at Repetti's pool-room, butthough he looked in that establishment half a dozen times in the courseof the day, he failed to see them. 

"Looking for somebody?" an attendant asked him. 

"Yes, " said Paul. "Tall man with a light beard. Came in from New Yorkyesterday. "

"Oh, that bunch, " grinned the attendant. "They've gone fishing again. Going to get wet, too, if they ain't back soon. "

For over three hours then the storm had raged, the rain falling with theforce of a cloudburst. At seven it stopped and, going out, Paul foundhimself drifting toward the house on the hill. 

It was there he saw Mary turning in at the gate. He stood for a long timelooking at the lights in the windows and thinking those thoughts whichcan only come to the Ishmaels of the world--to those sons of Hagar whomay never return to their father's homes. 

"I was a fool for coming, " he half groaned, tasting the dregs ofbitterness. Unconsciously he compared the things that were with thethings that might have been. 

"She certainly acted like a queen to Rosa, " he thought once. 

For a moment he felt a wild desire to enter the gate, to see his homeagain, to make himself known--but the next moment he knew that this washis punishment--"to look, to long, but ne'er again to feel the warmth ofhome. "

He returned to the pool-room, his eyes more tired than ever, and found aseat in a far corner. Some one had left a paper in the next chair. Paulwas reading it when he became conscious of some one standing in front ofhim, waiting for him to look up. It was his acquaintance of the daybefore--the Russian traveller--and Paul perceived that he was excited, and was holding himself very high. 

"Good evening, batuchka, " said Paul, and looking at the other's wetclothes he added, "I see you were caught in the storm. "

"You are right, batuchka, " said the other, and leaning over, his voiceslightly shaking, he added, "Others, too, are about to be caught in astorm. " He raised his finger with a touch of grandeur and took the chairby Paul's side, breathing hard and obviously holding himself at atension. 

"Your friends aren't with you tonight?"

Again the Russian spoke in parables. "Some men run from great events. Others stop to witness them. "

"Something in the wind, " thought Paul. "I think he'll talk. " Aloud hesaid, pretending to yawn, "Great events, batuchka? There are no moregreat events in the world. "

"I tell you, there are great events, " said the other, "wherever there aregreat men to do them. "

"You mean your friends?" asked Paul. "But no. Why should I ask! For greatmen would not spend their days in catching little fishes--am I not right, batuchka?"

"A thousand times right, " said the other, his grandeur growing, "butinstead of catching little fishes, what do you say of a man who can letloose a large fish--an iron fish--a fish that can speak with a loud noiseand make the whole world tremble--!"

Paul quickly raised his finger to his lips. 

"Let's go outside, " he said. "Some one may hear us here... "

CHAPTER XXXV

At eight o'clock Mary had gone to Helen's. 

"If I'm not back at ten, I sha'n't be home tonight, " she had toldHutchins as she left the house. 

At half past eight Archey called, full of the topic which had beenstarted that afternoon. Hutchins told him what Mary had said. 

"All right, " he said. "I'll wait. " He left his car under the portecochère, and went upstairs to chat with Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty. 

At twenty to ten, Hutchins was looking through the hall window up thedrive when he saw a figure running toward the house. The door-bellrang--a loud, insistent peal. 

Hutchins opened the door and saw a man standing there, shabby andspattered with mud. 

"Is Miss Spencer in?"

"No; she's out. "

The hall light shone on the visitor's face and he stared hard at thebutler. "Hutch, " he said in a quieter voice, "don't you remember me?"

"N-n-no, sir; I think not, sir, " said the other--and he, too, began tostare. 

"Don't you remember the day I fell out of the winesap tree, and youcarried me in, and the next week I tried to climb on top of that hallclock, and knocked it over, and you tried to catch it, and it knocked youover, too?"

The butler's lips moved, but at first he couldn't speak. 

"Is it you, Master Paul?" he whispered at last, as though he were seeinga visitor from the other world. And again "Is it you, Master Paul?"

"You know it is. Listen, now. Pull yourself together. We've got to get tothe dam before ten o'clock, or they'll blow it up. Put your hat on. Haveyou a car here?"

