TOM GROGAN

by F. Hopkinson Smith

I. BABCOCK'S DISCOVERY

Something worried Babcock. One could see that from the impatient gesturewith which he turned away from the ferry window on learning he had halfan hour to wait. He paced the slip with hands deep in his pockets, hishead on his chest. Every now and then he stopped, snapped open his watchand shut it again quickly, as if to hurry the lagging minutes. 

For the first time in years Tom Grogan, who had always unloaded hisboats, had failed him. A scow loaded with stone for the sea-wall thatBabcock was building for the Lighthouse Department had lain three daysat the government dock without a bucket having been swung across herdecks. His foreman had just reported that there was not enough materialto last the concrete-mixers two hours. If Grogan did not begin work atonce, the divers must come up. 

Heretofore to turn over to Grogan the unloading of material for anysubmarine work had been like feeding grist to a mill--so many tons ofconcrete stone loaded on the scows by the stone crushing companyhad meant that exact amount delivered by Grogan on Babcock'smixing-platforms twenty-four hours after arrival, ready for the diversbelow. This was the way Grogan had worked, and he had required nowatching. 

Babcock's impatience did not cease even when he took his seat on theupper deck of the ferry-boat and caught the welcome sound of the paddlessweeping back to the landing at St. George. He thought of his menstanding idle, and of the heavy penalties which would be inflicted bythe Government if the winter caught him before the section of wall wascomplete. It was no way to serve a man, he kept repeating to himself, leaving his gangs idle, now when the good weather might soon be overand a full day's work could never be counted upon. Earlier in the seasonGrogan's delay would not have been so serious. 

But one northeaster as yet had struck the work. This had carried awaysome of the upper planking--the false work of the coffer-dam; but thishad been repaired in a few hours without delay or serious damage. Afterthat the Indian summer had set in--soft, dreamy days when the windsdozed by the hour, the waves nibbled along the shores, and the swellingbreast of the ocean rose and fell as if in gentle slumber. 

But would this good weather last? Babcock rose hurriedly, as thisanxiety again took possession of him, and leaned over the deck-rail, scanning the sky. He did not like the drift of the low clouds off to thewest; southeasters began that way. It looked as though the wind mightchange. 

Some men would not have worried over these possibilities. Babcock did. He was that kind of man. 

When the boat touched the shore, he sprang over the chains, and hurriedthrough the ferry-slip. 

"Keep an eye out, sir, " the bridge-tender called after him, --he had beendirecting him to Grogan's house, --"perhaps Tom may be on the road. "

Then it suddenly occurred to Babcock that, so far as he could remember, he had never seen Mr. Thomas Grogan, his stevedore. He knew Grogan'sname, of course, and would have recognized his signature affixed to thelittle cramped notes with which his orders were always acknowledged, butthe man himself might have passed unnoticed within three feet of him. This is not unusual where the work of a contractor lies in scatteredplaces, and he must often depend on strangers in the several localities. 

As he hurried over the road he recalled the face of Grogan's foreman, a big blond Swede, and that of Grogan's daughter, a slender fair-hairedgirl, who once came to the office for her father's pay; but all effortsat reviving the lineaments of Grogan failed. 

With this fact clear in his mind, he felt a tinge of disappointment. It would have relieved his temper to unload a portion of it upon theoffending stevedore. Nothing cools a man's wrath so quickly as notknowing the size of the head he intends to hit. 

As he approached near enough to the sea-wall to distinguish the swingingbooms and the puffs of white steam from the hoisting-engines, he sawthat the main derrick was at work lowering the buckets of mixed concreteto the divers. Instantly his spirits rose. The delay on his contractmight not be so serious. Perhaps, after all, Grogan had started work. 

When he reached the temporary wooden fence built by the Government, shutting off the view of the depot yard, with its coal-docks andmachine-shops, and neared the small door cut through its planking, avoice rang out clear and strong above the din of the mixers:--

"Hold on, ye wall-eyed macaroni! Do ye want that fall cut? Turn thatsnatch-block, Cully, and tighten up the watch-tackle. Here, cap'n; lenda hand. Lively now, lively, before I straighten out the hull gang ofye!"

The voice had a ring of unquestioned authority. It was not quarrelsomeor abusive or bullying--only earnest and forceful. 

"Ease away on that guy! Ease away, I tell ye!" it continued, rising inintensity. "So--all gone! Now, haul out, Cully, and let that other teamback up. "

Babcock pushed open the door in the fence and stepped in. A loaded scowlay close beside the string-piece of the government wharf. Alongside itsforward hatch was rigged a derrick with a swinging gaff. The "fall" ledthrough a snatch-block in the planking of the dock, and operated an ironbucket that was hoisted by a big gray horse driven by a boy. A gang ofmen were filling these buckets, and a number of teams being loaded withtheir dumped contents. The captain of the scow was on the dock, holdingthe guy. 

At the foot of the derrick, within ten feet of Babcock, stood a womanperhaps thirty-five years of age, with large, clear gray eyes, madeall the more luminous by the deep, rich color of her sunburnt skin. Herteeth were snow-white, and her light brown hair was neatly parted over awide forehead. She wore a long ulster half concealing her well-rounded, muscular figure, and a black silk hood rolled back from her face, thestrings falling over her broad shoulders, revealing a red silk scarfloosely wound about her throat, the two ends tucked in her bosom. Herfeet were shod in thick-soled shoes laced around her well-turned ankles, and her hands were covered by buckskin gauntlets creased with wear. From the outside breast-pocket of her ulster protruded a time-book, from which dangled a pencil fastened to a hempen string. Every movementindicated great physical strength, perfect health, and a thoroughcontrol of herself and her surroundings. Coupled with this was a dignityand repose unmistakable to those who have watched the handling of largebodies of workingmen by some one leading spirit, master in every tone ofthe voice and every gesture of the body. The woman gave Babcock a quickglance of interrogation as he entered, and, receiving no answer, forgothim instantly. 

"Come, now, ye blatherin' Dagos, "--this time to two Italian shovelersfilling the buckets, --"shall I throw one of ye overboard to wake ye up, or will I take a hand meself? Another shovel there--that bucket's nothalf full"--drawing one hand from her side pocket and pointing with anauthoritative gesture, breaking as suddenly into a good-humored laughover the awkwardness of their movements. 

Babcock, with all his curiosity aroused, watched her for a moment, forgetting for the time his own anxieties. He liked a skilled hand, andhe liked push and grit. This woman seemed to possess all three. He wasamazed at the way in which she handled her men. He wished somebody asclearheaded and as capable were unloading his boat. He began to wonderwho she might be. There was no mistaking her nationality. Slight as washer accent, her direct descent from the land of the shamrock and theshilla-lah was not to be doubted. The very tones of her voice seemedsaturated with its national spirit--"a flower for you when you agreewith me, and a broken head when you don't. " But underneath all theseoutward indications of dominant power and great physical strength hedetected in the lines of the mouth and eyes a certain refinementof nature. There was, too, a fresh, rosy wholesomeness, a sweetcleanliness, about the woman. These, added to the noble lines of herfigure, would have appealed to one as beauty, and only that had it notbeen that the firm mouth, well-set chin, and deep, penetrating glance ofthe eye overpowered all other impressions. 

Babcock moved down beside her. 

"Can you tell me, madam, where I can find Thomas Grogan?"

"Right in front of ye, " she answered, turning quickly, with a toss ofher head like that of a great hound baffled in hunt. "I'm Tom Grogan. What can I do for ye?"

"Not Grogan the stevedore?" Babcock asked in astonishment. 

"Yes, Grogan the stevedore. Come! Make it short, --what can I do for ye?"

"Then this must be my boat. I came down"--

"Ye're not the boss?"--looking him over slowly from his feet up, agood-natured smile irradiating her face, her eyes beaming, every toothglistening. "There's me hand, I'm glad to see ye. I've worked for ye offand on for four years, and niver laid eyes on ye till this minute. Don'tsay a word. I know it. I've kept the concrete gangs back half a day, butI couldn't help it. I've had four horses down with the 'zooty, and twomen laid up with dip'thery. The Big Gray Cully's drivin' over there--theone that's a-hoistin'--ain't fit to be out of the stables. If ye weren'tbehind in the work, he'd have two blankets on him this minute. But I'mhere meself now, and I'll have her out to-night if I work till daylight. Here, cap'n, pull yerself together. This is the boss. "

Then catching sight of the boy turning a handspring behind the horse, she called out again:--

"Now, look here, Cully, none of your skylarkin'. There's the dinnerwhistle. Unhitch the Big Gray; he's as dry as a bone. "

The boy loosened the traces and led the horse to water, and Babcock, after a word with the Captain, and an encouraging smile to Tom, turnedaway. He meant to go to the engineer's office before his return to town, now that his affairs with Grogan were settled. As he swung back the doorin the board fence, he stumbled over a mere scrap of humanity carrying adinner-pail. The mite was peering through the crack and calling to Cullyat the horse-trough. He proved to be a boy of perhaps seven or eightyears of age, but with the face of an old man--pinched, weary, andscarred all over with suffering and pain. He wore a white tennis-cappulled over his eyes, and a short gray jacket that reached to his waist. Under one arm was a wooden crutch. His left leg was bent at the knee, and swung clear when he jerked his little body along the ground. Theother, though unhurt, was thin and bony, the yarn stocking wrinklingover the shrunken calf. 

Beside him stood a big billy-goat, harnessed to a two-wheeled cart madeof a soap-box. 

As Babcock stepped aside to let the boy pass he heard Cully shoutingin answer to the little cripple's cries. "Cheese it, Patsy. Here's PeteLathers comin' down de yard. Look out fer Stumpy. He'll have his dog onhim. "

Patsy laid down the pail and crept through the door again, drawing thecrutch after him. The yardmaster passed with a bulldog at his heels, andtouching his hat to the contractor, turned the corner of the coal-shed. 

"What is your name?" said Babcock gently. A cripple always appealed tohim, especially a child. 

"My name's Patsy, sir, " looking straight up into Babcock's eyes, thegoat nibbling at his thin hand. 

"And who are you looking for?"

"I come down with mother's dinner, sir. She's here working on the dock. There she is now. "

"I thought ye were niver comin' wid that dinner, darlint, " came awoman's voice. "What kept ye? Stumpy was tired, was he? Well, nivermind. "

The woman lifted the little fellow in her arms, pushed back his capand smoothed his hair with her fingers, her whole face beaming withtenderness. 

"Gimme the crutch, darlint, and hold on to me tight, and we'll getunder the shed out of the sun till I see what Jennie's sent me. " At thisinstant she caught Babcock's eye. 

"Oh, it's the boss. Sure, I thought ye'd gone back. Pull the hat offye, me boy; it's the boss we're workin' for, the man that's buildin' thewall. Ye see, sir, when I'm driv' like I am to-day, I can't go home todinner, and me Jennie sends me--big--man--Patsy--down"--rounding outeach word in a pompous tone, as she slipped her hand under the boy'schin and kissed him on the cheek. 

After she had propped him between two big spars, she lifted the cover ofthe tin pail. 

"Pigs' feet, as I'm alive, and hot cabbage, and the coffee a-b'ilin'too!" she said, turning to the boy and pulling out a tin flask with ascrew top, the whole embedded in the smoking cabbage. "There, we'll beafter puttin' it where Stumpy can't be rubbin' his nose in it"--settingthe pail, as she spoke, on a rough anchor-stone. 

Here the goat moved up, rubbing his head in the boy's face, and thenreaching around for the pail. 

"Look at him, Patsy! Git out, ye imp, or I'll hurt ye! Leave that kiveralone!" She laughed as she struck at the goat with her empty gauntlet, and shrank back out of the way of his horns. 

There was no embarrassment over her informal dinner, eaten as she satsquat in a fence-corner, an anchor-stone for a table, and a pile ofspars for a chair. She talked to Babcock in an unabashed, self-possessedway, pouring out the smoking coffee in the flask cup, chewing away onthe pigs' feet, and throwing the bones to the goat, who sniffed themcontemptuously. "Yes, he's the youngest of our children, sir. He andJennie--that's home, and 'most as tall as meself--are all that's left. The other two went to heaven when they was little ones. "

"Can't the little fellow's leg be straightened?" asked Babcock, in atone which plainly showed his sympathy for the boy's suffering. 

"No, not now; so Dr. Mason says. There was a time when it might havebeen, but I couldn't take him. I had him over to Quarantine again twoyears ago, but it was too late; it'd growed fast, they said. When hewas four years old he would be under the horses' heels all the time, anda-climbin' over them in the stable, and one day the Big Gray fetchedhim a crack, and broke his hip. He didn't mean it, for he's as dacinta horse as I've got; but the boys had been a-worritin' him, and he letdrive, thinkin', most likely, it was them. He's been a-hoistin' all themornin'. " Then, catching sight of Cully leading the horse back to work, she rose to her feet, all the fire and energy renewed in her face. 

"Shake the men up, Cully! I can't give 'em but half an hour to-day. We're behind time now. And tell the cap'n to pull them macaronis outof the hold, and start two of 'em to trimmin' some of that stone tostarboard. She was a-listin' when we knocked off for dinner. Come, lively!"

II. A BOARD FENCE LOSES A PLANK

The work on the sea-wall progressed. The coffer-dam which had been builtby driving into the mud of the bottom a double row of heavy tongued andgrooved planking in two parallel rows, and bulkheading each end withheavy boards, had been filled with concrete to low-water mark, consumingnot only the contents of the delayed scow, but two subsequent cargoes, both of which had been unloaded by Tom Grogan. 

To keep out the leakage, steam-pumps were kept going night and day. 

By dint of hard work the upper masonry of the wall had been laid to thetop course, ready for the coping, and there was now every prospect thatthe last stone would be lowered into place before the winter storms setin. 

The shanty--a temporary structure, good only for the life of thework--rested on a set of stringers laid on extra piles driven outside ofthe working-platform. When the submarine work lies miles from shore, ashanty is the only shelter for the men, its interior being arrangedwith sleeping-bunks, with one end partitioned off for a kitchen anda storage-room. This last is filled with perishable property, extrablocks, Manila rope, portable forges, tools, shovels, and barrows. 

For this present sea-wall--an amphibious sort of structure, with onefoot on land and the other in the water--the shanty was of light pineboards, roofed over, and made water-tight by tarred paper. The bunks hadbeen omitted, for most of the men boarded in the village. In this wayincreased space for the storage of tools was gained, besides room fora desk containing the government working drawings and specifications, pay-rolls, etc. In addition to its door, fastened at night with apadlock, and its one glass window, secured by a ten-penny nail, theshanty had a flap-window, hinged at the bottom. When this was proppedup with a barrel stave it made a counter from which to pay the men, thepaymaster standing inside. 

Babcock was sitting on a keg of dock spikes inside this workingshanty some days after he had discovered Tom's identity, watching hisbookkeeper preparing the pay-roll, when a face was thrust through thesquare of the window. It was not a prepossessing face, rather pudgy andsleek, with uncertain, drooping mouth, and eyes that always looked overone's head when he talked. It was the property of Mr. Peter Lathers, theyardmaster of the depot. 

"When you're done payin' off maybe you'll step outside, sir, " he said, in a confiding tone. "I got a friend of mine who wants to know you. He'sa stevedore, and does the work to the fort. He's never done nothin' foryou, but I told him next time you come down I'd fetch him over. Say, Dan!" beckoning with his head over his shoulder; then, turning toBabcock, --"I make you acquainted, sir, with Mr. Daniel McGaw. "

Two faces now filled the window--Lathers's and that of a red-headed manin a straw hat. 

"All right. I'll attend to you in a moment. Glad to see you, Mr. McGaw, "said Babcock, rising from the keg, and looking over his bookkeeper'sshoulder. 

Lathers's friend proved to be a short, big-boned, square-shoulderedIrishman, about forty years of age, dressed in a once black broadclothsuit with frayed buttonholes, the lapels and vest covered withgrease-spots. Around his collar, which had done service for severaldays, was twisted a red tie decorated with a glass pin. His face wasspattered with blue powder-marks, as if from some quarry explosion. Alump of a mustache dyed dark brown concealed his upper lip, making allthe more conspicuous the bushy, sandy-colored eyebrows that shaded apair of treacherous eyes. His mouth was coarse and filled with teethhalf worn off, like those of an old horse. When he smiled these openedslowly like a vise. Whatever of humor played about this opening lost itslife instantly when these jaws clicked together again. 

The hands were big and strong, wrinkled and seamed, their rough backsspotted like a toad's, the wrists covered with long spidery hairs. 

Babcock noticed particularly his low, flat forehead when he removed hishat, and the dry, red hair growing close to the eyebrows. 

"I wuz a-sp'akin' to me fri'nd Mister Lathers about doin' yer wurruk, "began McGaw, resting one foot on a pile of barrow-planks, his elbow onhis knee. "I does all the haulin' to the foort. Surgint Duffy knows me. I wuz along here las' week, an' see ye wuz put back fer stone. If I'dhad the job, I'd had her unloaded two days befoore. "

"You're dead right, Dan, " said Lathers, with an expression of disgust. "This woman business ain't no good, nohow. She ought to be over hertubs. "

"She does her work, though, " Babcock said, beginning to see the drift ofthings. 

"Oh, I don't be sayin' she don't. She's a dacint woman, anough; but thimb'ys as is a-runnin' her carts is raisin' h--ll all the toime. "

"And then look at the teams, " chimed in Lathers, with a jerk of histhumb toward the dock--"a lot of staggering horse-car wrecks youcouldn't sell to a glue-factory. That big gray she had a-hoistin' isblind of an eye and sprung so forrard he can't hardly stand. "

At this moment the refrain of a song from somewhere near the board fencecame wafting through the air, --

 "And he wiped up the floor wid McGeechy. "

McGaw turned his head in search of the singer, and not finding him, resumed his position. 

"What are your rates per ton?" asked Babcock. 

"We're a-chargin' forty cints, " said McGaw, deferring to Lathers, as iffor confirmation. 

"Who's 'we'?"

"The Stevedores' Union. "

"But Mrs. Grogan is doing it for thirty, " said Babcock, looking straightinto McGaw's eyes, and speaking slowly and deliberately. 

"Yis, I heared she wuz a-cuttin' rates; but she can't live at it. If Idoes it, it'll be done roight, an' no throuble. "

"I'll think it over, " said Babcock quietly, turning on his heel. Themeanness of the whole affair offended him--two big, strong men vilifyinga woman with no protector but her two hands. McGaw should never lift ashovel for him. 

Again the song floated out; this time it seemed nearer, --

 ". . . Wid McGeechy-- McGeechy of the Fourth. "

"Dan McGaw's giv'n it to you straight, " said Lathers, stopping for alast word, his face thrust through the window again. "He's rigged forthis business, and Grogan ain't in it with him. If she wants her workdone right, she ought to send down something with a mustache. "

Here the song subsided in a prolonged chuckle. McGaw turned, and caughtsight of a boy's head, with its mop of black hair thrust through acrownless hat, leaning over a water cask. Lathers turned, too, andinstantly lowered his voice. The head ducked out of sight. In the flashglance Babcock caught of the face, he recognized the boy Cully, Patsy'sfriend, and the driver of the Big Gray. It was evident to Babcock thatCully at that moment was bubbling over with fun. Indeed, this waif ofthe streets, sometimes called James Finnegan, was seldom known to beotherwise. 

"Thet's the wurrst rat in the stables, " said McGaw, his face reddeningwith anger. "What kin ye do whin ye're a-buckin' ag'in' a lot uv divilsloike him?"--speaking through the window to Babcock. "Come out uv thet, "he called to Cully, "or I'll bu'st yer jaw, ye sneakin' rat!"

Cully came out, but not in obedience to McGaw or Lathers. Indeed, hepaid no more attention to either of those distinguished diplomats thanif they had been two cement-barrels standing on end. His face, too, hadlost its irradiating smile; not a wrinkle or a pucker ruffled its calmsurface. His clay-soiled hat was in his hand--a very dirty hand, bythe way, with the torn cuff of his shirt hanging loosely over it. His trousers bagged everywhere--at knees, seat, and waist. On hisstockingless feet were a pair of sun-baked, brick-colored shoes. Hisankles were as dark as mahogany. His throat and chest were bare, theskin tanned to leather wherever the sun could work its way through theholes in his garments. From out of this combination of dust and ragsshone a pair of piercing black eyes, snapping with fun. 

"I come up fer de mont's pay, " he said coolly to Babcock, the corner ofhis eye glued to Lathers. "De ole woman said ye'd hev it ready. "

"Mrs. Grogan's?" asked the bookkeeper, shuffling over his envelopes. 

"Yep. Tom Grogan. "

"Can you sign the pay-roll?"

"You bet"--with an eye still out for Lathers. 

"Where did you learn to write--at school?" asked Babcock, noting theboy's independence with undisguised pleasure. 

"Naw. Patsy an' me studies nights. Pop Mullins teaches us--he's de olewoman's farder what she brung out from Ireland. He's a-livin' up terde shebang; dey're all a-livin' dere--Jinnie an' de ole woman an'Patsy--all 'cept me an' Carl. I bunks in wid de Big Gray. Say, mister, ye'd oughter git onter Patsy--he's de little kid wid de crutch. He's acorker, he is; reads po'try an' everythin'. Where'll I sign? Oh, I see;in dis'ere square hole right along-side de ole woman's name"--spreadinghis elbows, pen in hand, and affixing "James Finnegan" to the collectionof autographs. The next moment he was running along the dock, themoney envelope tight in his hand, sticking out his tongue at McGaw, and calling to Lathers as he disappeared through the door in the fence, "Somp'n wid a mustache, somp'n wid a mustache, " like a news-boy callingan extra. Then a stone grazed Lathers's ear. 

Lathers sprang through the gate, but the boy was half way through theyard. It was this flea-like alertness that always saved Mr. Finnegan'sscalp. 

Once out of Lathers's reach, Cully bounded up the road like a careeringletter X, with arms and legs in air. If there was any one thing thatdelighted the boy's soul, it was, to quote from his own picturesquevocabulary, "to set up a job on de ole woman. " Here was his chance. Before he reached the stable he had planned the whole scene, even to theexact intonation of Lathers's voice when he referred to the dearth ofmustaches in the Grogan household. Within a few minutes of hisarrival the details of the whole occurrence, word for word, with suchpicturesque additions as his own fertile imagination could invent, werecommon talk about the yard. 

Lathers meanwhile had been called upon to direct a gang of laborers whowere moving an enormous iron buoy-float down the cinder-covered path tothe dock. Two of the men walked beside the buoy, steadying it with theirhands. Lathers was leaning against the board fence of the shop whittlinga stick, while the others worked. 

Suddenly there was an angry cry for Lathers, and every man stood still. So did the buoy and the moving truck. 

With head up, eyes blazing, her silk hood pushed back from her face, asif to give her air, her gray ulster open to her waist, her right handbare of a glove, came Tom Grogan, brushing the men out of her way. 

"I knew I'd find you, Pete Lathers, " she said, facing him squarely; "whydo ye want to be takin' the bread out of me children's mouths?"

The stick dropped from Lathers's hand: "Well, who said I did? What haveI got to do with your"--

"You've got enough to do with 'em, you and your friend McGaw, to want'em to starve. Have I ever hurt ye that ye should try an' sneak mebusiness away from me? Ye know very well the fight I've made, standin'out on this dock, many a day an' night, in the cold an' wet, withnothin' between Tom's children an' the street but these two hands--an'yet ye'd slink in like a dog to get me"--

"Here, now, I ain't a-goin' to have no row, " said Lathers, twitching hisshoulders. "It's against orders, an' I'll call the yard-watch, and throwyou out if you make any fuss. "

"The yard-watch!" said Tom, with a look of supreme contempt. "I canhandle any two of 'em, an' ye too, an' ye know it. " Her cheeks wereaflame. She crowded Lathers so closely his slinking figure hugged thefence. 

By this time the gang had abandoned the buoy, and were standing aghast, watching the fury of the Amazon. 

"Now, see here, don't make a muss; the commandant'll be down here in aminute. "

"Let him come; he's the one I want to see. If he knew he had a man inhis pay that would do as dirty a trick to a woman as ye've done to me, his name would be Dinnis. I'll see him meself this very day, and"--

Here Lathers interrupted with an angry gesture. 

"Don't ye lift yer arm at me, " she blazes out, "or I'll break it at thewrist!"

Lathers's hand dropped. All the color was out of his face, his lipquivering. 

"Whoever said I said a word against you, Mrs. Grogan, is a--liar. " Itwas the last resort of a cowardly nature. 

"Stop lyin' to me, Pete Lathers! If there's anythin' in this world Ihate, it's a liar. Ye said it, and ye know ye said it. Ye want thatdrunken loafer Dan McGaw to get me work. Ye've been at it all summer, an' ye think I haven't watched ye; but I have. And ye say I don't payfull wages, and have got a lot of boys to do men's work, an' oughter beover me tubs. Now let me tell ye"--Lathers shrank back, cowering beforeher--"if ever I hear ye openin' yer head about me, or me teams, or mework, I'll make ye swallow every tooth in yer head. Send down somethin'with a mustache, will I? There's not a man in the yard that's a matchfor me, an' ye know it. Let one of 'em try that. "

Her uplifted fist, tight-clenched, shot past Lathers's ear. A quickblow, a plank knocked clear of its fastenings, and a flood of daylightbroke in behind Lathers's head!

"Now, the next time I come, Pete Lathers, " she said firmly, "I'll missthe plank and take yer face. "

Then she turned, and stalked out of the yard. 

III. SERGEANT DUFFY'S LITTLE GAME

The bad weather so long expected finally arrived. An afternoon of soft, warm autumn skies, aglow with the radiance of the setting sun, andbrilliant in violet and gold, had been followed by a cold, gray morning. Of a sudden a cloud the size of a hand had mounted clear of the horizon, and called together its fellows. An unseen herald in the east blew ablast, and winds and sea awoke. 

By nine o'clock a gale was blowing. By ten Babcock's men were bracingthe outer sheathing of the coffer-dam, strengthening the derrick-guys, tightening the anchor-lines, and clearing the working-platforms of sand, cement, and other damageable property. The course-masonry, fortunately, was above the water-line, but the coping was still unset and the rubblebacking of much of the wall unfinished. Two weeks of constant workwere necessary before that part of the structure contained in the firstsection of the contract would be entirely safe for the coming winter. Babcock doubled his gangs, and utilized every hour of low water to theutmost, even when the men stood waist-deep. It was his only hope forcompleting the first section that season. After that would come thecold, freezing the mortar, and ending everything. 

Tom Grogan performed wonders. Not only did she work her teams far intothe night, but during all this bad weather she stood throughout the dayon the unprotected dock, a man's sou'wester covering her head, a rubberwaterproof reaching to her feet. She directed every boat-load herself, and rushed the materials to the shovelers, who stood soaking wet in thedriving rain. 

Lathers avoided her; so did McGaw. Everybody else watched her inadmiration. Even the commandant, a bluff, gray-bearded naval officer, --ahero of Hampton Roads and Memphis, --passed her on his morning inspectionwith a kindly look in his face and an aside to Babcock: "Hire some morelike her. She is worth a dozen men. "

Not until the final cargo required for the completion of the wall hadbeen dumped on the platforms did she relax her vigilance. Then she shookthe water from her oilskins and started for home. During all these hoursof constant strain there was no outbreak of bravado, no spell of illhumor. She made no boasts or promises. With a certain buoyant pluckshe stood by the derricks day after day, firing volleys of criticismor encouragement, as best suited the exigencies of the moment, now shesprang forward to catch a sagging bucket, now tended a guy to relieve aman, or handled the teams herself when the line of carts was blocked orstalled. 

Every hour she worked increased Babcock's confidence and admiration. Hebegan to feel a certain pride in her, and to a certain extent torely upon her. Such capacity, endurance, and loyalty were new in hisexperience. If she owed him anything for her delay on that firstcargo, the debt had been amply paid. Yet he saw that no such sense ofobligation had influenced her. To her this extra work had been a duty:he was behind-hand with the wall, and anxious; she would help him out. As to the weather, she reveled in it. The dash of the spray and thedriving rain only added to her enjoyment. The clatter of rattlingbuckets and the rhythmic movement of the shovelers keeping time to herorders made a music as dear to her as that of the steady tramp of menand the sound of arms to a division commander. 

Owing to the continued bad weather and the difficulty of shipping smallquantities of fuel, the pumping-engines ran out of coal, and a complaintfrom Babcock's office brought the agent of the coal company to thesea-wall. In times like these Babcock rarely left his work. Once let theOld Man of the Sea, as he knew, get his finger in between the cracks ofa coffer-dam, and he would smash the whole into wreckage. 

"I was on my way to see Tom Grogan, " said the agent. "I heard you werehere, so I stopped to tell you about the coal. There will be a load downin the morning. I am Mr. Crane, of Crane & Co. , coal-dealers. "

"You know Mrs. Grogan, then?" asked Babcock, after the delay in thedelivery of the coal had been explained. He had been waiting forsome such opportunity to discover more about his stevedore. He neverdiscussed personalities with his men. 

"Well, I should say so--known her for years. Best woman on top of StatenIsland. Does she work for you?"

"Yes, and has for some years; but I must confess I never knew Grogan wasa woman until I found her on the dock a few weeks ago, handling a cargo. She works like a machine. How long has she been a widow?"

"Well, come to think of it, I don't know that she is a widow. There'ssome mystery about the old man, but I never knew what. But that don'tcount; she's good enough as she is, and a hustler, too. "

Crane was something of a hustler himself--one of those busy Americanswho opens his daily life with an office-key and closes it with a letterfor the late mail. He was a restless, wiry, black-eyed little man, never still for a moment, and perpetually in chase of another eludingdollar, --which half the time he caught. 

Then, laying his hand on Babcock's arm: "And she's square as a brick, too. Sometimes when a chunker captain, waiting to unload, shoves a fewtons aboard a sneak-boat at night, Tom will spot him every time. Theytry to fool her into indorsing their bills of lading in full, but itdon't work for a cent. "

"You call her Tom Grogan?" Babcock asked, with a certain tone in hisvoice. He resented, somehow, Crane's familiarity. 

"Certainly. Everybody calls her Tom Grogan. It's her husband's name. Call her anything else, and she don't answer. She seems to glory in it, and after you know her a while you don't want to call her anything elseyourself. It comes kind of natural--like your calling a man 'colonel' or'judge. "

Babcock could not but admit that Crane might be right. All the nameswhich could apply to a woman who had been sweetheart, wife, and motherseemed out of place when he thought of this undaunted spirit who haddefied Lathers, and with one blow of her fist sent the splinters of afence flying about his head. 

"We've got the year's contract for coal at the fort, " continued Crane. "The quarter-master-sergeant who inspects it--Sergeant Duffy--has afriend named McGaw who wants to do the unloading into the governmentbins. There's a low price on the coal, and there's no margin foranybody; and if Duffy should kick about the quality of the coal, --andyou can't please these fellows if they want to be ugly, --Crane & Co. Will be in a hole, and lose money on the contract. I hate to go back onTom Grogan, but there's no help for it. The ten cents a ton I'd save ifshe hauls the coal instead of McGaw would be eaten up in Duffy's shortweights and rejections. I sent Sergeant Duffy's letter to her, so shecan tell how the land lies, and I'm going up now to her house to seeher, on my way to the fort. I don't know what Duffy will get out of it;perhaps he gets a few dollars out of the hauling. The coal is shipped, by the way, and ought to be here any minute. "

"Wait; I'll go with you, " said Babcock, handing him an order for morecoal. "She hasn't sent down the tally-sheet for my last scow. " There wasnot the slightest necessity, of course, for Babcock to go to Grogan'shouse for this document. 

As they walked on, Crane talked of everything except what was uppermostin Babcock's mind. Babcock tried to lead the conversation back to Tom, but Crane's thoughts were on something else. 

When they reached the top of the hill, the noble harbor lay spread outbeneath them, from the purple line of the great cities to the silversheen of the sea inside the narrows. The clearing wind had hauled to thenorthwest. The sky was heaped with soft clouds floating in the blue. Atthe base of the hill nestled the buildings and wharves of the LighthouseDepot, with the unfinished sea-wall running out from the shore, fringedwith platforms and bristling with swinging booms--the rings of whitesteam twirling from the exhaust-pipes. 

On either side of the vast basin lay two grim, silent forts, crouched ongrassy slopes like great beasts with claws concealed. Near by, big lazysteamers, sullen and dull, rested motionless at Quarantine, awaitinginspection; while beyond, white-winged graceful yachts curved tuftsof foam from their bows. In the open, elevators rose high as churchsteeples; long lines of canal-boats stretched themselves out like hugewater-snakes, with hissing tugs for heads; enormous floats groaned underwhole trains of cars; big, burly lighters drifted slowly with widespreadoil-stained sails; monster derricks towered aloft, derricks that pickup a hundred-ton gun as easily as an ant does a grain of sand--eachfloating craft made necessary by some special industry peculiar to theport of New York, and each unlike any other craft in the harbor of anyother city of the world. 

Grogan's house and stables lay just over the brow of this hill, in alittle hollow. The house was a plain, square frame dwelling, withfront and rear verandas, protected by the arching branches of a bigsycamore-tree, and surrounded by a small garden filled with flamingdahlias and chrysanthemums. Everything about the place was scrupulouslyneat and clean. 

The stables--there were two--stood on the lower end of the lot. Theylooked new, or were newly painted in a dark red, and appeared to haveaccommodations for a number of horses. The stable-yard lay below thehouse. In its open square were a pump and a horse-trough, at which twohorses were drinking. One, the Big Gray, had his collar off, showingwhere the sweat had discolored the skin, the traces crossed loosely overhis back. He was drinking eagerly, and had evidently just come in fromwork. About, under the sheds, were dirt-carts tilted forward on theirshafts, and dust-begrimed harnesses hanging on wooden pegs. 

A strapping young fellow in a red shirt came out of the stable doorleading two other horses to the trough. Babcock looked about him insurprise at the extent of the establishment. He had supposed that hisstevedore had a small outfit and needed all the work she could get. If, as McGaw had said, only boys did Grogan's work, they at least did itwell. 

Crane mounted the porch first and knocked. Babcock followed. 

"No, Mr. Crane, " said a young girl, opening the door, "she's not athome. I'm expecting her every minute. Mother went to work early thismorning. She'll be sorry to miss you, sir. She ought to be home now, forshe's been up 'most all night at the fort. She's just sent Carl up fortwo more horses. Won't you come in and wait?"

"No; I'll keep on to the fort, " answered Crane. "I may meet her on theroad. "

"May I come in?" Babcock asked, explaining his business in a few words. 

"Oh, yes, sir. Mother won't be long now. You've not forgotten me, Mr. Babcock? I'm her daughter Jennie. I was to your office once. Gran'pop, this is the gentleman mother works for. "

An old man rose with some difficulty from an armchair, and bowed in akindly, deferential way. He had been reading near the window. He wasin his shirt-sleeves, his collar open at the throat. He seemed ratherfeeble. His legs shook as if he were weak from some recent illness. About the eyes was a certain kindliness that did not escape Babcock'squick glance; they were clear and honest, and looked straight intohis--the kind he liked. The old man's most striking features werehis silver-white hair, parted over his forehead and falling to hisshoulders, and his thin, straight, transparent nose, indicating both illhealth and a certain refinement and sensitiveness of nature. Had it notbeen for his dress, he might have passed for an English curate on halfpay. 

"Me name's Richard, sor--Richard Mullins, " said the old man. "I'm Mary'sfather. She won't be long gone now. She promised me she'd be home fordinner. " He placed a chair for Babcock, and remained standing. 

"I will wait until she returns, " said Babcock. He had come to discoversomething more definite about this woman who worked like a steam-engine, crooned over a cripple, and broke a plank with her fist, and he didnot intend to leave until he knew. "Your daughter must have had greatexperience. I have never seen any one man handle work better, " hecontinued, extending his hand. Then, noticing that Mullins was stillstanding, "Don't let me take your seat. "

Mullins hesitated, glanced at Jennie, and, moving another chair from thewindow, drew it nearer, and settled slowly beside Babcock. 

The room was as clean as bare arms and scrubbing-brushes could makeit. Near the fireplace was a cast-iron stove, and opposite this stood aparlor organ, its top littered with photographs. A few chromos hungon the walls. There were also a big plush sofa and two hairclothrocking-chairs, of walnut, covered with cotton tidies. The carpet on thefloor was new, and in the window, where the old man had been sitting, some pots of nasturtiums were blooming, their tendrils reaching up bothsides of the sash. Opening from this room was the kitchen, resplendentin bright pans and a shining copper wash-boiler. The girl passedconstantly in and out the open door, spreading the cloth and bringingdishes for the table. 

Her girlish figure was clothed in a blue calico frock and white apron, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing some faint traces of flourclinging to her wrists, as if she had been suddenly summoned from thebread-bowl. She was fresh and sweet, strong and healthy, with a certaingrace of manner about her that pleased Babcock instantly. He sawnow that she had her mother's eyes and color, but not her air offearlessness and self-reliance--that kind of self-reliance which comesonly of many nights of anxiety and many days of success. He noticed, too, that when she spoke to the old man her voice was tempered with apeculiar tenderness, as if his infirmities were more to be pitied thancomplained of. This pleased him most of all. 

"You live with your daughter, Mrs. Grogan?" Babcock asked in a friendlyway, turning to the old man. 

"Yis, sor. Whin Tom got sick, she sint fer me to come over an' hilp her. I feeds the horses whin Oi'm able, an' looks after the garden, but Oi'mnot much good. "

"Is Mr. Thomas Grogan living?" asked Babcock cautiously, and with acertain tone of respect, hoping to get closer to the facts, and yet notto seem intrusive. 

"Oh, yis, sor: an' moight be dead fer all the good he does. He's inNew Yorruk some'er's, on a farm"--lowering his voice to a whisper andlooking anxiously toward Jennie--"belongin' to the State, I think, sor. He's hurted pretty bad, an' p'haps he's a leetle off--I dunno. Mary hasniver tould me. "

Before Babcock could pursue the inquiry further there was a firm treadon the porch steps, and the old man rose from the chair, his facebrightening. 

"Here she is, Gran'pop, " said Jennie, laying down her dish and springingto the door. 

"Hold tight, darlint, " came a voice from the outside, and the nextinstant Tom Grogan strode in, her face aglow with laughter, her hoodawry, her eyes beaming. Patsy was perched on her shoulder, his littlecrutch fast in one hand, the other tightly wound about her neck. "Letgo, darlint; ye're a-chokin' the wind out of me. "

"Oh, it's ye a-waitin', Mr. Babcock--me man Carl thought ye'd gone. Mr. Crane I met outside told me you'd been here. Jennie'll get thetally-sheet of the last load for ye. I've been to the fort sincedaylight, and pretty much all night, to tell ye God's truth. Oh, Gran'pop, but I smashed 'em!" she exclaimed as she gently removedPatsy's arm and laid him in the old man's lap. She had picked the littlecripple up at the garden gate, where he always waited for her. "That'sthe last job that sneakin' Duffy and Dan McGaw'll ever put up on me. Oh, but ye should'a' minded the face on him, Gran'pop!"--untying her hoodand breaking into a laugh so contagious in its mirth that even Babcockjoined in without knowing what it was all about. 

As she spoke, Tom stood facing her father, hood and ulster off, thelight of the windows silhouetting the splendid lines of her well-roundedfigure, with its deep chest, firm bust, broad back, and full throat, herarms swinging loose and free. 