In the hall the clock chimed a quarter to ten. The tone of its bellseemed to act as a spur to them both. 

"There's a young gentleman here, " said Hutchins, suddenly turning. "I'llrun and get him right away. "

As they speeded along the road which led to the bridge above the dam, Paul told what he had heard--Archey in the front seat listening as wellas he could. 

"He didn't come right out and say so, " Paul rapidly explained, "but hedropped hints that a blind man could see. I met him on a trainyesterday--a Russian--a fanatic--proud of what he's done--!

"As nearly as I can make it out, they have got a boat leaning against thedam with five hundred pounds of TNT in it--or hanging under it--I don'tknow which--

"There is a battery in the boat, and clockwork to set the whole thing offat ten o'clock tonight. He didn't come right out and say so, youunderstand, and I may be making a fool of myself. But if I am--God knows, it won't be the first time ... Anyhow we'll soon know. "

It was a circuitous road that led to the dam. The rain was pouring again, the streets deserted. Once they were held up at a railroad crossing.... 

The clock in the car pointed at five minutes to ten when their headlightsfinally fell upon the bridge. As they drew nearer they could hear nothingin the darkness but the thunder of the water. The bridge was a low oneand only twenty yards up the stream from the falls; but though theystrained their eyes to the uttermost they couldn't see as far as the dam. 

"I'll turn one of the headlights, " said Archey, "and we'll drive overslow. "

The lamp, turned at an angle, swept over the edge of the dam like asearchlight. Half way over the bridge the car stopped. They had foundwhat they were looking for. 

"Why doesn't it go over?" shouted Archey, jumping out. 

"Anchored to a tree up the bend, I guess, " Paul shouted back. "They musthave played her down the stream after dark. "

Nearly over the dam was a boat painted black and covered with tarpaulin. 

"The explosive is probably hanging from a chain underneath, " thoughtPaul. "The current would hold it tight against the mason-work. "

"We ought to have brought some help, " shouted Archey, suddenly realizing. "If that dam breaks, it will sweep away the factory and part of thetown.... What are you going to do?"

Paul had dropped his hat in the stream below the bridge and was watchingto see where it went over the crest. It swept over the edge a few feet tothe right of the boat. 

He moved up a little and tried next by dropping his coat. This caughtfairly against the boat. Then before they knew what he was doing, he hadclimbed over the rail of the bridge and had dropped into the swiftlymoving water below. 

"Done it!" gasped Hutchins. 

Paul's arms were clinging around the bow of the boat. He twisted hisbody, the current helping him, and gained the top of the tarpaulin. Underthe spotlight thrown by the car, it was like a scene from some epicdrama, staged by the gods for their own amusement--man against theelements, courage against the unknown-life against death. 

"He's feeling for his knife, " thought Archey. "He's got it!"

Paul ran his blade around the cloth and had soon tossed the tarpaulinover the dam. Then he made a gesture of helplessness. From the bridge, they could see that the stern of the boat was heavily boxed in. 

"It's under there!" groaned Hutchins. "He can't get to it!"

Archey ran to the car for a hammer, but Paul had climbed to the bow andwas looking at the ring in which was fastened the cable that held theboat in place. The strain of the current had probably weakened this, forthe next thing they saw--Paul was tugging at the cable with all hisstrength, worrying it from side to side, kicking at the bow with thefront of his heel, evidently trying to pull the ring from its socket. 

"If that gives way, the whole thing goes over, " cried Archey. "I'll throwhim the hammer. "

Even as he spoke the ring suddenly came out of the bow; and thrown offhis balance by his own effort, Paul went over the side of the boat and inthe same moment had disappeared from view. 

"Gone ... " gasped Hutchins. "And now that's going after him.... "

The boat was lurching forward--unsteadily--unevenly--

"Something chained to the bottom, all right, " thought Archey, all eyes tosee, the hammer still in his hand. As they watched, the boat tippedforward--lurched--vanished--followed quickly by two cylindrical objectswhich, in the momentary glimpse they caught of them, had the appearanceof steel barrels. 