"Ye see, " she said, turning to Babcock, "that man Duffy tried to dome, --he's the sergeant at the fort--and Dan McGaw--ye know him--he's thedivil that wanted to work for ye. Ye know I always had the hauling ofthe coal at the fort, an' I want to hold on to it, for it comes everyyear. I've been a-watchin' for this coal for a month. Every Octoberthere's a new contractor, and this time it was me friend Mr. Crane I'veworked for before. So I sees Duffy about it the other day, an' he says, 'Well, I think ye better talk to the quartermaster, who's away, butwho'll be home next week. ' An' that night when I got home, there lay aletter from Mr. Crane, wid another letter inside it Sergeant Duffyhad sent to Mr. Crane, sayin' he'd recommend Dan McGaw to do thestevedorin'--the sneakin' villain--an' sayin' that he--Duffy--wasa-goin' to inspect the coal himself, an' if his friend Dan McGaw hauledit, the quality would be all right. Think of that! I tell ye, Mr. Babcock, they're divils. Then Mr. Crane put down at the bottom of hisletter to me that he was sorry not to give me the job, but that he mustgive it to Duffy's friend McGaw, or Duffy might reject the coal. Waittill I wash me hands and I'll tell ye how I fixed him, " she addedsuddenly, as with a glance at her fingers she disappeared into thekitchen, reappearing a moment later with her bare arms as fresh and asrosy as her cheeks, from their friction with a clean crash towel. 

"Well!" she continued, "I jumps into me bonnet yisterday, and over Igoes to the fort; an' I up an' says to Duffy, 'I can't wait for thequartermaster. When's that coal a-comin'?' An' he says, 'In a couple ofweeks. ' An' I turned onto him and says: 'Ye're a pretty loafer to takethe bread out of Tom Grogan's children's mouths! An' ye want Dan McGawto do the haulin', do ye? An' the quality of the coal'll be all rightif he gits it! An' there's sure to be twenty-five dollars for ye, won'tthere? If I hear a word more out of ye I'll see Colonel Howard sure, an' hand him this letter. ' An' Duffy turned white as a load of lime, andsays, 'Don't do it, for God's sake! It'll cost me m' place. ' While I wasa-talkin' I see a chunker-boat with the very coal on it round into thedock with a tug; an' I ran to the string-piece and catched the line, andhas her fast to a spile before the tug lost head-way. Then I started forhome on the run, to get me derricks and stuff. I got home, hooked up bytwelve o'clock last night, an' before daylight I had me rig up an' thefall set and the buckets over her hatches. At six o'clock this mornin' Itook the teams and was a-runnin' the coal out of the chunker, when downcomes Mr. --Daniel--McGaw with a gang and his big derrick on a cart. " Sherepeated this in a mocking tone, swinging her big shoulders exactly asher rival would have done. 

"'That's me rig, ' I says to him, p'intin' up to the gaff, 'an' me coal, an' I'll throw the fust man overboard who lays hands on it!' An' thenthe sergeant come out and took McGaw one side an' said somethin' to him, with his back to me; an' when McGaw turned he was white too, an' withoutsayin' a word he turned the team and druv off. An' just now I met Mr. Crane walkin' down, lookin' like he had lost a horse. 'Tom Grogan, ' hesays, 'I hate to disappoint ye, an' wouldn't, for ye've always done mework well; but I'm stuck on the coal contract, an' the sergeant can putme in a hole if ye do the haulin'. ' An' I says, 'Brace up, Mr. Crane, there's a hole, but ye ain't in it, an' the sergeant is. I'll unloadevery pound of that coal, if I do it for nothin', and if that sneak instriped trousers bothers me or you, I'll pull him apart an' stamp onhim!'"

Through all her talk there was a triumphant good humor, a joyousness, aglow and breeziness, which completely fascinated Babcock. Although shehad been up half the night, she was as sweet and fresh and rosy as achild. Her vitality, her strength, her indomitable energy, impressed himas no woman's had ever done before. 

When she had finished her story she suddenly caught Patsy out of herfather's arms and dropped with him into a chair, all the mother-hungerin her still unsatisfied. She smothered him with kisses and hugged himto her breast, holding his pinched face against her ruddy cheek. Thenshe smoothed his forehead with her well-shaped hand, and rocked him backand forth. By and by she told him of the stone that the Big Gray had gotin his hoof down at the fort that morning, and how lame he had been, andhow Cully had taken it out with--a--great--big--spike!--dwelling on thelast words as if they belonged to some wonderful fairy-tale. The littlefellow sat up in her lap and laughed as he patted her breast joyouslywith his thin hand. "Cully could do it, " he shouted in high glee; "Cullycan do anything. " Babcock, apparently, made no more difference to herthan if he had been an extra chair. 

As she moved about her rooms afterward, calling to her men from the opendoor, consulting with Jennie, her arms about her neck, or stoppingat intervals to croon over her child, she seemed to him to lose allidentity with the woman on the dock. The spirit that enveloped herbelonged rather to that of some royal dame of heroic times, than to thatof a working woman of to-day. The room somehow became her castle, therough stablemen her knights. 

On his return to his work she walked back with him part of the way. Babcock, still bewildered, and still consumed with curiosity to learnsomething of her past, led the talk to her life along the docks, expressing his great surprise at discovering her so capable and willingto do a man's work, asking who had taught her, and whether her husbandin his time had been equally efficient and strong. 

Instantly she grew reticent. She did not even answer his question. Hewaited a moment, and, realizing his mistake, turned the conversation inanother direction. 

"And how about those rough fellows around the wharves--those who don'tknow you--are they never coarse and brutal to you?"

"Not when I look 'em in the face, " she answered slowly and deliberately. "No man ever opens his head, nor dar'sn't. When they see me a-comin'they stops talkin', if it's what they wouldn't want their daughters tohear; an' there ain't no dirty back talk, neither. An' I make me own mencivil, too, with a dacint tongue in their heads. I had a young strip ofa lad once who would be a-swearin' round the stables. I told him to mendhis manners or I'd wash his mouth out, an' that I wouldn't have nobodyhit me horses on the head. He kep' along, an' I see it was a bad examplefor the other drivers (this was only a year ago, an' I had three of'em); so when he hit the Big Gray ag'in, I hauled off and give him acrack that laid him out. I was scared solid for two hours, though theynever knew it. "

Then, with an almost piteous look in her face, and with a sudden burstof confidence, born, doubtless, of a dawning faith in the man's evidentsincerity and esteem, she said in a faltering tone:--

"God help me! what can I do? I've no man to stand by me, an' somebody'sgot to be boss. "

IV. A WALKING DELEGATE LEARNS A NEW STEP

McGaw's failure to undermine Tom's business with Babcock, and hiscomplete discomfiture over Crane's coal contract at the fort, onlyintensified his hatred of the woman. 

Finding that he could make no headway against her alone, he calledupon the Union to assist him, claiming that she was employing non-unionlabor, and had thus been able to cut down the discharging rates tostarvation prices. 

A meeting was accordingly called by the executive committee of theKnights, and a resolution passed condemning certain persons in thevillage of Rockville as traitors to the cause of the workingman. Onlyone copy of this edict was issued and mailed. This found its way intoTom Grogan's letter-box. Five minutes after she had broken the seal, hermen discovered the document pasted upside down on her stable door. 

McGaw heard of her action that night, and started another line ofattack. It was managed so skillfully that that which until then had beenonly a general dissatisfaction on the part of the members of the Unionand their sympathizers over Tom's business methods now developed into anavowed determination to crush her. They discussed several plans by whichshe could be compelled either to restore rates for unloading, orbe forced out of the business altogether. As one result of thesedeliberations a committee called upon the priest, Father McCluskey, andinformed him of the delicate position in which the Union had been placedby her having hidden her husband away, thus forcing them to fight thewoman herself. She was making trouble, they urged, with her low wagesand her unloading rates. "Perhaps his Riverence c'u'd straighten herout. " Father McCluskey's interview with Tom took place in the priest'sroom one morning after early mass. It had gone abroad, somehow, that hisReverence intended to discipline the "high-flyer, " and a considerablenumber of the "tenement-house gang, " as Tom called them, had loiteredbehind to watch the effect of the good father's remonstrances. 

What Tom told the priest no one ever knew: such conferences are part ofthe regime of the church, and go no farther. It was noticed, however, asshe came down the aisle, that her eyes were red, as if from weeping, and that she never raised them from the floor as she passed between herenemies on her way to the church door. Once outside, she put her armaround Jennie, who was waiting, and the two strolled slowly across thelots to her house. 

When the priest came out, his own eyes were tinged with moisture. Hecalled Dennis Quigg, McGaw's right-hand man, and in a voice loud enoughto be heard by those nearest him expressed his indignation that anydissension should have arisen among his people over a woman's work, and said that he would hear no more of this unchristian and unmanlyinterference with one whose only support came from the labor of herhands. 

McGaw and his friends were not discouraged. They were only determinedupon some more definite stroke. It was therefore ordered that acommittee be appointed to waylay her men going to work, and inform themof their duty to their fellow-laborers. 

Accordingly, this same Quigg--smooth-shaven, smirking, and hollow-eyed, with a diamond pin, half a yard of watch-chain, and a fancyshirt--ex-village clerk with his accounts short, ex-deputy sheriffwith his accounts of cruelty and blackmail long, and at present walkingdelegate of the Union--was appointed a committee of one for that duty. 

Quigg began by begging a ride in one of Tom's return carts, and takingthis opportunity to lay before the driver the enormity of working forGrogan for thirty dollars a month and board, when there were a number ofhis brethren out of work and starving who would not work for less thantwo dollars a day if it were offered them. It was plainly the driver'sduty, Quigg urged, to give up his job until Tom Grogan could becompelled to hire him back at advanced wages. During this enforcedidleness the Union would pay the driver fifty cents a day. Here Quiggpounded his chest, clenched his fists, and said solemnly, "If capitalonce downs the lab'rin' man, we'll all be slaves. "

The driver was Carl Nilsson, a Swede, a big, blue-eyed, light-hairedyoung fellow of twenty-two, a sailor from boyhood, who three yearsbefore, on a public highway, had been picked up penniless and hungry byTom Grogan, after the keeper of a sailors' boarding-house had robbed himof his year's savings. The change from cracking ice from a ship's deckwith a marlinespike, to currying and feeding something alive and warmand comfortable, was so delightful to the Swede that he had given up thesea for a while. He had felt that he could ship again at anytime, thewater was so near. As the months went by, however, he, too, graduallyfell under the spell of Tom's influence. She reminded him of the greatNorse women he had read about in his boyhood. Besides all this, he wasloyal and true to the woman who had befriended him, and who had so farappreciated his devotion to her interests as to promote him from hostlerand driver to foreman of the stables. 

Nilsson knew Quigg by sight, for he had seen him walking home withJennie from church. His knowledge of English was slight, but it wasenough to enable him to comprehend Quigg's purpose as he talked besidehim on the cart. After some questions about how long the enforcedidleness would continue, he asked suddenly:--

"Who da horse clean when I go 'way?"

"D--n her! let her clean it herself, " Quigg answered angrily. 

This ended the question for Nilsson, and it very nearly ended thedelegate. Jumping from the cart, Carl picked up the shovel and sprangtoward Quigg, who dodged out of his way, and then took to his heels. 

When Nilsson, still white with anger, reached the dock, he related theincident to Cully, who, on his return home, retailed it to Jennie withsuch variety of gesture and intonation that that young lady blushedscarlet, but whether from sympathy for Quigg or admiration for Nilsson, Cully was unable to decide. 

Quigg's failure to coax away one of Tom's men ended active operationsagainst Tom, so far as the Union was concerned. It continued to listento McGaw's protests, but, with an eye open for its own interests, replied that if Grogan's men would not be enticed away it could atpresent take no further action. His trouble with Tom was an individualmatter, and a little patience on McGaw's part was advised. The season'swork was over, and nothing of importance could be done until the openingof the spring business. If Tom's men struck now, she would be glad toget rid of them. It would, therefore, be wiser to wait until she couldnot do without them, when they might all be forced out in a body. In theinterim McGaw should direct his efforts to harassing his enemy. Perhapsa word with Slattery, the blacksmith, might induce that worthy brotherKnight to refuse to do her shoeing some morning when she was stalled forwant of a horse; or he might let a nail slip in a tender hoof. No onecould tell what might happen in the coming months. At the moment thefunds of the Union were too low for aggressive measures. Were McGaw, however, to make a contribution of two hundred dollars to the bankaccount in order to meet possible emergencies, something might be done. All this was duly inscribed in the books of the committee, --that is, thelast part of it, --and upon McGaw's promising to do what he could towardimproving the funds. It was thereupon subsequently resolved that beforeresorting to harsher measures the Union should do all in its powertoward winning over the enemy. Brother Knight Dennis Quigg was thereupondeputed to call upon Mrs. Grogan and invite her into the Union. 

On brother Knight Dennis Quigg's declining for private reasons thehonorable mission intrusted to him by the honorable board (Mr. Quigg'sexact words of refusal, whispered in the chairman's ear, were, "I'ma-jollyin' one of her kittens; send somebody else after the old cat"), another walking delegate, brother Knight Crimmins by name, was selectedto carry out the gracious action of the committee. 

Crimmins had begun life as a plumber's helper, had been iceman, night-watchman, heeler, and full-fledged plumber; and having been out ofwork himself for months at a time, was admirably qualified to speak ofthe advantages of idleness to any other candidate for like honors. 

He was a small man with a big nose, grizzled chin-whiskers, andrum-and-watery eyes, and wore constantly a pair of patched blue overallsas a badge of his laborship. The seat of these outside trousers showedmore wear than his hands. 

Immediately upon his appointment, Crimmins went to McGaw's house to talkover the line of attack. The conference was held in the sitting-room andbehind closed doors--so tightly closed that young Billy McGaw, with oneeye in mourning from the effect of a recent street fight, was unable, even by the aid of the undamaged eye and the keyhole, to get theslightest inkling of what was going on inside. 

When the door was finally opened and McGaw and Crimmins came out, theybrought with them an aroma the pungency of which was explained by twoempty glasses and a black bottle decorating one end of the only table inthe room. 

As Crimmins stepped down from the broken stoop, with its rustyrain-spout and rotting floor-planks, Billy overheard this parting remarkfrom his father: "Thry the ile furst, Crimmy, an' see what she'll do;thin give her the vinegar; and thin, " with an oath, "ef that don'tfetch'er, come back here to me and we'll give 'er the red pepper. "

Brother Knight Crimmins waved his hand to the speaker. "Just leave'er tome, Dan, " he said, and started for Tom's house. Crimmins was delightedwith his mission. He felt sure of bringing back her application withinan hour. Nothing ever pleased him so much as to work a poor woman intoan agony of fright with threats of the Union. Wives and daughters hadoften followed him out into the street, begging him to let the menalone for another week until they could pay the rent. Sometimes, whenhe relented, the more grateful would bless him for his magnanimity. Thisincreased his self-respect. 

Tom met him at the door. She had been sitting up with a sick child ofDick Todd, foreman at the brewery, and had just come home. Hardly a weekpassed without some one in distress sending for her. She had never seenCrimmins before, and thought he had come to mend the roof. His firstwords, however, betrayed him:--

"The Knights sent me up to have a word wid ye. "

Tom made a movement as if to shut the door in his face; then she pausedfor an instant, and said curtly, "Come inside. "

Crimmins crushed his slouch-hat in his hand, and slunk into a chair bythe window. Tom remained standing. 

"I see ye like flowers, Mrs. Grogan, " he began, in his gentlest voice. "Them geraniums is the finest I iver see"--peering under the leaves ofthe plants. "Guess it's 'cause ye water 'em so much. "

Tom made no reply. 

Crimmins fidgeted on his chair a little, and tried another tack. "Is'pose ye ain't doin' much just now, weather's so bad. The road's awfulgoin' down to the fort. "

Tom's hands were in the side pockets of her ulster. Her face was aglowwith her brisk walk from the tenements. She never took her eyes from hisface, and never moved a muscle of her body. She was slowly revolving inher mind whether any information she could get out of him would be worththe waiting for. 

Crimmins relapsed into silence, and began patting the floor with hisfoot. The prolonged stillness was becoming uncomfortable. 

"I was tellin' ye about the meetin' we had to the Union last night. Wewas goin' over the list of members, an' we didn't find yer name. Theboard thought maybe ye'd like to come in wid us. The dues is onlytwo dollars a month. We're a-regulatin' the prices for next year, stevedorin' an' haulin', an' the rates'll be sent out next week. " Thestopper was now out of the oil-bottle. 

"How many members have ye got?" she asked quietly. 

"Hundred an' seventy-three in our branch of the Knights. "

"All pay two dollars a month?"

"That's about the size of it, " said Crimmins. 

"What do we git when we jine?"

"Well, we all pull together--that's one thing. One man's strike'severy man's strike. The capitalists been tryin' to down us, an' thelaborin'-man's got to stand together. Did ye hear about the FertilizerCompany's layin' off two of our men las' Friday just fer bein' off a dayor so without leave, and their gittin' a couple of scabs from Hobokento"--

"What else do we git?" said Tom, in a quick, imperious tone, ignoringthe digression. She had moved a step closer. 

Crimmins looked slyly up into her eyes. Until this moment he had beenaddressing his remarks to the brass ornament on the extreme top of thecast-iron stove. Tom's expression of face did not reassure him; infact, the steady gaze of her clear gray eye was as uncomfortable as thefocused light of a sun lens. 

"Well--we help each other, " he blurted out. 

"Do you do any helpin'?"

"Yis;" stiffening a little. "I'm the walkin' delegate of our branch. "

"Oh, ye're the walkin' delegate! You don't pay no two dollars, then, doye!"

"No. There's got to be somebody a-goin' round all the time, an' DinnisQuigg and me's confidential agents of the branch, an' what we saysgoes"--slapping his overalls decisively with his fist. McGaw's suggestedstopper was being loosened on the vinegar. 

Tom's fingers closed tightly. Her collar began to feel small. "An' Is'pose if ye said I should pay me men double wages, and put up the priceo' haulin' so high that me customers couldn't pay it, so that some ofyer dirty loafers could cut in an' git it, I'd have to do it, whetherI wanted to or not; or maybe ye think I'd oughter chuck some o' me ownboys into the road because they don't belong to yer branch, as ye callit, and git a lot o' dead beats to work in their places who don't knowa horse from a coal-bucket. An' ye'll help me, will ye? Come out here onthe front porch, Mr. Crimmins"--opening the door with a jerk. "Do ye seethat stable over there! Well, it covers seven horses; an' the shed hassix carts with all the harness. Back of it--perhaps if ye stand on yertoes even a little feller like you can see the top of another shed. Thatone has me derricks an' tools. "

Crimmins tried to interrupt long enough to free McGaw's red pepper, buther words poured out in a torrent. 

"Now ye can go back an' tell Dan McGaw an' the balance of yer two-dollarloafers that there ain't a dollar owin' on any horse in my stable, an'that I've earned everything I've got without a man round to help 'ceptthose I pays wages to. An' ye can tell 'em, too, that I'll hire who Iplease, an' pay 'em what they oughter git; an' I'll do me own haulin'an' unloadin' fer nothin' if it suits me. When ye said ye were a walkin'delegate ye spoke God's truth. Ye'd be a ridin' delegate if ye could;but there's one thing ye'll niver be, an' that's a workin' delegate, as long as ye kin find fools to pay ye wages fer bummin' round day 'n'night. If I had me way, ye would walk, but it would be on yer uppers, wid yer bare feet to the road. "

Crimmins again attempted to speak, but she raised her arm threateningly:"Now, if it's walkin' ye are, ye can begin right away. Let me see yeearn yer wages down that garden an' into the road. Come, lively now, before I disgrace meself a-layin' hands on the likes of ye!"

V. A WORD FROM THE TENEMENTS

One morning Patsy came up the garden path limping on his crutch; thelittle fellow's eyes were full of tears. He had been out with his goatwhen some children from the tenements surrounded his cart, pitched itinto the ditch, and followed him half way home, calling "Scab! scab!" atthe top of their voices. Cully heard his cries, and ran through the yardto meet him, his anger rising at every step. To lay hands on Patsy was, to Cully, the unpardonable sin. Ever since the day, five yearsbefore, when Tom had taken him into her employ, a homeless waif ofthe streets, --his father had been drowned from a canal-boat she wasunloading, --and had set him down beside Patsy's crib to watch whileshe was at her work, Jennie being at school, Cully had loved the littlecripple with the devotion of a dog to its master. Lawless, rough, oftencruel, and sometimes vindictive as Cully was to others, a word fromPatsy humbled and softened him. 

And Patsy loved Cully. His big, broad chest, stout, straight legs, strong arms and hands, were his admiration and constant pride. Cully washis champion and his ideal. The waif's recklessness and audacity were tohim only evidences of so much brains and energy. 

This love between the lads grew stronger after Tom had sent to Dublinfor her old father, that she might have "a man about the house. " Thena new blessing came, not only into the lives of both the lads, but intothe whole household as well. Mullins, in his later years, had been adependent about Trinity College, and constant association with books andstudents had given him a taste for knowledge denied his daughter. Tomhad left home when a girl. In the long winter nights during the slackseason, after the stalls were bedded and the horses were fed and wateredand locked up for the night, the old man would draw up his chair tothe big kerosene lamp on the table, and tell the boys stories--theylistening with wide-open eyes, Cully interrupting the narrative everynow and then by such asides as "No flies on them fellers, wuz ther', Patsy? They wuz daisies, they wuz. Go on, Pop; it's better'n a circus;"while Patsy would cheer aloud at the downfall of the vanquished, withtheir "three thousand lance-bearers put to death by the sword, " wavinghis crutch over his head in his enthusiasm. 

Jennie would come in too, and sit by her mother; and after Nilsson'sencounter with Quigg--an incident which greatly advanced him in Tom'sestimation--Cully would be sent to bring him in from his room over thestable and give him a chair with the others, that he might learnthe language easier. At these times it was delightful to watch theexpression of pride and happiness that would come over Tom's face as shelistened to her father's talk. 

"But ye have a great head, Gran'pop, " she would say. "Cully, yeblatherin' idiot, why don't ye brace up an' git some knowledge in yerhead? Sure, Gran'pop, Father McCluskey ain't in it wid ye a minute. Yecould down the whole gang of 'em. " And the old man would smile faintlyand say he had heard the young gentlemen at the college recite thestories so many times he could never forget them. 

In this way the boys grew closer together, Patsy cramming himself frombooks during the day in order to tell Cully at night all about the FortyThieves boiled in oil, or Ali Baba and his donkey, or poor man Fridayto whom Robinson Crusoe was so kind; and Cully relating in return howJimmie Finn smashed Pat Gilsey's face because he threw stones at hissister, ending with a full account of a dog-fight which a "snoozer of acop" stopped with his club. 

So when Patsy came limping up the garden path this morning, rubbinghis eyes, his voice choking, and the tears streaming, and, buryinghis little face in Cully's jacket, poured out his tale of insult andsuffering, that valiant defender of the right pulled his cap tight overhis eyes and began a still-hunt through the tenements. There, as heafterwards expressed it, he "mopped up the floor" with one after anotherof the ringleaders, beginning with young Billy McGaw, Dan's eldest sonand Cully's senior. 

Tom was dumfounded at the attack on Patsy. This was a blow upon whichshe had not counted. To strike her Patsy, her cripple, her baby! Thecowardice of it incensed her, She knew instantly that her affairs musthave been common talk about the tenements to have produced so great aneffect upon the children. She felt sure that their fathers and mothershad encouraged them in it. 

In emergencies like this it was never to the old father that she turned. He was too feeble, too much a thing of the past. While to a certainextent he influenced her life, standing always for the right and alwaysfor the kindest thing she could do, yet when it came to times of actionand danger she felt the need of a younger and more vigorous mind. Itwas on Jennie, really more her companion than her daughter, that shedepended for counsel and sympathy at these times. 

Tom did not underestimate the gravity of the situation. Up to that pointin her career she had fought only the cold, the heat, the many wearyhours of labor far into the night, and now and then some man like McGaw. But this stab from out the dark was a danger to which she was unused. She saw in this last move of McGaw's, aided as he was by the Union, not only a determination to ruin her, but a plan to divide her businessamong a set of men who hated her as much on account of her success asfor anything else. A few more horses and carts and another barn or two, and she herself would become a hated capitalist. That she had stood outin the wet and cold herself, hours at a time, like any man among them;that she had, in her husband's early days, helped him feed and bed theirone horse, often currying him herself; that when she and her Tom hadmoved to Rockville with their savings and there were three horses tocare for and her husband needed more help than he could hire, she hadbrought her little baby Patsy to the stable while she worked there likea man; that during all this time she had cooked and washed and kept thehouse tidy for four people; that she had done all these things shefelt would not count now with the Union, though each member of it was abread-winner like herself. 

She knew what power it wielded. There had been the Martin family, honest, hardworking people, who had come down from Haverstraw--the manand wife and their three children--and moved into the new tenement withall their nice furniture and new carpets. Tom had helped them unloadthese things from the brick-sloop that brought them. A few weeks after, poor Martin, still almost a stranger, had been brought home from thegas-house with his head laid open, because he had taken the place of aUnion man discharged for drunkenness, and lingered for weeks until hedied. Then the widow, with her children about her, had been put aboardanother sloop that was going back to her old home. Tom remembered, asif it were yesterday, the heap of furniture and little pile of kitchenthings sold under the red flag outside the store near the post-office. 

She had seen, too, the suffering and misery of her neighbors during thelong strike at the brewery two years before, and the moving in and outfrom house to tenement and tenement to shanty, with never a day's workafterward for any man who left his job. She had helped many of the menwho, three years before, had been driven out of work by the majorityvote of the Carpenters' Union, and who dared not go back and face theterrible excommunication, the social boycott, with all its insults andcruelties. She shuddered as she thought again of her suspicions yearsago when the bucket had fallen that crushed in her husband's chest, andsent him to bed for months, only to leave it a wrecked man. The ropethat held the bucket had been burned by acid, Dr. Mason said. Somegrudge of the Union, she had always felt, was paid off then. 

She knew what the present trouble meant, now that it was started, andshe knew in what it might end. But her courage never wavered. Sheran over in her mind the names of the several men who were fightingher--McGaw, for whom she had a contempt; Dempsey and Jimmie Brown, ofthe executive committee, both liquor-dealers; Paterson, foreman of thegas-house; and the rest--dangerous enemies, she knew. 

That night she sent for Nilsson to come to the house; heard from him, word for word, of Quigg's effort to corrupt him; questioned Patsyclosely, getting the names of the children who had abused him; thencalling Jennie into her bedroom, she locked the door behind them. 

When they reentered the sitting-room, an hour later, Jennie's lips werequivering. Tom's mouth was firmly set. Her mind was made up. 

She would fight it out to the bitter end. 

VI. THE BIG GRAY GOES HUNGRY

That invincible spirit which dwelt in Tom's breast--that spirit whichhad dared Lathers, outwitted Duffy, cowed Crimmins, and braved theUnion, did not, strange to say, dominate all the members of her ownhousehold. One defied her. This was no other than that despoiler ofnew-washed clothes, old harness, wagon-grease, time-books, and springflowers, that Arab of the open lot, Stumpy the goat. 

This supremacy of the goat had lasted since the eventful morning when, only a kid of tender days, he had come into the stable-yard and wobbledabout on his uncertain legs, nestling down near the door where Patsylay. During all these years he had ruled over Tom. At first because hisfuzzy white back and soft, silky legs had been so precious to thelittle cripple, and later because of his inexhaustible energy, hisaggressiveness, and his marvelous activity. Brave spirits have faintedat the sight of spiders, others have turned pale at lizards, and somehave shivered when cats crossed their paths. The only thing Tom fearedon any number of legs, from centipedes to men, was Stumpy. 

"Git out, ye imp of Satan!" she would say, raising her hand when hewandered too near; "or I'll smash ye!" The next instant she would bedodging behind the cart out of the way of Stumpy's lowered horns, witha scream as natural and as uncontrollable as that of a schoolgirl overa mouse. When he stood in the path cleared of snow from house to stabledoor, with head down, prepared to dispute every inch of the way withher, she would tramp yards around him, up to her knees in the drift, rather than face his obstinate front. 

The basest of ingratitude actuated the goat. When the accident occurredthat gained him his sobriquet and lost him his tail, it was Tom'squickness of hand alone that saved the remainder of his kidship fromdisappearing as his tail had done. Indeed, she not only choked the dogwho attacked him, until he loosened his hold from want of breath, butshe threw him over the stable-yard fence as an additional mark of herdispleasure. 

In spite of her fear of him, Tom never dispossessed Stumpy. That herPatsy loved him insured him his place for life. 

So Stumpy roamed through yard, kitchen, and stable, stalking overbleaching sheets, burglarizing the garden gate, and grazing wherever hechose. 

The goat inspired no fear in anybody else. Jennie would chase him outof her way a dozen times a day, and Cully would play bullfight with him, and Carl and the other men would accord him his proper place, spankinghim with the flat of a shovel whenever he interfered with their dailyduties, or shying a corn-cob after him when his alertness carried himout of their reach. 

This afternoon Jennie had missed her blue-checked apron. It had beendrying on the line outside the kitchen door five minutes before. Therewas no one at home but herself, and she had seen nobody pass the door. Perhaps the apron had blown over into the stable-yard. If it had, Carlwould be sure to have seen it. She knew Carl had come home; she had beenwatching for him through the window. Then she ran in for her shawl. 

Carl was rubbing down the Big Gray. He had been hauling ice all themorning for the brewery. The Gray was under the cart-shed, a flood ofwinter sunlight silvering his shaggy mane and restless ears. The Swedewas scraping his sides with the currycomb, and the Big Gray, accustomedto Cully's gentler touch, was resenting the familiarity by biting at thetippet wound about the neck of the young man. 

Suddenly Carl raised his head--he had caught a glimpse of a flying apronwhipping round the stable door. He knew the pattern. It always gave hima lump in his throat, and some little creepings down his back when hesaw it. Then he laid down the currycomb. The next instant there came asound as of a barrel-head knocked in by a mixing-shovel, and Stumpyflew through the door, followed by Carl on the run. The familiar bit ofcalico was Jennie's lost apron. One half was inside the goat, the otherhalf was in the hand of the Swede. 

Carl hesitated for a moment, looked cautiously about the yard, andwalked slowly toward the house, his eyes on the fragments. He never wentto the house except when he was invited, either to hear Pop read or totake his dinner with the other men. At this instant Jennie came runningout, the shawl about her head. 

"Oh, Carl, did you find my apron? It blew away, and I thought it mighthave gone into the yard. "

"Yas, mees; an' da goat see it too--luke!" extending the tatteredfragments, anger and sorrow struggling for the mastery in his face. 

"Well, I never! Carl, it was a bran'-new one. Now just see, all thestrings torn off and the top gone! I'm just going to give Stumpy a goodbeating. "

Carl suggested that he run after the goat and bring him back; but Jenniethought he was down the road by this time, and Carl had been working allthe morning and must be tired. Besides, she must get some wood. 

Carl instantly forgot the goat. He had forgotten everything, indeed, except the trim little body who stood before him looking into his eyes. He glowed all over with inward warmth and delight. Nobody had ever caredbefore whether he was tired. When he was a little fellow at home atMemlo his mother would sometimes worry about his lifting the big basketsof fish all day, but he could not remember that anybody else had evergiven his feelings a thought. All this flashed through his mind as hereturned Jennie's look. 

"No, no! I not tire--I brang da wood. " And then Jennie said she nevermeant it, and Carl knew she didn't, of course; and then she said she hadnever thought of such a thing, and he agreed to that; and they talked solong over it, standing out in the radiance of the noonday sun, the colorcoming and going in both their faces, --Carl playing aimlessly withhis tippet tassel, and Jennie plaiting and pinching up the ruinedapron, --that the fire in the kitchen stove went out, and the Big Graygrew hungry and craned his long neck around the shed and whinnied forCarl, and even Stumpy the goat forgot his hair-breadth escape, andreturned near enough to the scene of the robbery to look down at it fromthe hill above. 

There is no telling how long the Big Gray would have waited if Cully hadnot come home to dinner, bringing another horse with Patsy perched onhis back. The brewery was only a short distance, and Tom always gaveher men a hot meal at the house whenever it was possible. Had any otherhorse been neglected, Cully would not have cared; but the Big Gray whichhe had driven ever since the day Tom brought him home, --"Old Blowhard, "as he would often call him (the Gray was a bit wheezy), --the Big Graywithout his dinner!

"Hully gee! Look at de bloke a-jollying Jinnie, an' de Blowharda-starvin'. Say, Patsy, "--lifting him down, --"hold de line till I gitde Big Gray a bite. Git on ter Carl, will ye! I'm a-goin'--ter--tellde--boss, "--with a threatening air, weighing each word--"jes soon as shegits back. Ef I don't I'm a chump. "

At sight of the boys, Jennie darted into the house, and Carl started forthe stable, his head in the clouds, his feet on air. 

"No; I feed da horse, Cully, "--jerking at his halter to get him awayfrom Cully. 

"A hell ov 'er lot ye will! I'll feed him meself. He's been home an hournow, an' he ain't half rubbed down. "

Carl made a grab for Cully, who dodged and ran under the cart. Then alump of ice whizzed past Carl's ear. 

"Here, stop that!" said Tom, entering the gate. She had been in the cityall the morning--"to look after her poor Tom, " Pop said. "Don't ye bethrowing things round here, or I'll land on top of ye. "

"Well, why don't he feed de Gray, den? He started afore me, and deywants de Gray down ter de brewery, and he up ter de house a-buzzin'Jinnie. "

"I go brang Mees Jan's apron; da goat eat it oop. "

"Ye did, did ye! What ye givin' us? Didn't I see ye a-chinnin' 'erwhin I come over de hill--she a-leanin' up ag'in' de fence, an' yousea-talkin' ter 'er, an' ole Blowhard cryin' like his heart was broke?"

"Eat up what apron?" said Tom, thoroughly mystified over the situation. 

"Stumpy eat da apron--I brang back--da half ta Mees Jan. "

"An' it took ye all the mornin' to give it to her?" said Tomthoughtfully, looking Carl straight in the eye, a new vista openingbefore her. 

That night when the circle gathered about the lamp to hear Pop read, Carl was missing. Tom had not sent for him. 

VII. THE CONTENTS OF CULLY'S MAIL

When Walking Delegate Crimmins had recovered from his amazement, afterhis humiliating defeat at Tom's hands, he stood irresolute for a momentoutside her garden gate, indulged at some length in a form of profanitypeculiar to his class, and then walked direct to McGaw's house. 

That worthy Knight met him at the door. He had been waiting for him. 

Young Billy McGaw also saw Crimmins enter the gate, and promptly hidhimself under the broken-down steps. He hoped to overhear what was goingon when the two went out again. Young Billy's inordinate curiositywas quite natural. He had heard enough of the current talk about thetenements and open lots to know that something of a revengeful andretaliatory nature against the Grogans was in the air; but as nobody whoknew the exact details had confided them to him, he had determined uponan investigation of his own. He not only hated Cully, but the wholeGrogan household, for the pounding he had received at his hands, so hewas anxious to get even in some way. 

After McGaw had locked both doors, shutting out his wife and littleJack, their youngest, he took a bottle from the shelf, filled twohalf-tumblers, and squaring himself in his chair, said:--

"Did ye see her, Crimmy?"

"I did, " replied Crimmins, swallowing the whiskey at a gulp. 

"An' she'll come in wid us, will she?"

"She will, will she? She'll come in nothin'. I jollied her about herflowers, and thought I had her dead ter rights, when she up an' asked mewhat we was a-goin' to do for her if she jined, an' afore I could tellher she opens the front door and gives me the dead cold. "

"Fired ye?" exclaimed McGaw incredulously. 

"I'm givin' it to ye straight, Dan; an' she pulled a gun on me, too, "--telling the lie with perfect composure. "That woman's no slouch, or I don't know 'em. One thing ye can bet yer bottom dollar on--all h---can't scare her. We've got to try some other way. "

It was the peculiarly fertile quality of Crimmins's imagination thatmade him so valuable to some of his friends. 

When the conspirators reached the door, neither Crimmins nor his fatherwas in a talkative mood, and Billy heard nothing. They lingered a momenton the sill, within a foot of his head as he lay in a cramped positionbelow, and then they sauntered out, his father bareheaded, to thestable-yard. There McGaw leaned upon a cart-wheel, listening dejectedlyto Crimmins, who seemed to be outlining a plan of some kind, whichat intervals lightened the gloom of McGaw's despair, judging from theexpression of his father's face. Then he turned hurriedly to the house, cursed his wife because he could not find his big fur cap, and startedacross to the village. Billy followed, keeping a safe distance behind. 

Tom after Patsy's sad experience forbade him the streets, and neverallowed him out of her sight unless Cully or her father were with him. She knew a storm was gathering, and she was watching the clouds andwaiting for the first patter of rain. When it came she intended thatevery one of her people should be under cover. She had sent for Carl andher two stablemen, and told them that if they were dissatisfied in anyway she wanted to know it at once. If the wages she was paying were notenough, she was willing to raise them, but she wanted them distinctlyto understand that as she had built up the business herself, she wasthe only one who had a right to manage it, adding that she would ratherclean and drive the horses herself than be dictated to by any personoutside. She said that she saw trouble brewing, and knew that her menwould feel it first. They must look out for themselves coming home lateat night. At the brewery strike, two years before, hardly a day passedthat some of the non-union men were not beaten into insensibility. 

That night Carl came back again to the porch door, and in his quiet, earnest way said: "We have t'ink 'bout da Union. Da men not go--notlaik da union man. We not 'fraid"--tapping his hip-pocket, where, sailor-like, he always carried his knife sheathed in a leather case. 

Tom's eyes kindled as she looked into his manly face. She loved pluckand grit. She knew the color of the blood running in this young fellow'sveins. 

Week after week passed, and though now and then she caught themutterings of distant thunder, as Cully or some of the others overhearda remark on the ferry-boat or about the post-office, no other signs ofthe threatened storm were visible. 

Then it broke. 

One morning an important-looking envelope lay in her letter-box. It waslong and puffy, and was stamped in the upper corner with a picture of abrewery in full operation. One end bore an inscription addressed to thepostmaster, stating that in case Mr. Thomas Grogan was not found withinten days, it should be returned to Schwartz & Co. , Brewers. 

The village post-office had several other letter-boxes, faced withglass, so that the contents of each could be seen from the outside. Twoof these contained similar envelopes, looking equally important, onebeing addressed to McGaw. 

When he had called for his mail, the close resemblance between thetwo envelopes seen in the letter-boxes set McGaw to thinking. Actualscrutiny through the glass revealed the picture of the brewery on each. He knew then that Tom had been asked to bid for the brewery hauling. That night a special meeting of the Union was called at eight o'clock. Quigg, Crimmins, and McGaw signed the call. 

"Hully gee, what a wad!" said Cully, when the postmaster passed Tom'sbig letter out to him. One of Cully's duties was to go for the mail. 

When Pop broke the seal in Tom's presence, --one of Pop's duties was toopen what Cully brought, --out dropped a type-written sheet notifying Mr. Thomas Grogan that sealed proposals would be received up to March1st for "unloading, hauling, and delivering to the bins of the EagleBrewery" so many tons of coal and malt, together with such supplies, etc. There were also blank forms in duplicate to be duly filled up withthe price and signature of the bidder. This contract was given out oncea year. Twice before it had been awarded to Thomas Grogan. The yearbefore a man from Stapleton had bid lowest, and had done the work. McGawand his friends complained that it took the bread out of Rockville'smouth; but as the bidder belonged to the Union, no protest could bemade. 

The morning after the meeting of the Union, McGaw went to New York bythe early boat. He carried a letter from Pete Lathers, the yardmaster, to Crane & Co. , of so potent a character that the coal-dealers agreedto lend McGaw five hundred dollars on his three-months' note, takinga chattel mortgage on his teams and carts as security, the money to bepaid McGaw as soon as the papers were drawn. McGaw, in return, was touse his "pull" to get a permit from the village trustees for the freeuse of the village dock by Crane & Co. For discharging their Rockvillecoal. This would save Crane half a mile to haul. It was this promisemade by McGaw which really turned the scale in his favor. To hustlesuccessfully it was often necessary for Crane to cut some sharp corners. 

This dock, as McGaw knew perfectly well, had been leased to anotherparty--the Fertilizing Company--for two years, and could not possibly beplaced at Crane's disposal. But he said nothing of this to Crane. 