The two on the bridge were still looking at each other, when Archeythought to glance at the clock in his car. 

It was on the stroke of ten. 

"That may go off yet if the thing holds together, " shouted Archey. "Itwas built good and strong.... "

They stood there for a minute looking down into the darkness and werejust on the point of turning back to the car when an explosion arose fromthe racing waters far below the dam.... 

Presently the wind, blowing up stream, drenched their faces withspray.... Splinters of rock and sand began to fall.... 

CHAPTER XXXVI

The next morning ushered in one of those days in June which make thespirit rejoice. 

When Mary left Helen's, she thought she had never known the sky so blue, the world so fair, the air so full of the breath of life, the song ofbirds, the scent of flowers. 

Wally was definitely out of danger and Helen was nursing him back tostrength like a ministering angel, every touch a caress, every glance alook of love. 

"Now if Burdon will only leave her alone, " thought Mary as she turned thecar toward the factory. 

She needn't have worried. 

Before she had time to look at her mail, Joe announced that the twoaccountants were waiting to see her. 

"They've been hanging around for the last half hour, " he confidentiallyadded. "I guess they want to catch a train or something. "

"All right, Joe, " she nodded. "Show them in. "

They entered, and for the first time since she had known them, Marythought she saw a trace of excitement in their manner--such, forinstance, as you might expect to see in two learned astronomers who hadseen Sirius the dog-star rushing over the heavens in pursuit of the BigBear--or the Virgin seating herself in Cassiopeia's Chair. 

"We finished our report last night, " said the elder, handing her a copy. "As you will see, we have discovered a very serious situation in thetreasurer's department. "

It struck Mary later that she showed no surprise. Indeed, more than oncein the last few days, when noticing Burdon's nervous recklessness, shehad found herself connecting it with the auditors' work upon the books. 

"I would have asked Mr. Woodward for an explanation, " continued theaccountant, "but he has been absent yesterday and today. However, as youwill see, no explanation can possibly cover the facts disclosed. There isa clear case for criminal action against him. "

"I don't think there will be any action, " said Mary, looking up after apause. "I'm sure his father will make good the shortage. " But when shelooked at the total she couldn't help thinking, "It will be a tightsqueeze, though, even for Uncle Stanley. "

Now that it was over, she felt relieved, as though a load had lifted fromher mind. "He'll never bother Helen again, " she found herself thinking. "Perhaps I had better telephone Judge Cutler and let him handle it--"

The judge promised to be down at once, and Mary turned to her mail. Nearthe bottom she found a letter addressed in Burdon's writing. It wasunstamped and had evidently been left at the office. The date-line simplysaid "Midnight. "

It was a long letter, some of it clear enough and some of it obscure. Mary was puzzling over it when Judge Cutler and Hutchins entered. As faras she could remember, it was the first time that the butler had everappeared at the factory. 

"Anything wrong?" she asked in alarm. 

"He was in my office when you telephoned, " said the judge. "I'll let himtell his story as he told it to me.... I think I ought to ask yousomething first, though.... Did any one ever tell you that you had abrother Paul? ... "

"Yes, " said Mary, her heart contracting. 

Throughout the recital she sat breathless. Now and then the colour roseto her cheeks, and more than once the tears came to her eyes, especiallywhen Hutchins' voice broke, and when he said in tones of pride, "Beforewe could stop him, Master Paul was over the rail and in the water--"

More than once Mary looked away to hide her emotion, glancing around theroom at her forebears who had never seemed so attentive as then. "You maywell listen, " thought Mary. "He may have been the black sheep of thefamily, but you see what he did in the end.... "

Hutchins told them about the search which he and Archey had made up anddown the banks, aided with a flashlight, climbing, calling, and sometimesall but falling in the stream themselves. "But it was no use, Miss Mary, "he concluded. "Master Paul is past all finding, I'm afraid. "

For a long time Mary sat silent, her handkerchief to her eyes. 