When the day of payment to McGaw arrived, Dempsey of the executivecommittee and Walking Delegate Quigg met McGaw at the ferry on hisreturn from New York. McGaw had Crane's money in his pocket. That nighthe paid two hundred dollars into the Union, two hundred to his feed-manon an account long overdue, and the balance to Quigg in a poker game inthe back room over O'Leary's bar. 

Tom also had an interview with Mr. Crane shortly after his interviewwith McGaw. Something she said about the dock having been leased to theFertilizing Company caused Crane to leave his chair in a hurry, and askhis clerk in an angry voice if McGaw had yet been paid the money on hischattel mortgage. When his cashier showed him the stub of the check, dated two days before, Crane slammed the door behind him, his teeth settight, little puffs of profanity escaping between the openings. As hewalked with Tom to the door, he said:--

"Send your papers up, Tom, I'll go bond any day in the year for you, and for any amount; but I'll get even with McGaw for that lie he told meabout the dock, if it takes my bank account. "

The annual hauling contract for the brewery, which had become animportant one in Rockville, its business having nearly doubled inthe last few years, was of special value to Tom at this time, and shedetermined to make every effort to secure it. 

Pop filled up the proposal in his round, clear hand, and Tom signed it, "Thomas Grogan, Rockville, Staten Island. " Then Pop witnessed it, andMr. Crane, a few days later, duly inscribed the firm's name under theclause reserved for bondsmen. After that Tom brought the bid home, andlaid it on the shelf over her bed. 

Everything was now ready for the fight. 

The bids were to be opened at noon in the office of the brewery. 

By eleven o'clock the hangers-on and idlers began to lounge into thebig yard paved with cobblestones. At half past eleven McGaw got out of abuggy, accompanied by Quigg. At a quarter to twelve Tom, in her hood andulster, walked rapidly through the gate, and, without as much as a lookat the men gathered about the office door, pushed her way into the room. Then she picked up a chair and, placing it against the wall, sat down. Sticking out of the breast pocket of her ulster was the big envelopecontaining her bid. 

Five minutes before the hour the men began filing in one by one, awkwardly uncovering their heads, and standing in one another's way. Some, using their hats as screens, looked over the rims. When the bidswere being gathered up by the clerk, Dennis Quigg handed over McGaw's. The ease with which Dan had raised the money on his notes had investedthat gentleman with some of the dignity and attributes of a capitalist;the hired buggy and the obsequious Quigg indicated this. His newposition was strengthened by the liberal way in which he had portionedout his possessions to the workingman. It was further sustained by thehope that he might perhaps repeat his generosities in the near future. 

At twelve o'clock precisely Mr. Schwartz, a round, bullet-headed German, entered the room, turned his revolving-chair, and began to cut the sixenvelopes heaped up before him on his desk, reading the prices aloud ashe opened them in succession, the clerk recording. The first four werefrom parties in outside villages. Then came McGaw's:--

"Forty-nine cents for coal, etc. "

So far he was lowest. Quigg twisted his hat nervously, and McGaw'scoarse face grew red and white by turns. 

Tom's bid was the last. 

"Thomas Grogan, Rockville, S. I. , thirty-eight cents for coal, etc. "

"Gentlemen, " said Mr. Schwartz, quietly, "Thomas Grogan gets thehauling. "

VIII. POP MULLINS'S ADVICE

Almost every man and woman in the tenement district knew Oscar Schwartz, and had felt the power of his obstinate hand during the long strikeof two years before, when, the Union having declared war, Schwartzhad closed the brewery for several months rather than submit to itsdictation. The news, therefore, that the Union had called a meeting andappointed a committee to wait on Mr. Schwartz, to protest against hisgiving work to a non-union woman filled them with alarm. The womenremembered the privations and suffering of that winter, and the threedollars a week doled out to them by the Central Branch, while theirhusbands, who had been earning two and three dollars a day, weredrinking at O'Leary's bar, playing cards, or listening to theencouraging talk of the delegates who came from New York to keep uptheir spirits. The brewery employed a larger number of men than anyother concern in Rockville, so trouble with its employees meant serioustrouble for half the village if Schwartz defied the Union and selected anon-union woman to do the work. 

They knew, too, something of the indomitable pluck and endurance ofTom Grogan. If she were lowest on the bids, she would fight for thecontract, they felt sure, if it took her last dollar. McGaw was a fool, they said, to bid so high; he might have known she would cut his throat, and bring them no end of trouble. 

Having nursed their resentment, and needing a common object for theirwrath, the women broke out against Tom. Many of them had disliked herever since the day, years ago, when she had been seen carrying herinjured husband away at night to the hospital, after months of nursingat home. And the most envious had always maintained that she meant atthe time to put him away forever where no one could find him, so thatshe might play the man herself. 

"Why should she be a-comin' in an' a-robbin' us of our pay?" muttereda coarse, red-faced virago, her hair in a frowse about her head, herslatternly dress open at the throat. "Oi'll be one to go an' pull heroff the dock and jump on her. What's she a-doin', any-how, puttin' downprices! Ef her ole man had a leg to walk on, instid of his lyin' to-daya cripple in the hospital, he'd be back and be a-runnin' things. "

"She's doin' what she's a right to do, " broke out Mrs. Todd indignantly. Mrs. Todd was the wife of the foreman at the brewery, and an old friendof Tom's. Tom had sat up with her child only the week before. Indeed, there were few women in the tenements, for all their outcry, who didnot know how quick had been her hand to help when illness came, or thelandlord threatened the sidewalk, or the undertaker insisted on hismoney in advance. 

"It's not Tom Grogan that's crooked, " Mrs. Todd continued, "an' ye allknow it. It's that loafer, Dennis Quigg, and that old sneak, Crimmins. They never lifted their hands on a decent job in their lives, an' don'twant to. When my man Jack was out of work for four months last winter, and there wasn't a pail of coal in the house, wasn't Quigg gittin' hisfour dollars a day for shootin' off his mouth every night at O'Leary's, an' fillin' the men's heads full of capital and rights? An' Dan McGaw'sno better. If ye're out for jumpin' on people, Mrs. Moriarty, begin withQuigg an' some of the bummers as is runnin' the Union, an' as gits paidwhether the men works or not. "

"Bedad, ye're roight, " said half a dozen women, the tide turningsuddenly, while the excitement grew and spread, and other women came infrom the several smaller tenements. 

"Is the trouble at the brewery?" asked a shrunken-looking woman, opening a door on the corridor, a faded shawl over her head. She wasa new-comer, and had been in the tenement only a week or so--not longenough to have the run of the house or to know her neighbors. 

"Yes; at Schwartz's, " said Mrs. Todd, stopping opposite her door on theway to her own rooms. "Your man's got a job there, ain't he?"

"He has, mum; he's gateman--the fust job in six months. Ye don't thinkthey'll make him throw it up, do ye, mum?"

"Yes; an' break his head if he don't. Thet's what they did to my manthree years gone, till he had to come in with the gang and pay 'em twodollars a month, " replied Mrs. Todd. 

"But my man's jined, mum, a month ago; they wouldn't let him work tillhe did. Won't ye come in an' set down? It's a poor place we have--we'vebeen so long without work, an' my girl's laid off with a cough. She'sbeen a-workin' at the box-factory. If the Union give notice again, I don't know what'll become of us. Can't we do somethin'? Maybe Mrs. Grogan might give up the work if she knew how it was wid us. She seemslike a dacent woman; she was in to look at me girl last week, hearin' ashow we were strangers an' she very bad. "

"Oh, ye don't know her. Ye can save yer wind and shoe-leather. She's onter McGaw red hot; that's the worst of it. He better look out; she'lldown him yet, " said Mrs. Todd. 

As the two entered the stuffy, close room for further discussion, ayoung girl left her seat by the window, and moved into the adjoiningapartment. She had that yellow, waxy skin, hollow, burning eyes, andhectic flush which tell the fatal story so clearly. 

While the women of the tenements were cursing or wringing their hands, the men were devoting themselves to more vigorous measures. A meetingwas called for nine o'clock at Lion Hall. 

It was held behind closed doors. Two walking delegates from Brooklynwere present, having been summoned by telegram the night before, and whowere expected to coax or bully the weak-kneed, were the ultimatum sentto Schwartz refused and an order for a sympathetic strike issued. 

At the brewery all was quiet. Schwartz had read the notice left onhis desk by the committee the night before, and had already begun hisarrangements to supply the places of the men if a strike were ordered. When pressed by Quigg for a reply, he said quietly:--

"The price for hauling will be Grogan's bid. If she wants it, it ishers. "

Tom talked the matter over with Pop, and had determined to buy anotherhorse and hire two extra carts. At her price there was a margin of atleast ten cents a ton profit, and as the work lasted through the year, she could adjust the hauling of her other business without much extraexpense. She discussed the situation with no one outside her house. IfSchwartz wanted her to carry on the work, she would do it, Union or noUnion. Mr. Crane was on her bond. That in itself was a bracing factor. Strong and self-reliant as she was, the helping hand which this man heldout to her was like an anchor in a storm. 

That Sunday night they were all gathered round the kerosene lamp, --Popreading, Cully and Patsy on the floor, Jennie listening absent-mindedly, her thoughts far away, --when there came a knock at the kitchen door. Jennie flew to open it. 

Outside stood two women. One was Mrs. Todd, the other the haggard, pinched, careworn woman who had spoken to her that morning at herroom-door in the tenement. 

"They want to see you, mother, " said Jennie, all the light gone out ofher eyes. What could be the matter with Carl, she thought. It had beenthis way for a week. 

"Well, bring 'em in. Hold on, I'll go meself. "

"She would come, Tom, " said Mrs. Todd, unwinding her shawl from her headand shoulders; "an' ye mustn't blame me, fer it's none of my doin's. Walk in, mum; ye can speak to her yerself. Why, where is she?"--lookingout of the door into the darkness. "Oh, here ye are; I thought ye'dskipped. "

"Do ye remember me?" said the woman, stepping into the room, her gauntface looking more wretched under the flickering light of the candle thanit had done in the morning. "I'm the new-comer in the tenements. Ye werein to see my girl th'other night. We're in great trouble. "

"She's not dead?" said Tom, sinking into a chair. 

"No, thank God; we've got her still wid us; but me man's come hometo-night nigh crazy. He's a-walkin' the floor this minute, an' so I goesto Mrs. Todd, an' she come wid me. If he loses the job now, we're in thestreet. Only two weeks' work since las' fall, an' the girl gettin' worseevery day, and every cint in the bank gone, an' hardly a chair lef' inthe place. An' I says to him, 'I'll go meself. She come in to see Katieth' other night; she'll listen to me. ' We lived in Newark, mum, an' hadfour rooms and a mahogany sofa and two carpets, till the strike comein the clock-factory, an' me man had to quit; an' then all winter--oh, we're not used to the likes of this!"--covering her face with her shawland bursting into tears. 

Tom had risen to her feet, her face expressing the deepest sympathyfor the woman, though she was at a loss to understand the cause of hervisitor's distress. 

"Is yer man fired?" she asked. 

"No, an' wouldn't be if they'd let him alone. He's sober an' steady, an' never tastes a drop, and brings his money home to me every Saturdaynight, and always done; an' now they"--

"Well, what's the matter, then?" Tom could not stand much beating aboutthe bush. 

"Why, don't ye know they've give notice?" she said in astonishment;then, as a misgiving entered her mind, "Maybe I'm wrong; but me man an'all of 'em tells me ye're a-buckin' ag'in' Mr. McGaw, an' that ye hasthe haulin' job at the brewery. "

"No, " said Tom, with emphasis, "ye're not wrong; ye're dead right. Butwho's give notice?"

"The committee's give notice, an' the boss at the brewery says he'llgive ye the job if he has to shut up the brewery; an' the committee'sdecided to-day that if he does they'll call out the men. My man is amember, and so I come over"--And she rested her head wearily against thedoor, the tears streaming down her face. 

Tom looked at her wonderingly, and then, putting her strong arms abouther, half carried her across the kitchen to a chair by the stove. Mrs. Todd leaned against the table, watching the sobbing woman. 

For a moment no one spoke. It was a new experience for Tom. Heretoforethe fight had been her own and for her own. She had never supposedbefore that she filled so important a place in the neighborhood, and fora moment there flashed across her mind a certain justifiable pride inthe situation. But this feeling was momentary. Here was a sufferingwoman. For the first time she realized that one weaker than herselfmight suffer in the struggle. What could she do to help her? Thisthought was uppermost in her mind. 

"Don't ye worry, " she said tenderly. "Schwartz won't fire yer man. "

"No; but the sluggers will. There was five men 'p'inted to-day to do upthe scabs an' the kickers who won't go out. They near killed him oncein Newark for kickin'. It was that time, you know, when Katie was firsttook bad. "

"Do ye know their names?" said Tom, her eyes flashing. 

"No, an' me man don't. He's new, an' they dar'sn't trust him. It was inthe back room, he says, they picked 'em out. "

Tom stood for some moments in deep thought, gazing at the fire, herarms akimbo. Then, wheeling suddenly, she opened the door of thesitting-room, and said in a firm, resolute voice:--

"Gran'pop, come here; I want ye. "

The old man laid down his book, and stood in the kitchen doorway. He wasin his shirt-sleeves, his spectacles on his forehead. 

"Come inside the kitchen, an' shut that door behind ye. Here's me friendJane Todd an' a friend of hers from the tenement. That thief of a McGawhas stirred up the Union over the haulin' bid, and they've sent noticeto Schwartz that I don't belong to the Union, an' if he don't throw meover an' give the job to McGaw they'll call out the men. If they do, there's a hundred women and three times that many children that'll gohungry. This woman here's got a girl herself that hasn't drawed a wellbreath for six months, an' her man's been idle all winter, an' only justnow got a job at Schwartz's, tending gate. Now, what'll I do? Shall Ichuck up the job or stick?"

The old man looked into the desolate, weary face of the woman and thenat Tom. Then he said slowly:--

"Well, child, ye kin do widout it, an' maybe t' others can't. "

"Ye've got it straight, " said Tom; "that's just what I think meself. "Then, turning to the stranger:--

"Go home and tell yer man to go to bed. I'll touch nothin' that'll breakthe heart of any woman. The job's McGaw's. I'll throw up me bid. "

IX. WHAT A SPARROW SAW

Ever since the eventful morning when Carl had neglected the Big Gray fora stolen hour with Jennie, Cully had busied himself in devising waysof making the Swede's life miserable. With a boy's keen insight, he haddiscovered enough to convince him that Carl was "dead mashed on Jennie, "as he put it, but whether "for keeps" or not he had not yet determined. He had already enriched his songs with certain tender allusions to theirpresent frame of mind and their future state of happiness. "Where wasMoses when the light went out!" and "Little Annie Rooney" had undergoneso subtle a change when sung at the top of Mr. James Finnegan's voicethat while the original warp and woof of those very popular melodieswere entirely unrecognizable to any but the persons interested, tothem they were as gall and wormwood. This was Cully's invariable wayof expressing his opinions on current affairs. He would sit on thefront-board of his cart, --the Big Gray stumbling over the stones as hewalked, the reins lying loose, --and fill the air with details of eventspassing in the village, with all the gusto of a variety actor. Theimpending strike at the brewery had been made the basis of a paraphraseof "Johnnie, get your gun;" and even McGaw's red head had come in forits share of abuse to the air of "Fire, boys, fire!" So for a time thisnew development of tenderness on the part of Carl for Jennie served toring the changes on "Moses" and "Annie Rooney. "

Carl's budding hopes had been slightly nipped by the cold look in Tom'seye when she asked him if it took an hour to give Jennie a tatteredapron. With some disappointment he noticed that except at rareintervals, and only when Tom was at home, he was no longer invited tothe house. He had always been a timid, shrinking fellow where a womanwas concerned, having followed the sea and lived among men since he wassixteen years old. During these earlier years he had made two voyagesin the Pacific, and another to the whaling-ground in the Arctic seas. Onthis last voyage, in a gale of wind, he had saved all the lives aboarda brig, the crew helpless from scurvy. When the lifeboat reached thelee of her stern, Carl at the risk of his life climbed aboard, caught aline, and lowered the men, one by one, into the rescuing yawl. He couldwith perfect equanimity have faced another storm and rescued a secondcrew any hour of the day or night, but he could not face a woman'sdispleasure. Moreover, what Tom wanted done was law to Carl. She hadtaken him out of the streets and given him a home. He would serve her inwhatever way she wished as long as he lived. 

He and Gran'pop were fast friends. On rainy days, or when work was dullin the winter months, the old man would often come into Carl's littlechamber, next the harness-room in the stable, and sit on his bed by thehour. And Carl would tell him about his people at home, and show himthe pictures tacked over his bed, those of his old mother with her whitecap, and of the young sister who was soon to be married. 

On Sundays Carl followed Tom and her family to church, waiting untilthey had left the house. He always sat far back near the door, so thathe could see them come out. Then he would overtake Pop with Patsy, whenever the little fellow could go. This was not often, for now therewere many days when the boy had to lie all day on the lounge in thesitting-room, poring over his books or playing with Stumpy, brought intothe kitchen to amuse him. 

Since the day of Tom's warning look, Carl rarely joined her daughter. Jennie would loiter by the way, speaking to the girls, but he would hangback. He felt that Tom did not want them together. 

One spring morning, however, a new complication arose. It was a morningwhen the sky was a delicate violet-blue, when the sunlight came temperedthrough a tender land haze and a filmy mist from the still sea, whenall the air was redolent with sweet smells of coming spring, and all thegirls were gay in new attire. Dennis Quigg had been lounging outside thechurch door, his silk hat and green satin necktie glistening in the sun. When Jennie tripped out Quigg started forward. The look on his face, as with swinging shoulders he slouched beside her, sent a thrillof indignation through Carl. He could give her up, perhaps, if Tominsisted, but never to a man like Quigg. Before the walking delegatehad "passed the time of day, " the young sailor was close beside Jennie, within touch of her hand. 

There was no love lost between the two men. Carl had not forgotten theproposition Quigg had made to him to leave Tom's employ, nor had Quiggforgotten the uplifted shovel with which his proposal had been greeted. Yet there was no well-defined jealousy between them. Mr. WalkingDelegate Dennis Quigg, confidential agent of Branch No. 3, Knightsof Labor, had too good an opinion of himself ever to look upon that"tow-headed duffer of a stable-boy" in the light of a rival. Nor couldCarl for a moment think of that narrow-chested, red-faced, flashilydressed Knight as being able to make the slightest impression on "MeesJan. "

Quigg, however, was more than welcome to Jennie to-day. A little senseof wounded pride sent the hot color to her cheeks when she thought ofCarl's apparent neglect. He had hardly spoken to her in weeks. What hadshe done that he should treat her so? She would show him that there werejust as good fellows about as Mr. Carl Nilsson. 

But all this faded out when Carl joined her--Carl, so straight, clear-skinned, brown, and ruddy; his teeth so white; his eyes so blue!She could see out of the corner of her eye how the hair curled in tinyrings on his temples. 

Still it was to Quigg she talked. And more than that, she gave him herprayer-book to carry until she fixed her glove--the glove that neededno fixing at all. And she chattered on about the dance at the boat club, and the picnic which was to come off when the weather grew warmer. 

And Carl walked silent beside her, with his head up and his heart down, and the tears very near his eyes. 

When they reached the outer gate of the stable-yard, and Quigg hadslouched off without even raising his hat, --the absence of all courtesystands in a certain class for a mark of higher respect, --Carl swung backthe gate, and held it open for her to pass in. Jennie loitered for amoment. There was a look in Carl's face she had not seen before. She hadnot meant to hurt him, she said to herself. 

"What mak' you no lak me anna more, Mees Jan? I big annough to carry dabuke, " said Carl. 

"Why, how you talk, Carl! I never said such a word, " said Jennie, leaning over the fence, her heart fluttering. 

The air was soft as a caress. Opal-tinted clouds with violet shadowssailed above the low hills. In the shade of the fence dandelions hadburst into bloom. From a bush near by a song-sparrow flung a note ofspring across the meadow. 

"Well, you nev' cam' to stable anna more, Mees Jan, " Carl said slowly, in a tender, pleading tone, his gaze on her face. 

The girl reached through the fence for the golden flower. She dared nottrust herself to look. She knew what was in her lover's eyes. 

"I get ta flower, " said Carl, vaulting the fence with one hand. 

"No; please don't trouble. Oh, Carl!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Thehorrid brier! My hand's all scratched!"

"Ah, Mees Jan, I so sorry! Let Carl see it, " he said, his voice melting. "I tak' ta brier out, " pushing back the tangled vines of last year tobring himself nearer. 

The clouds sailed on. The sparrow stood, on its tallest toes and twistedits little neck. 

"Oh, please do, Carl, it hurts so!" she said, laying her little roundhand in the big, strong, horny palm that had held the life-line thenight of the wreck. 

The song-sparrow clung to the swaying top of a mullein-stalk near by, and poured out a strong, swelling, joyous song that well-nigh split itsthroat. 

When Tom called Jennie, half an hour later, she and Carl were stilltalking across the fence. 

X. CULLY WINS BY A NECK

About this time the labor element in the village and vicinity wasstartled by an advertisement in the Rockville "Daily News, " signed bythe clerk of the Board of Village Trustees, notifying contractors thatthirty days thereafter, closing at nine P. M. Precisely, separate sealedproposals would be received at the meeting-room of the board, over thepost-office, for the hauling of twenty thousand cubic yards of finecrushed stone for use on the public highways; bidders would be obligedto give suitable bonds, etc. ; certified check for five hundred dollarsto accompany each bid as guaranty, etc. 

The news was a grateful surprise to the workingmen. The hauling andplacing of so large an amount of material as soon as spring opened meantplenty of work for many shovelers and pickers. The local politicians, of course, had known all about it for weeks; especially those who ownedproperty fronting on the streets to be improved: they had helped theappropriation through the finance committee. McGaw, too, had known aboutit from the first day of its discussion before the board. Those who wereinside the ring had decided then that he would be the best man to haulthe stone. The "steal, " they knew, could best be arranged in the tallyof the carts--the final check on the scow measurement. They knew thatMcGaw's accounts could be controlled, and the total result easily"fixed. " The stone itself had been purchased of the manufacturers theyear before, but there were not funds enough to put it on the roads atthat time. 

Here, then, was McGaw's chance. His triumph at obtaining the brewerycontract was but short-lived. Schwartz had given him the work, but atTom's price, not at his own. McGaw had accepted it, hoping for profitsthat would help him with his chattel mortgage. After he had been at workfor a month, however, he found that he ran behind. He began to see that, in spite of its boastings, the Union had really done nothing for him, except indirectly with its threatened strike. The Union, on the otherhand, insisted that it had been McGaw's business to arrange hisown terms with Schwartz. What it had done was to kill Grogan as acompetitor, and knock her non-union men out of the job. This ended itsduty. 

While they said this much to McGaw; so far as outsiders could know, theUnion claimed that they had scored a brilliant victory. The Brooklyn andNew York branches duly paraded it as another triumph over capital, and their bank accounts were accordingly increased with new dues andcollections. 

With this new contract in his possession, McGaw felt certain he couldcancel his debt with Crane and get even with the world. He began hisarrangements at once. Police-Justice Rowan, the prospective candidatefor the Assembly, who had acquired some landed property by the purchaseof expired tax titles, agreed to furnish the certified check for fivehundred dollars and to sign McGaw's bond for a consideration to besubsequently agreed upon. A brother of Rowan's, a contractor, who wasfinishing some grading at Quarantine Landing, had also consented, for aconsideration, to loan McGaw what extra teams he required. 

The size of the contract was so great, and the deposit check and bondwere so large, that McGaw concluded at once that the competition wouldbe narrowed down between himself and Rowan's brother, with Justice Rowanas backer, and perhaps one other firm from across the island, near NewBrighton. His own advantage over other bidders was in his living on thespot, with his stables and teams near at hand. 

Tom, he felt assured, was out of the way. Not only was the contract verymuch too large for her, requiring twice as many carts as she possessed, but now that the spring work was about to begin, and Babcock's sea-wallwork to be resumed, she had all the stevedoring she could do for her owncustomers, without going outside for additional business. 

Moreover, she had apparently given up the fight, for she had bid on nowork of any kind since the morning she had called upon Schwartz and toldhim, in her blunt, frank way, "Give the work to McGaw at me price. It'senough and fair. "

Tom, meanwhile, made frequent visits to New York, returning late atnight. One day she brought home a circular with cuts of several improvedkinds of hoisting-engines with automatic dumping-buckets. She showedthem to Pop under the kerosene lamp at night, explaining to him theiradvantages in handling small material like coal or broken stone. Onceshe so far relaxed her rules in regard to Jennie's lover as to send forCarl to come to the house after supper, questioning him closely aboutthe upper rigging of a new derrick she had seen. Carl's experience asa sailor was especially valuable in matters of this kind. He could notonly splice a broken "fall, " and repair the sheaves and friction-rollersin a hoisting-block, but whenever the rigging got tangled aloft he couldspring up the derrick like a cat and unreeve the rope in an instant. Shealso wrote to Babcock, asking him to stop at her house some morningon his way to the Quarantine Landing, where he was building aretaining-wall; and when he arrived, she took him out to the shed whereshe kept her heavy derricks. That more experienced contractor at oncebecame deeply interested, and made a series of sketches for her, on theback of an envelope, of an improved pintle and revolving-cap whichhe claimed would greatly improve the working of her derricks. Thesesketches she took to the village blacksmith next day, and by that nighthad an estimate of their cost. She was also seen one morning, when thenew trolley company got rid of its old stock, at a sale of car-horses, watching the prices closely, and examining the condition of the animalssold. She asked the superintendent to drop her a postal when the nextsale occurred. To her neighbors, however, and even to her own men, she said nothing. The only man in the village to whom she had spokenregarding the new work was the clerk of the board, and then onlycasually as to the exact time when the bids would be received. 

The day before the eventful night when the proposals were to be opened, Mr. Crane, in his buggy, stopped at her house on his way back from thefort, and they drove together to the ferry. When she returned she calledPop into the kitchen, shut the door, and showed him the bid duly signedand a slip of pink paper. This was a check of Crane & Co. 's to bedeposited with the bid. Then she went down to the stable and had a longconference with Cully. 

The village Board of Trustees consisted of nine men, representing a fairaverage of the intelligence and honesty of the people. The presidentwas a reputable hardware merchant, a very good citizen, who kept a storelargely patronized by local contractors. The other members were twolawyers, --young men working up in practice with the assistance of apolitical pull, --a veterinary surgeon, and five gentlemen of leisure, whose only visible means of support were derived from pool-rooms andward meetings. Every man on the board, except the surgeon and thepresident, had some particular axe to grind. One wished to be sheriff;another, county clerk. The five gentlemen of leisure wished to staywhere they were. When a pie was cut, these five held the knife. It wastheir fault, they said, when they went hungry. 

In the side of this body politic the surgeon was a thorn as sharp as anyone of his scalpels. He was a hard-headed, sober-minded Scotchman, whohad been elected to represent a group of his countrymen living in theeastern part of the village, and whose profession, the five supposed, indicated without doubt his entire willingness to see through acart-wheel, especially when the hub was silver-plated. At the firstmeeting of the board they learned their mistake, but it did not worrythem much. They had seven votes to two. 

The council-chamber of the board was a hall--large forRockville--situated over the post-office, and only two doors fromO'Leary's barroom It was the ordinary village hall, used for everythingfrom a Christmas festival to a prize-fight. In summer it answered for askating-rink. 

Once a month the board occupied it. On these occasions a sort of rostrumwas brought in for the president, besides a square table and a dozenchairs. These were placed at one end, and were partitioned off by awooden rail to form an inclosure, outside of which always stood thecitizens. On the wall hung a big eight-day clock. Over the table, about which were placed chairs, a kerosene lamp swung on a brass chain. Opposite each seat lay a square of blotting-paper and some cheap pensand paper. Down the middle of the table were three inkstands, standingin china plates. 

The board always met in the evening, as the business hours of themembers prevented their giving the day to their deliberations. 

Upon the night of the letting of the contract the first man to arrivewas McGaw. He ran up the stairs hurriedly, found no one he was lookingfor, and returned to O'Leary's, where he was joined by Justice Rowan andhis brother John, the contractor, Quigg, Crimmins, and two friends ofthe Union. During the last week the Union was outspoken in its aid ofMcGaw, and its men had quietly passed the word of "Hands off this job!"about in the neighborhood. If McGaw got the work--and there was now notthe slightest doubt of it--he would, of course, employ all Union men. If anybody else got it--well, they would attend to him later. "One thingwas certain: no 'scab' from New Brighton should come over and take it. "They'd do up anybody who tried that game. 

When McGaw, surrounded by his friends entered the board-room again, theplace was full. Outside the rail stood a solid mass of people. Insideevery seat was occupied. It was too important a meeting for any trusteeto miss. 

McGaw stood on his toes and looked over the heads. To his delight, Tomwas not in the room, and no one representing her. If he had had anylingering suspicion of her bidding, her non-appearance allayed it. Heknew now that she was out of the race. Moreover, no New Brighton peoplehad come. He whispered this information to Justice Rowan's brotherbehind his big, speckled hand covered with its red, spidery hair. Thenthe two forced their way out again, reentered the post-office, andborrowed a pen. Once there, McGaw took from his side pocket two largeenvelopes, the contents of which he spread out under the light. 

"I'm dead roight, " said McGaw. "I'll put up the price of this other bid. There ain't a man round here that dares show his head. The Union's fixed'em. "

"Will the woman bid?" asked his companion. 

"The woman! What'd she be a-doin' wid a bid loike that? She c'u'dn'thandle the half of it. I'll wait till a few minutes to nine o'clock. Yekin fix up both these bids an' hold 'em in yer pocket. Thin we kin seewhat bids is laid on the table. Ours'll go in last. If there's nothin'else we'll give'em the high one. I'll git inside the rail, so's to benear the table. "

When the two squeezed back through the throng again into the board-room, even the staircase was packed. McGaw pulled off his fur cap andstruggled past the rail, bowing to the president. The justice's brotherstood outside, within reach of McGaw's hand. McGaw glanced at the clockand winked complacently at his prospective partner--not a single bidhad been handed in. Then he thrust out his long arm, took from Rowan'sbrother the big envelope containing the higher bid, and dropped it onthe table. 

Just then there was a commotion at the door. Somebody was trying toforce a passage in. The president rose from his chair, and looked overthe crowd. McGaw started from his chair, looked anxiously at the clock, then at his partner. The body of a boy struggling like an eel worked itsway through the mass, dodged under the wooden bar, and threw an envelopeon the table. 

"Dat's Tom Grogan's bid, " he said, looking at the president. "Hully gee!but dat was a close shave! She telled me not ter dump it till one minuteo' nine, an' de bloke at de door come near sp'ilin' de game till I givehim one in de mug. "

At this instant the clock struck nine, and the president's gavel fell. 

"Time's up, " said the Scotchman. 

XI. A TWO-DOLLAR BILL

The excitement over the outcome of the bidding was intense. The barroomat O'Leary's was filled with a motley crowd of men, most of whombelonged to the Union, and all of whom had hoped to profit in some wayhad the contract fallen into the hands of the political ring who weredominating the affairs of the village. The more hot-headed and outspokenswore vengeance; not only against the horse-doctor, who had refused topermit McGaw to smuggle in the second bid, but against Crane & Co. Andeverybody else who had helped to defeat their schemes. They meant toboycott Crane before tomorrow night. He should not unload or freightanother cargo of coal until they allowed it. The village powers, theyadmitted, could not be boycotted, but they would do everything theycould to make it uncomfortable for the board if it awarded the contractto Grogan. Neither would they forget the trustees at the next election. As to that "smart Alec" of a horse-doctor, they knew how to fix him. Suppose it had struck nine and the polls had closed, what right hadhe to keep McGaw from handing in his other bid? (Both were higher thanTom's. This fact, however, McGaw had never mentioned. )

Around the tenements the interest was no less marked. Mr. Moriartyhad sent the news of Tom's success ringing through O'Leary's, and Mrs. Moriarty, waiting outside the barroom door for the pitcher her husbandhad filled for her inside, had spread its details through every hallwayin the tenement. 

"Ah, but Tom's a keener, " said that gossip. "Think of that little divilCully jammed behind the door with her bid in his hand, a-waitin' for theclock to get round to two minutes o' nine, an' that big stuff Dan McGawsittin' inside wid two bids up his sleeve! Oh, but she's cunnin', sheis! Dan's clean beat. He'll niver haul a shovel o' that stone. "

"How'll she be a-doin' a job like that?" came from a woman listeningover the banisters. 

"Be doin'?" rejoined a red-headed virago. "Wouldn't ye be doin' ityerself if ye had that big coal-dealer behind ye?"

"Oh, we hear enough. Who says they're in it?" rejoined a third listener. 

"Pete Lathers says so--the yard boss. He was a-tellin' me manyisterday. "

On consulting Justice Rowan the next morning, McGaw and his friendsfound but little comfort. The law was explicit, the justice said. The contract must be given to the lowest responsible bidder. Tom haddeposited her certified check of five hundred dollars with the bid, andthere was no informality in her proposal. He was sorry for McGaw, butif Mrs. Grogan signed the contract there was no hope for him. Thehorse-doctor's action was right. If McGaw's second bid had beenreceived, it would simply have invalidated both of his, the lawforbidding two from the same bidder. 

Rowan's opinion sustaining Tom's right was a blow he did not expect. Furthermore, the justice offered no hope for the future. The law gaveTom the award, and nothing could prevent her hauling the stone if shesigned the contract. These words rang in McGaw's ears--if she signed thecontract. On this if hung his only hope. 

Rowan was too shrewd a politician, now that McGaw's chances were gone, to advise any departure, even by a hair-line, from the strict letter ofthe law. He was, moreover, too upright as a justice to advise any memberof the defeated party to an overt act which might look like unfairnessto any bidder concerned. He had had a talk, besides, with his brotherover night, and they had accordingly determined to watch events. Shoulda way be found of rejecting on legal grounds Tom's bid, making a newadvertisement necessary, Rowan meant to ignore McGaw altogether, and have his brother bid in his own name. This determination wasstrengthened when McGaw, in a burst of confidence, told Rowan of hispresent financial straits. 

From Rowan's the complaining trio adjourned to O'Leary's barroom. Crimmins and McGaw entered first. Quigg arrived later. He closed one eyemeaningly as he entered, and O'Leary handed a brass key to him over thebar with the remark, "Stamp on the floor three toimes, Dinny, an'I'll send yez up what ye want to drink. " Then Crimmins opened a doorconcealed by a wooden screen, and the three disappeared upstairs. Crimmins reappeared within an hour, and hurried out the front door. Ina few moments he returned with Justice Rowan, who had adjourned court. Immediately after the justice's arrival there came three raps from thefloor above, and O'Leary swung back the door, and disappeared with anassortment of drinkables on a tray. 

The conference lasted until noon. Then the men separated outside thebarroom. From the expression on the face of each one as he emergedfrom the door it was evident that the meeting had not produced any verycheering or conclusive results. McGaw had that vindictive, ugly, bulldoglook about the eyes and mouth which always made his wife tremble whenhe came home. The result of the present struggle over the contract wasa matter of life or death to him. His notes, secured by the chattelmortgage on his live stock, would be due in a few days. Crane hadalready notified him that they must be paid, and he knew enough ofhis moneylender, and of the anger which he had roused, to know that noextension would be granted him. Losing this contract, he had lost hisonly hope of paying them. Had it been awarded him, he could have found adozen men who would have loaned him the money to take up these notesand so to pay Crane. He had comforted himself the night before with thethought that Justice Rowan could find some way to help him out of hisdilemma; that the board would vote as the justice advised, and then, ofcourse, Tom's bid would be invalidated. Now even this hope had failedhim. "Whoever heard of a woman's doing a job for a city?" he keptrepeating mechanically to himself. 

Tom knew of none of these conspiracies. Had she done so they would nothave caused her a moment's anxiety. Here was a fight in which no onewould suffer except the head that got in her way, and she determined tohit that with all her might the moment it rose into view. This was nobrewery contract, she argued with Pop, where five hundred men might bethrown out of employment, with all the attendant suffering to women andchildren. The village was a power nobody could boycott. Moreover, thelaw protected her in her rights under the award. She would thereforequietly wait until the day for signing the papers arrived, furnish herbond, and begin a work she could superintend herself. In the meantimeshe would continue her preparations. One thing she was resolvedupon--she would have nothing to do with the Union. Carl could lay hishand on a dozen of his countrymen who would be glad to get employmentwith her. If they were all like him she need have no fear in anyemergency. 

She bought two horses--great strong ones, --at the trolley sale, andordered two new carts from a manufacturer in Newark, to be sent to heron the first of the coming month. 

Her friends took her good fortune less calmly. Their genuinesatisfaction expressed itself in a variety of ways. Crane sent her thischaracteristic telegram:--

"Bully for you!"

Babcock came all the way down to her home to offer her hiscongratulations, and to tender her what assistance she needed in toolsor money. 

The Union, in their deliberations, insisted that it was the "raised bid"which had ruined the business with McGaw and for them. It was thereforeMcGaw's duty to spare no effort to prevent her signing the contract. They had stuck by him in times gone by; he must now stick by them. Onepoint was positively insisted upon: Union men must be employed on thework, whoever got it. 

McGaw, however, was desperate. He denounced Tom in a vocabulary peculiarto himself and full of innuendoes and oaths, but without offering anysuggestion as to how his threats against her might be carried out. 

With his usual slyness, Quigg said very little openly. He had not yetdespaired of winning Jennie's favor, and until that hope was abandonedhe could hardly make up his mind which side of the fence he was on. Crimmins was even more indifferent in regard to the outcome--his pay aswalking delegate went on, whichever side won; he could wait. 

In this emergency McGaw again sought Crimmins's assistance. He urged theimportance of his getting the contract, and he promised to make Crimminsforeman on the street, and to give him a share in the profits, if hewould help him in some way to get the work now. The first step, heargued, was the necessity of crushing Tom. Everything else would be easyafter that. Such a task, he felt, would not be altogether uncongenial toCrimmins, still smarting under Tom's contemptuous treatment of him theday he called upon her in his capacity of walking delegate. 

McGaw's tempting promise made a deep impression upon Crimmins. Hedetermined then and there to inflict some blow on Tom Grogan fromwhich she could never recover. He was equally determined on one otherthing--not to be caught. 

Early the next morning Crimmins stationed himself outside O'Leary'swhere he could get an uninterrupted view of two streets. He stoodhunched up against the jamb of O'Leary's door in the attitude of acorner loafer, with three parts of his body touching the wood--hip, shoulder, and cheek. For some time no one appeared in sight eitheruseful or inimical to his plans, until Mr. James Finnegan, who wasfilling the morning air with one of his characteristic songs, brightenedthe horizon up the street to his left. 

Cully's unexpected appearance at that moment produced so uncomfortablean effect upon Mr. Crimmins that that gentleman fell instantly backthrough the barroom door. 

The boy's quick eye caught the movement, and it also caught a momentlater, Mr. Crimmins's nose and watery eye peering out again whentheir owner had assured himself that his escape had been unseen. Cullyslackened his pace to see what new move Crimmins would make--but withoutthe slightest sign of recognition on his face--and again broke intosong. He was on his way to get the mail, and had passed McGaw's housebut a few moments before, in the hope that that worthy Knight might beeither leaning over the fence or seated on the broken-down porch. He wasanxious McGaw should hear a few improvised stanzas of a new ballad hehad composed to that delightful old negro melody, "Massa's in decold, cold ground, " in which the much-beloved Southern planter and thethoroughly hated McGaw changed places in the cemetery. 

That valiant Knight was still in bed, exhausted by the labors of theprevious evening. Young Billy, however, was about the stables, and soMr. James Finnegan took occasion to tarry long enough in the road forthe eldest son of his enemy to get the stanza by heart, in the hope thathe might retail it to his father when he appeared. 

Billy dropped his manure-fork as soon as Cully had moved on again, anddodging behind the fence, followed him toward the post-office, hoping tohit the singer with a stone. 