"Archey is still looking, " said the judge, rising. "I'll start anothersearching party at once. And telephone the towns below, too. We are boundto find him if we keep on looking, you know--"

They found him sooner than they expected, in the grassy basin at the bendof the river, where the high water of the night before had borne him--inthe place where he had loved to dream his dreams of youth and adventurewhen life was young and the future full of promise. He was lying on hisside, his head on his arm, his face turned to the whispering river, andthere perhaps he was dreaming again--those eternal dreams which onlythose who have gone to their rest can know. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

Time, quickly passing, brought Mary to another wonderful morning in theStory of her life. Even as her father's death had broadened her outlook, so now Paul's heroism gave her a deeper glance at the future, a moretolerant view of the past. 

On the morning in question, Helen brought Wally to the office. He was nowentirely recovered, but Helen still mothered him, every touch a caress, every glance a look of love. Mary grew very thoughtful as she watchedthem. The next morning they were leaving for a tour of the Maine woods. 

When they left, an architect called. 

Under his arm he had a portfolio of plans for a Welfare Building which hehad drawn exactly according to Mary's suggestions. As long as the ideahad been a nebulous one--drawn only in fancy and coloured with nothingstronger than conversation, she had liked it immensely; but seeing nowprecisely how the building would look--how the space would be divided, she found herself shaking her head. 

"It's my own fault, " she said. "You have followed out every one of myideas--but somehow--well, I don't like it: that's all. If you'll leavethese drawings, I'll think them over and call you up again in a fewdays. "

At Judge Cutler's suggestion, Archey had been elected treasurer to takeBurdon's place. Mary took the plans into his office and showed them tohim. They were still discussing them, sitting at opposite sides of hisflat-top desk, when the twelve o'clock whistle blew. A few minutes later, the four-hour workers passed through the gate, the men walking with theirwives, the children playing between. 

"I wonder how it's going to turn out, " said Archey. 

"I wonder ... " said Mary. "Of course it's too early to tell yet. I don'tknow.... Time will tell. "

"It was the only solution, " he told her. 

"I wonder ... " she mused again. "Anyhow it was something definite. Ifwomen are really going to take up men's trades, it's only right that theyshould know what it means. As long as we just keep talking on generallines about a thing, we can make it sound as nice as we like. But when wetry to put theory into practice ... It doesn't always seem the same. 

"Take these plans, for instance, " she ruefully remarked. "I thought Iknew exactly what I wanted. But now that I see it drawn out to scale, Idon't like it. And that, perhaps, is what we've been doing here in thefactory. We have taken a view of woman's possible future and we havedrawn it out to scale. Everybody can see what it looks like now--they canthink about it--and talk about it--and then they can decide whether theywant it or not.... "

He caught a note in her voice that had a touch of emptiness in it. 

"Do you know what I would do if I were you?" he gently asked. 

She looked at him, his eyes eager with sympathy, his smile tender andtouched with an admiration so deep that it might be called devotion. Never before had Archey seemed so restful to her--never before with himhad she felt so much at home. 

"If I smile at him, he'll blush, " she caught herself thinking--andexperienced a rising sense of elation at the thought. 

"What would you do!" she asked. 

"I'd go away for a few weeks.... I believe the change would do you good. "

She smiled at him and watched his responding colour with satisfaction. 

"If Vera was right, " she thought, "that's Chapter One the way he justspoke. Now next--he'll try to touch me. "

Her eyes ever so dreamy, she reached her hand over the desk and beganplaying with, the blotter. 

"Why, he's trembling a little, " she thought. "And he's looking at it.... But, oh, isn't he shy!"

She tried to hum then and lightly beat time with her hand. "No, it isn'tthe only thing in life, " she repeated to herself, "but--just as I saidbefore--sooner or later--it becomes awfully important--" She caughtArchey's glance and smilingly led it back to her waiting fingers. 

"How dark your hand is by the side of mine, " she said. 

He rose to his feet. 

"Mary!"

"Yes ... Archey?"

"If I were a rich man--or you were a poor girl.... "

Mary, too, arose. 

"Well, " she laughed unsteadily, "we may be ... Some day.... "

Ten minutes later Sir Joseph of the Plumed Crest opened the door with ahandful of mail. He suddenly stopped ... Stared ... Smiled ... Andsilently withdrew. 

THE END