When the slinking body of McGaw's eldest son became visible to Mr. Crimmins, his face broke into creases so nearly imitative of a smilethat his best friend would not have known him. He slapped the patchedknees of his overalls gayly, bent over in a subdued chuckle, anddisported himself in a merry and much satisfied way. His rum-and-wateryeyes gleamed with delight, and even his chin-whisker took on a newvibration. Next he laid one finger along his nose, looked about himcautiously, and said to himself, in an undertone:--

"The very boy! It'll fix McGaw dead to rights, an' ther' won't be nosquealin' after it's done. "

Here he peered around the edge of one of O'Leary's drawn window-shades, and waited until Cully had passed the barroom, secured his mail, andstarted for home, his uninterrupted song filling the air. Then he openedthe blind very cautiously, and beckoned to Billy. 

Cully's eye caught the new movement as he turned the corner. His songceased. When Mr. Finnegan had anything very serious on his mind he neversang. 

When, some time after, Billy emerged from O'Leary's door, he had atwo-dollar bill tightly squeezed in his right hand. Part of this hespent on his way home for a box of cigarettes; the balance he investedin a mysterious-looking tin can. The can was narrow and long and had ascrew nozzle at one end. This can Cully saw him hide in a corner of hisfather's stable. 

XII. CULLY'S NIGHT OUT

Ever since the night Cully, with the news of the hair-breadth escape ofthe bid, had dashed back to Tom, waiting around the corner, he had beenthe hero of the hour. As she listened to his description of McGaw whenher bid dropped on the table--"Lookin' like he'd eat sumpin' he couldn'tswaller--see?" her face was radiant, and her sides shook with laughter. She had counted upon McGaw falling into her trap, and she was delightedover the success of her experiment. Tom had once before caught himraising a bid when he discovered that but one had been offered. 

In recognition of these valuable services Tom had given Cully twotickets for a circus which was then charming the inhabitants of NewBrighton, a mile or more away, and he and Carl were going the followingnight. Mr. Finnegan was to wear a black sack-coat, a derby hat, and awhite shirt which Jennie, in the goodness of her heart, had ironed forhim herself. She had also ironed a scarf of Carl's, and had laid it onthe window-sill of the outer kitchen, where Cully might find it as hepassed by. 

The walks home from church were now about the only chance the lovers hadof being together. Almost every day Carl was off with the teams. When hedid come home in working hours he would take his dinner with the menand boys in the outer kitchen. Jennie sometimes waited on them, but herarely spoke to her as she passed in and out, except with his eyes. 

When Cully handed him the scarf, Carl had already dressed himself in hisbest clothes, producing so marked a change in the outward appearanceof the young Swede that Cully in his admiration pronounced him "out o'sight. "

Cully's metamorphosis was even more complete than Carl's. Now that thewarm spring days were approaching, Mr. Finnegan had decided that hissuperabundant locks were unseasonable, and had therefore had his haircropped close to his scalp, showing here and there a white scar, therecord of some former scrimmage. Reaching to the edge of each ear wasa collar as stiff as pasteboard. His derby was tilted over his lefteyebrow, shading a face brimming over with fun and expectancy. Belowthis was a vermilion-colored necktie and a black coat and trousers. Hisshoes sported three coats of blacking, which only partly concealed thedust-marks of his profession. 

"Hully gee, Carl! but de circus's a-goin' ter be a dandy, " he calledout in delight, as he patted a double shuffle with his feet. "I see depicters on de fence when I come from de ferry. Dere's a chariot-race outo' sight, an' a' elephant what stands on 'is head. Hold on till I seeef de Big Gray 's got enough beddin' under him. He wuz awful stiff dismornin' when I helped him up. " Cully never went to bed without seeingthe Gray first made comfortable for the night. 

The two young fellows saw all the sights, and after filling theirpockets with peanuts and themselves with pink lemonade, took their seatsat last under the canvas roof, where they waited impatiently for theperformance to begin. 

The only departure from the ordinary routine was Cully's instantacceptance of the clown's challenge to ride the trick mule, andhis winning the wager amid the plaudits of the audience, after arough-and-tumble scramble in the sawdust, sticking so tight to his backthat a bystander remarked that the only way to get the boy off would beto "peel the mule. "

When they returned it was nearly midnight. Cully had taken off his"choker, " as he called it, and had curled it outside his hat, They hadwalked over from the show, and the tight clutch of the collar greatlyinterfered with Cully's discussion of the wonderful things he had seen. Besides, the mule had ruined it completely for a second use. 

It was a warm night for early spring, and Carl had his coat over hisarm. When they reached the outer stable fence--the one nearest thevillage--Cully's keen nose scented a peculiar odor. "Who's been abreakin' de lamp round here, Carl?" he asked, sniffing close to theground. "Holy smoke! Look at de light in de stable--sumpin' mus' bede matter wid de Big Gray, or de ole woman wouldn't be out dis timeo' night wid a lamp. What would she be a-doin' out here, anyway?" heexclaimed in a sudden anxious tone. "Dis ain't de road from de house. Hully gee! Look out for yer coat! De rails is a-soakin' wid ker'sene!"

At this moment a little flame shot out of the window over the Big Gray'shead and licked its way up the siding, followed by a column of smokewhich burst through the door in the hay-loft above the stalls of thethree horses next the bedroom of Carl and Cully. A window was hastilyopened in Tom's house and a frightened shriek broke the stillness ofthe night. It was Jennie's voice, and it had a tone of something besidesalarm. 

What the sight of the fire had paralyzed in Carl, the voice awoke. 

"No, no! I here--I safe, Jan!" he cried, clearing the fence with abound. 

Cully did not hear Jennie. He saw only the curling flames over theBig Gray's head. As he dashed down the slope he kept muttering the oldhorse's pet names, catching his breath, and calling to Carl, "Save deGray--save Ole Blowhard!"

Cully reached the stable first, smashed the padlock with a shovel, andrushed into the Gray's stall. Carl seized a horse-bucket, and begansousing the window-sills of the harness-room, where the fire washottest. 

By this time the whole house was aroused. Tom, dazed by the suddenawakening, with her ulster thrown about her shoulders, stood barefootedon the porch. Jennie was still at the window, sobbing as if her heartwould break, now that Carl was safe. Patsy had crawled out of his lowcrib by his mother's bed, and was stumbling downstairs, one foot at atime. Twice had Cully tried to drag the old horse clear of his stall, and twice had he fallen back for fresh air. Then came a smothered cryfrom inside the blinding smoke, a burst of flame lighting up the stable, and the Big Gray was pushed out, his head wrapped in Carl's coat, theSwede pressing behind, Cully coaxing him on, his arms around the horse'sneck. 

Hardly had the Big Gray cleared the stable when the roof of the smallextension fell, and a great burst of flame shot up into the night air. All hope of rescuing the other two horses was now gone. 

Tom did not stand long dazed and bewildered. In a twinkling she haddrawn on a pair of men's boots over her bare feet, buckled her ulsterover her night-dress, and rushed back upstairs to drag the blankets fromthe beds. Laden with these she sprang down the steps, called to Jennieto follow, soaked the bedding in the water-trough, and, picking up thedripping mass, carried it to Carl and Cully, who, now that the Gray wassafely tied to the kitchen porch, were on the roof of the tool-house, fighting the sparks that fell on the shingles. 

By this time the neighbors began to arrive from the tenements. Tom tookcharge of every man as soon as he got his breath, stationed two at thepump-handle, and formed a line of bucket-passers from the water-troughto Carl and Cully, who were spreading the blankets on the roof. Theheat now was terrific; Carl had to shield his face with his sleeve as hethrew the water. Cully lay flat on the shingles, holding to the steamingblankets, and directing Carl's buckets with his outstretched finger whensome greater spark lodged and gained headway. If they could keep theseburning brands under until the heat had spent itself, they could perhapssave the tool-house and the larger stable. 

All this time Patsy had stood on the porch where Tom had left himhanging over the railing wrapped in Jennie's shawl. He was not to moveuntil she came for him: she wanted him out of the way of trampling feet. Now and then she would turn anxiously, catch sight of his wizened facedazed with fright, wave her hand to him encouragingly, and work on. 

Suddenly the little fellow gave a cry of terror and slid from the porch, trailing the shawl after him, his crutch jerking over the ground, hissobs almost choking him. 

"Mammy! Cully! Stumpy's tied in the loft! Oh, somebody help me! He's inthe loft! Oh, please, please!"

In the roar of the flames nobody heard him. The noise of axes beatingdown the burning fences drowned all other sounds. At this moment Tom wasstanding on a cart, passing up the buckets to Carl. Cully had crawled tothe ridge-pole of the tool-house to watch both sides of the threatenedroof. 

The little cripple made his way slowly into the crowd nearest thesheltered side of the tool-house, pulling at the men's coats, pleadingwith them to save his goat, his Stumpy. 

On this side was a door opening into a room where the chains were kept. From it rose a short flight of six or seven steps leading to the loft. This loft had two big doors--one closed, nearest the fire, and the otherwide open, fronting the house. When the roof of the burning stable fell, the wisps of straw in the cracks of the closed door burst into flame. 

Within three feet of this blazing mass, shivering with fear, tuggingat his rope, his eyes bursting from his head, stood Stumpy, his piteousbleatings unheard in the surrounding roar. A child's head appeared abovethe floor, followed by a cry of joy as the boy flung himself upon thestraining rope. The next instant a half-frenzied goat sprang through theopen door and landed in the yard below in the midst of the startled menand women. 

Tom was on the cart when she saw this streak of light flash out of thedarkness of the loft door and disappear. Her eyes instinctively turnedto look at Patsy in his place on the porch. Then a cry of horror burstfrom the crowd, silenced instantly as a piercing shriek filled the air. 

"My God! It's me Patsy!"

Bareheaded in the open doorway of the now blazing loft, a silhouetteagainst the flame, his little white gown reaching to his knees, hiscrutch gone, the stifling smoke rolling out in great whirls above hishead, stood the cripple!

Tom hurled herself into the crowd, knocking the men out of her way, and ran towards the chain room door. At this instant a man in hisshirt-sleeves dropped from the smoking roof, sprang in front of her, andcaught her in his arms. 

"No, not you go; Carl go!" he said in a firm voice, holding her fast. 

Before she could speak he snatched a handkerchief from a woman's neck, plunged it into the water of the horse-trough, bound it about hishead, dashed up the short flight of steps, and crawled toward theterror-stricken child. There was a quick clutch, a bound back, and thesmoke rolled over them, shutting man and child from view. 

The crowd held their breath as it waited. A man with his hair singed andhis shirt on fire staggered from the side door. In his arms he carriedthe almost lifeless boy, his face covered by the handkerchief. 

A woman rushed up, caught the boy in her arms, and sank on her knees. The man reeled and fell. 

*****

When Carl regained consciousness, Jennie was bending over him, chafinghis hands and bathing his face. Patsy was on the sofa, wrapped inJennie's shawl. Pop was fanning him. Carl's wet handkerchief, the oldman said, had kept the boy from suffocating. 

The crowd had begun to disperse. The neighbors and strangers had gonetheir several ways. The tenement-house mob were on the road to theirbeds. Many friends had stopped to sympathize, and even the bitterest ofTom's enemies said they were glad it was no worse. 

When the last of them had left the yard, Tom, tired out with anxietyand hard work, threw herself down on the porch. The morning was alreadybreaking, the gray streaks of dawn brightening the east. From her seatshe could hear through the open door the soothing tones of Jennie'svoice as she talked to her lover, and the hoarse whispers of Carl inreply. He had recovered his breath again, and was but little worse forhis scorching, except in his speech. Jennie was in the kitchen makingsome coffee for the exhausted workers, and he was helping her. 

Tom realized fully all that had happened. She knew who had saved Patsy'slife. She remembered how he laid her boy in her arms, and she still sawthe deathly pallor in his face as he staggered and fell. What had he notdone for her and her household since he entered her service? If he lovedJennie, and she him, was it his fault? Why did she rebel, and refusethis man a place in her home? Then she thought of her own Tom no longerwith her, and of her fight alone and without him. What would he havethought of it? How would he have advised her to act? He had always hopedsuch great things for Jennie. Would he now be willing to give her tothis stranger? If she could only talk to her Tom about it all!

As she sat, her head in her hand, the smoking stable, the eagerwild-eyed crowd, the dead horses, faded away and became to her as adream. She heard nothing but the voice of Jennie and her lover, saw onlythe white face of her boy. A sickening sense of utter loneliness sweptover her. She rose and moved away. 

During all this time Cully was watching the dying embers, and when alldanger was over, --only the small stable with its two horses had beendestroyed, --he led the Big Gray back to the pump, washed his head, sponging his eyes and mouth, and housed him in the big stable. Then hevanished. 

Immediately on leaving the Big Gray, Cully had dodged behind the stable, run rapidly up the hill, keeping close to the fence, and had come outbehind a group of scattering spectators. There he began a series ofcomplicated manoeuvres, mostly on his toes, lifting his head over thoseof the crowd, and ending in a sudden dart forward and as sudden a halt, within a few inches of young Billy McGaw's coat-collar. 

Billy turned pale, but held his ground. He felt sure Cully would notdare attack him with so many others about. Then, again, the glow of thesmouldering cinders had a fascination for him that held him to the spot. 

Cully also seemed spellbound. The only view of the smoking ruinsthat satisfied him seemed to be the one he caught over young McGaw'sshoulder. He moved closer and closer, sniffing about cautiously, as adog would on a trail. Indeed, the closer he got to Billy's coat the moreabsorbed he seemed to be in the view beyond. 

Here an extraordinary thing happened. There was a dipping of Cully'shead between Billy's legs, a raising of both arms, grabbing Billy aroundthe waist, and in a flash the hope of the house of McGaw was swept offhis feet, Cully beneath him, and in full run toward Tom's house. Thebystanders laughed; they thought it only a boyish trick. Billy kickedand struggled, but Cully held on. When they were clear of the crowd, Cully shook him to the ground and grabbed him by the coat-collar. 

"Say, young feller, where wuz ye when de fire started?"

At this Billy broke into a howl, and one of the crowd, some distanceoff, looked up. Cully clapped his hand over his mouth. "None o' that, orI'll mash yer mug--see?" standing over him with clenched fist. 

"I warn't nowheres, " stammered Billy. "Say, take yer hands off'n me--yeain't"--

"T'ell I ain't! Ye answer me straight--see?--or I'll punch yer face in, "tightening his grasp. "What wuz ye a-doin' when de circus come out--an', anoder t'ing, what's dis cologne yer got on yer coat? Maybe next time yeclimb a fence ye'll keep from spillin' it, see? Oh, I'm onter ye. Ye setde stable afire. Dat's what's de matter. "

"I hope I may die--I wuz a-carryin' de can er ker'sene home, an' whende roof fell in I wuz up on de fence so I c'u'd see de fire, an' de canslipped"--

"What fence?" said Cully, shaking him as a terrier would a rat. 

"Why dat fence on de hill. "

That was enough for Cully. He had his man. The lie had betrayed him. Without a word he jerked the cowardly boy from the ground, and marchedhim straight into the kitchen:--

"Say, Carl, I got de fire-bug. Ye kin smell der ker'sene on his clo'es. "

XIII. MR. QUIGG DRAWS A PLAN

McGaw had watched the fire from his upper window with mingled joy andfear--joy that Tom's property was on fire, and fear that it would be putout before she would be ruined. He had been waiting all the evening forCrimmins, who had failed to arrive. Billy had not been at home sincesupper, so he could get no details as to the amount of the damage fromthat source. In this emergency he sent next morning for Quigg to make areconnaissance in the vicinity of the enemy's camp, ascertain how badlyTom had been crippled, and learn whether her loss would prevent hersigning the contract the following night. Mr. Quigg accepted themission, the more willingly because he wanted to settle certain affairsof his own. Jennie had avoided him lately, --why he could not tell, --andhe determined, before communicating to his employer the results of hisinquiries about Tom, to know exactly what his own chances were with thegirl. He could slip over to the house while Tom was in the city, andleave before she returned. 

On his way, the next day, he robbed a garden fence of a mass of lilacs, breaking off the leaves as he walked. When he reached the door of thebig stable he stopped for a moment, glanced cautiously in to see if hecould find any preparations for the new work, and then, making a mentalnote of the surroundings, followed the path to the porch. 

Pop opened the door. He knew Quigg only by sight--an unpleasant sight, he thought, as he looked into his hesitating, wavering eyes. 

"It's a bad fire ye had, Mr. Mullins, " said Quigg, seating himself inthe rocker, the blossoms half strangled in his grasp. 

"Yis, purty bad, but small loss, thank God, " said Pop quietly. 

"That lets her out of the contract, don't it?" said Quigg. "She'll beshort of horses now. "

Pop made no answer. He did not intend to give Mr. Quigg any informationthat might comfort him. 

"Were ye insured?" asked Quigg, in a cautious tone, his eyes on thelilacs. 

"Oh, yis, ivery pinny on what was burned, so Mary tells me. "

Quigg caught his breath; the rumor in the village was the other way. Whydidn't Crimmins make a clean sweep of it and burn 'em all at once, hesaid to himself. 

"I brought some flowers over for Miss Jennie, " said Quigg, regaining hiscomposure. "Is she in?"

"Yis; I'll call her. " Gentle and apparently harmless as Gran'pop was, men like Quigg somehow never looked him steadily in the eye. 

"I was tellin' Mr. Mullins I brought ye over some flowers, " said Quigg, turning to Jennie as she entered, and handing her the bunch withoutleaving his seat, as if it had been a pair of shoes. 

"You're very kind, Mr. Quigg, " said the girl, laying them on the table, and still standing. 

"I hear'd your brother Patsy was near smothered till Dutchy got him out. Was ye there?"

Jennie bit her lip and her heart quickened. Carl's sobriquet in thevillage, coming from such lips, sent the hot blood to her cheeks. 

"Yes, Mr. Nilsson saved his life, " she answered slowly, with girlishdignity, a backward rush filling her heart as she remembered Carlstaggering out of the burning stable, Patsy held close to his breast. 

"The fellers in Rockville say ye think it was set afire. I see JusticeRowan turned Billy McGaw loose. Do ye suspect anybody else? Some says atramp crawled in and upset his pipe. "

This lie was coined on the spot and issued immediately to see if itwould pass. 

"Mother says she knows who did it, and it'll all come out in time. Cullyfound the can this morning, " said Jennie, leaning against the table. 

Quigg's jaw fell and his brow knit as Jennie spoke. That was just likethe fool, he said to himself. Why didn't he get the stuff in a bottleand then break it?

But the subject was too dangerous to linger over, so he began talkingof the dance down at the Town Hall, and the meeting last Sunday afterchurch. He asked her if she would go with him to the "sociable"they were going to have at No. 4 Truck-house; and when she said shecouldn't, --that her mother didn't want her to go out, etc. , --Quigg movedhis chair closer, with the remark that the old woman was always puttingher oar in and spoiling things; the way she was going on with the Unionwould ruin her; she'd better join in with the boys, and be friendly;they'd "down her yet if she didn't. "

"I hope nothing will happen to mother, Mr. Quigg, " said Jennie, in ananxious tone, as she sank into a chair. 

Quigg misunderstood the movement, and moved his own closer. 

"There won't nothin' happen any more, Jennie, if you'll do as I say. "

It was the first time he had ever called her by her name. She could notunderstand how he dared. She wished Carl would come in. 

"Will you do it?" asked Quigg eagerly, his cunning face and mean eyesturned toward her. 

Jennie never raised her head. Her cheeks were burning. Quigg went on, --

"I've been keepin' company with ye, Jennie, all winter, and the fellersis guyin' me about it. You know I'm solid with the Union and can helpyer mother, and if ye'll let me speak to Father McCluskey next Sunday"--

The girl sprang from her chair. 

"I won't have you talk that way to me, Dennis Quigg! I never said a wordto you, and you know it. " Her mother's spirit was now flashing in hereyes. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to come here--and"--

Then she broke down. 

Another woman would have managed it differently, perhaps, --by a laugh, a smile of contempt, or a frigid refusal. This mere child, stung tothe quick by Quigg's insult, had only her tears in defense. The WalkingDelegate turned his head and looked out of the window. Then he caught uphis hat and without a word to the sobbing girl hastily left the room. 

Tom was just entering the lower gate. Quigg saw her and tried to dodgebehind the tool-house, but it was too late, so he faced her. Tom's keeneye caught the sly movement and the quickly altered expression. Somenew trickery was in the air, she knew; she detected it in every line ofQuigg's face. What was McGaw up to now? she asked herself. Was he afterCarl and the men, or getting ready to burn the other stable?

"Good-morning, Mr. Quigg. Ain't ye lost?" she asked coldly. 

"Oh no, " said Quigg, with a forced laugh. "I come over to see if I couldhelp about the fire. "

It was the first thing that came into his head; he had hoped to passwith only a nod of greeting. 

"Did ye?" replied Tom thoughtfully. She saw he had lied, but she ledhim on. "What kind of help did ye think of givin'? The insurance companywill pay the money, the two horses is buried, an' we begin diggin'post-holes for a new stable in the mornin'. Perhaps ye were thinkin' oflendin' a hand yerself. If ye did, I can put ye alongside of Carl; oneshovel might do for both of ye. "

Quigg colored and laughed uneasily. Somebody had told her, then, howCarl had threatened him with uplifted shovel when he tried to coax theSwede away. 

"No, I'm not diggin' these days; but I've got a pull wid the insuranceadjuster, and might git an extra allowance for yer. " This was cut fromwhole cloth. He had never known an adjuster in his life. 

"What's that?" asked Tom, still looking square at him, Quigg squirmingunder her glance like a worm on a pin. 

"Well, the company can't tell how much feed was in the bins, and tools, and sech like, " he said, with another laugh. 

A laugh is always a safe parry when a pair of clear gray search-lighteyes are cutting into one like a rapier. 

"An' yer idea is for me to git paid for stuff that wasn't burned up, isit?"

"Well, that's as how the adjuster says. Sometimes he sees it an'sometimes he don't--that's where the pull comes in. "

Tom put her arms akimbo, her favorite attitude when her anger began torise. 

"Oh I see! The pull is in bribin' the adjuster, as ye call him, so hecan cheat the company. "

Quigg shrugged his shoulders; that part of the transaction was a meretrifle. What were companies made for but to be cheated?

Tom stood for a minute looking him all over. 

"Dennis Quigg, " she said slowly, weighing each word, her eyes rivetedon his face, "ye're a very sharp young man; ye're so very sharp that Iwonder ye've gone so long without cuttin' yerself, But one thing I tellye, an' that is, if ye keep on the way ye're a-goin' ye'll land whereyou belong, and that's up the river in a potato-bug suit of clothes. Turn yer head this way, Quigg. Did ye niver in yer whole life thinkthere was somethin' worth the havin' in bein' honest an' clean an'square, an' holdin' yer head up like a man, instead of skulkin' roundlike a thief? What ye're up to this mornin' I don't know yet, but I wantto tell ye it 's the wrong time o' day for ye to make calls, and thenight's not much better, unless ye're particularly invited. "

Quigg smothered a curse and turned on his heel toward the village. Whenhe reached O'Leary's, Dempsey of the Executive Committee met him at thedoor. He and McGaw had spent the whole morning in devising plans to keepTom out of the board-room. 

Quigg's report was not reassuring. She would be paid her insurancemoney, he said, and would certainly be at the meeting that night. 

The three adjourned to the room over the bar. McGaw began pacing thefloor, his long arms hooked behind his back. He had passed a sleeplessnight, and every hour now added to his anxiety. His face was a dullgray yellow, and his eyes were sunken. Now and then he would tug athis collar nervously. As he walked he clutched his fingers, burying thenails in the palms, the red hair on his wrists bristling like spiders'legs. Dempsey sat at the table watching him calmly out of the corner ofhis eye. 

After a pause Quigg leaned over, his lips close to Dempsey's ear. Thenhe drew a plan on the back of an old wine-list. It marked the positionof the door in Tom's stable, and that of a path which ran across lotsand was concealed from her house by a low fence. Dempsey studied ita moment, nodding at Quigg's whispered explanations, and passed it toMcGaw, repeating Quigg's words. McGaw stopped and bent his head. Adull gleam flashed out of his smouldering eyes. The lines of his facehardened and his jaw tightened. For some minutes he stood irresolute, gazing vacantly over the budding trees through the window. Then heturned sharply, swallowed a brimming glass of raw whiskey, and left theroom. 

When the sound of his footsteps had died away, Dempsey looked at Quiggmeaningly and gave a low laugh. 

XIV. BLOSSOM-WEEK

It was "blossom-week, " and every garden and hedge flaunted its bloom inthe soft air. All about was the perfume of flowers, the odor of freshgrass, and that peculiar earthy smell of new-made garden beds but latelysprinkled. Behind the hill overlooking the harbor the sun was justsinking into the sea. Some sentinel cedars guarding its crest stoodout in clear relief against the golden light. About their tops, in widecircles, swooped a flock of crows. 

Gran'pop and Tom sat on the front porch, their chairs touching, his handon hers. She had been telling him of Quigg's visit that morning. She hadchanged her dress for a new one. The dress was of brown cloth, and hadbeen made in the village--tight where it should be loose, and loosewhere it should be tight. She had put it on, she told Pop, to make acreditable appearance before the board that night. 

Jennie was flitting in and out between the sitting-room and the garden, her hands full of blossoms, filling the china jars on the mantel: noneof them contained Quigg's contribution. Patsy was flat on his back onthe small patch of green surrounding the porch, playing circus-elephantwith Stumpy, who stood over him with leveled head. 

Up the hill, but a few rods away, Cully was grazing the Big Gray--theold horse munching tufts of fresh, sweet grass sprinkled withdandelions. Cully walked beside him. Now and then he lifted one of hislegs, examining the hoof critically for possible tender places. 

There was nothing the matter with the Gray; the old horse was stillsound: but it satisfied Cully to be assured, and it satisfied, too, acertain yearning tenderness in his heart toward his old chum. Once ina while he would pat the Gray's neck, smoothing his ragged, half wornmane, addressing him all the while in words of endearment expressed ina slang positively profane and utterly without meaning except to thesetwo. 

Suddenly Jennie's cheek flushed as she came out on the porch. Carl wascoming up the path. The young Swede was bareheaded, the short blondcurls glistening in the light; his throat was bare too, so that onecould see the big muscles in his neck. Jennie always liked him with histhroat bare; it reminded her of a hero she had once seen in a play, whostormed a fort and rescued all the starving women. 

"Da brown horse seek; batta come to stabble an' see him, " Carl said, going direct to the porch, where he stood in front of Tom, resting onehand on his hip, his eyes never wandering from her face. He knew whereJennie was, but he never looked. 

"What's the matter with him?" asked Tom, her thoughts far away at themoment. 

"I don' know; he no eat da oats en da box. "

"Will he drink?" said Tom, awakening to the importance of theinformation. 

"Yas; 'mos' two buckets. "

"It's fever he's got, " she said, turning to Pop. "I thought thatyisterday noon when I sees him a-workin'. All right, Carl; I'll be downbefore I go to the board meetin'. And see here, Carl; ye'd better gitready to go wid me. I'll start in a couple o' hours. Will it suit ye, Gran'pop, if Carl goes with me?"--patting her father's shoulder. "If yekeep on a-worritin' I'll hev to hire a cop to follow me round. "

Carl lingered for a moment on the steps. Perhaps Tom had some furtherorders; perhaps, too, Jennie would come out again. Involuntarily his eyewandered toward the open door, and then he turned to go. Jennie's heartsprang up in her throat. She had seen from behind the curtains theshade of disappointment that crossed her lover's face. She could sufferherself, but she could not see Carl unhappy. In an instant she wasbeside her mother. Anything to keep Carl--she did not care what. 

"Oh, Carl, will you bring the ladder so I can reach the long branches?"she said, her quick wit helping her with a subterfuge. 

Carl turned and glanced at Tom. He felt the look in her face and couldread her thoughts. 

If Tom had heard Jennie she never moved. This affair must end in someway, she said to herself. Why had she not sent him away long before? Howcould she do it now when he had risked his life to save Patsy?

Then she answered firmly, still without turning her head, "No, Jennie;there won't be time. Carl must get ready to"--

Pop laid his hand on hers. 

"There's plinty o' toime, Mary. Ye'll git the ladder behint the kitchendoor, Carl. I hed it ther' mesilf this mornin'. "

Carl found the ladder, steadied it against the tree, and guided Jennie'slittle feet till they reached the topmost round, holding on to herskirts so that she should not fall. Above their heads the branchestwined and interlaced, shedding their sweetest blossoms over their happyupturned faces. The old man's eyes lightened as he watched them for somemoments; then, turning to Tom, his voice full of tenderness, he said:--

"Carl's a foine lad, Mary; ye'll do no better for Jinnie. "

Tom did not answer; her eyes were on the cedars where the crows wereflying, black silhouettes against the yellow sky. 

"Did I shtop ye an' break yer heart whin ye wint off wid yer own Tom?What wuz he but an honest lad thet loved ye, an' he wid not a pinny inhis pocket but the fare that brought ye both to the new counthry. "

Tom's eyes filled. She could not see the cedars now. All the hill wasswimming in light. 

"Oi hev watched Carl sence he fust come, Mary. It's a good mithersome'er's as has lost a foine b'y. W'u'dn't ye be lonely yersilf ef ye'dcome here wid nobody to touch yer hand?"

Tom shivered and covered her face. Who was more lonely than she--she whohad hungered for the same companionship that she was denying Jennie;she who had longed for somebody to stand between her and the world, some hand to touch, some arm to lean on; she who must play the manalways--the man and the mother too!

Pop went on, stroking her strong, firm hand with his stiff, shriveledfingers. He never looked at her; his face was now too turned toward thedying sun. 

"Do ye remimber the day ye left me in the ould counthry, Mary, wid yerown Tom; an' how I walked wid ye to the turnin' of the road? It wuzspring thin, an' the hedges all white wid blossoms. Look at thim twoover there, Mary, wid their arms full o' flowers. Don't be breakin'their hearts, child. "

Tom turned and slipped her arm around the old man's neck, her headsinking on his shoulder. The tears were under her eyelids; her heart wasbursting; only her pride sustained her. Then in a half-whispered voice, like a child telling its troubles, she said:--

"Ye don't know--ye don't know, Gran'pop. The dear God knows it's not onaccount of meself. It's Tom I'm thinkin' of night an' day--me Tom, me Tom. She's his child as well as mine. If he could only help me! Hewanted such great things for Jennie. It ud be easier if he hadn't savedPatsy. Don't speak to me ag'in about it, father dear; it hurts me. "

The old man rose from his chair and walked slowly into the house. Allhis talks with his daughter ended in this way. It was always what Tomwould have thought. Why should a poor crazy cripple like her husband, shut up in an asylum, make trouble for Jennie?

When the light faded and the trees grew indistinct in the gloom, Tomstill sat where Pop had left her. Soon the shadows fell in the littlevalley, and the hill beyond the cedars lost itself in the deepening hazethat now crept in from the tranquil sea. 

Carl's voice calling to Cully to take in the Gray roused her toconsciousness. She pushed back her chair, stood for an instant watchingCarl romping with Patsy, and then walked slowly toward the stable. 

By the time she reached the water-trough her old manner had returned. Her step became once more elastic and firm; her strong will asserteditself. She had work to do, and at once. In two hours the board wouldmeet. She needed all her energies and resources. The lovers must wait;she could not decide any question for them now. 

As she passed the stable window a man in a fur cap raised his headcautiously above the low fence and shrank back into the shadow. 

Tom threw open the door and felt along the sill for the lantern andmatches. They were not in their accustomed place. The man crouched, rannoiselessly toward the rear entrance, and crept in behind a stall. Tomlaid her hand on the haunches of the horse and began rolling back hisblanket. The man drew himself up slowly until his shoulders were on alevel with the planking. Tom moved a step and turned her face. The manraised his arm, whirled a hammer high in the air, and brought it downupon her head. 

When Cully led the Big Gray into his stall, a moment later, he steppedinto a pool of blood. 

XV. IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

At the appointed hour the Board of Trustees met in the hall over thepost-office. The usual loungers filled the room--members of the Union, and others who had counted on a piece of the highway pie when it wascut. Dempsey, Crimmins, and Quigg sat outside the rail, against thewall. They were waiting for McGaw, who had not been seen since theafternoon. 

The president was in his accustomed place. The five gentlemen ofleisure, the veterinary surgeon, and the other trustees occupied theirseveral chairs. The roll had been called, and every man had answered tohis name. The occasion being one of much importance, a full board wasrequired. 

As the minute-hand neared the hour of nine Dempsey became uneasy. Hestarted every time a new-comer mounted the stairs. Where was McGaw?No one had seen him since he swallowed the tumblerful of whiskey anddisappeared from O'Leary's, a few hours before. 

The president rapped for order, and announced that the board was readyto sign the contract with Thomas Grogan for the hauling and delivery ofthe broken stone required for public highways. 

There was no response. 

"Is Mrs. Grogan here?" asked the president, looking over the room andwaiting for a reply. 

"Is any one here who represents her?" he repeated, after a pause, risingin his seat as he spoke. 

No one answered. The only sound heard in the room was that of the heavystep of a man mounting the stairs. 

"Is there any one here who can speak for Mrs. Thomas Grogan?" called thepresident again, in a louder voice. 

"I can, " said the man with the heavy tread, who proved to be the foremanat the brewery. "She won't live till mornin'; one of her horses kickedher and broke her skull, so McGaw told me. "

"Broke her skull! My God! man, how do you know?" demanded the president, his voice trembling with excitement. 

Every man's face was now turned toward the new-comer; a momentary thrillof horror ran through the assemblage. 

"I heard it at the druggist's. One of her boys was over for medicine. Dr. Mason sewed up her head. He was drivin' by, on his way toQuarantine, when it happened. "

"What Dr. Mason?" asked a trustee, eager for details. 

"The man what used to be at Quarantine seven years ago. He's app'intedag'in. "

Dempsey caught up his hat and hurriedly left the room, followed by Quiggand Crimmins. McGaw, he said to himself, as he ran downstairs, mustbe blind drunk, not to come to the meeting, "----him! What if he giveseverything away!" he added aloud. 

"This news is awful, " said the president. "I am very sorry for Mrs. Grogan and her children--she was a fine woman. It is a serious matter, too, for the village. The highway work ought to commence at once; theroads need it. We may now have to advertise again. That would delayeverything for a month. "

"Well, there's other bids, " said another trustee, --one of the gentlemenof leisure, --ignoring the president's sympathy, and hopeful now ofa possible slice on his own account. "What's the matter with McGaw'sproposal? There's not much difference in the price. Perhaps he wouldcome down to the Grogan figure. Is Mr. McGaw here, or anybody who canspeak for him?"

Justice Rowan sat against the wall. The overzealous trustee had exactlyexpressed his own wishes and anxieties. He wanted McGaw's chancessettled at once. If they failed, there was Rowan's own brother who mightcome in for the work, the justice sharing of course in the profits. 

"In the absence of me client, " said Rowan, looking about the room, anddrawing in his breath with an important air, "I suppose I can ripresinthim. I think, however, that if your honorable boord will go on with theother business before you, Mr. McGaw will be on hand in half an hourhimself. In the meantime I will hunt him up. "

"I move, " said the Scotch surgeon, in a voice that showed how deeplyhe had been affected, "that the whole matter be laid on the table fora week, until we know for certain whether poor Mrs. Grogan is killedor not. I can hardly credit it. It is very seldom that a horse kicks awoman. "

Nobody having seconded this motion, the chair did not put it. The factwas that every man was afraid to move. The majority of the trustees, whofavored McGaw, were in the dark as to what effect Tom's death wouldhave upon the bids. The law might require readvertising and hence a newcompetition, and perhaps somebody much worse for them than Tom mightturn up and take the work--somebody living outside of the village. Thennone of them would get a finger in the pie. Worse than all, the cuttingof it might have to be referred to the corporation counsel, JudgeBowker. What his opinion would be was past finding out. He was beyondthe reach of "pulls, " and followed the law to the letter. 

The minority--a minority of two, the president and the veterinarysurgeon--began to distrust the spirit of McGaw's adherents. It looked tothe president as if a "deal" were in the air. 

The Scotchman, practical, sober-minded, sensible man as he was, hadold-fashioned ideas of honesty and fair play. He had liked Tom fromthe first time he saw her, --he had looked after her stablesprofessionally, --and he did not intend to see her, dead or alive, thrownout, without making a fight for her. 

"I move, " said he, "that the president appoint a committee of this boardto jump into the nearest wagon, drive to Mrs. Grogan's, and find outwhether she is still alive. If she's dead, that settles it; but if she'salive, I will protest against anything being done about this matter forten days. It won't take twenty minutes to find out; meantime we can takeup the unfinished business of the last meeting. "

One of the gentlemen of leisure seconded this motion; it was carriedunanimously, and this gentleman of leisure was himself appointed courierand left the room in a hurry. He had hardly reached the street when hewas back again, followed closely by Dempsey, Quigg, Crimmins, JusticeRowan, and, last of all, fumbling with his fur cap, deathly pale, andentirely sober--Dan McGaw. 

"There's no use of my going, " said the courier trustee, taking his seat. "Grogan won't live an hour, if she ain't dead now. She had a sick horsethat wanted looking after, and she went into the stable without a light, and he let drive, and broke her skull. She's got a gash the length ofyour hand--wasn't that it, Mr. McGaw?"

McGaw nodded his head. 

"Yes; that's about it, " he said. The voice seemed to come from hisstomach, it was so hollow. 

"Did you see her, Mr. McGaw?" asked the Scotchman in a positive tone. 

"How c'u'd I be a-seein' her whin I been in New Yorruk 'mos' all day? D'ye think I'm runnin' roun' to ivery stable in the place? I wuz a-comin''cross lots whin I heared it. They says the horse had blin' staggers. "

"How do you know, then?" asked the Scotchman suspiciously. "Who told youthe horse kicked her?"

"Well, I dunno; I think it wuz some un"--

Dempsey looked at him and knit his brow. McGaw stopped. 

"Don't you know enough of a horse to know he couldn't kick with blindstaggers?" insisted the Scotchman. 

McGaw did not answer. 

"Does anybody know any of the facts connected with this dreadfulaccident to Mrs. Grogan?" asked the president. "Have you heard anything, Mr. Quigg?"

Mr. Quigg had heard absolutely nothing, and had not seen Mrs. Groganfor months. Mr. Crimmins was equally ignorant, and so were several othergentlemen. Here a voice came from the back of the room. 

"I met Dr. Mason, sir, an hour ago, after he had attended Tom Grogan. He was on his way to Quarantine in his buggy. He said he left herinsensible after dressin' the wound. He thought she might not live tillmornin'. "

"May I ask your name, sir?" asked the president in a courteous tone. 

"Peter Lathers. I am yardmaster at the U. S. Lighthouse Depot. "

The title, and the calm way in which Lathers spoke, convinced thepresident and the room. Everybody realized that Tom's life hung by athread. The Scotchman still had a lingering doubt. He also wished toclear up the blind-staggers theory. 

"Did he say how she was hurt?" asked the Scotchman. 

"Yes. He said he was a-drivin' by when they picked her up, and he wasdead sure that somebody had hid in the stable and knocked her on thehead with a club. "

McGaw steadied himself with his hand and grasped the seat of his chair. The sweat was rolling from his face. He seemed afraid to look up, lestsome other eye might catch his own and read his thoughts. If he had onlyseen Lathers come in!

Lathers's announcement, coupled with the Scotchman's well-knownknowledge of equine diseases discrediting the blind-staggers theory, produced a profound sensation. Heads were put together, and low whisperswere heard. Dempsey, Quigg, and Crimmins did not move a muscle. 

The Scotchman again broke the silence. 

"There seems to be no question, gentlemen, that the poor woman is badlyhurt; but she is still alive, and while she breathes we have no rightto take this work from her. It's not decent to serve a woman so; andI think, too, it's illegal. I again move that the whole matter be laidupon the table. "

This motion was not put, nobody seconding it. 

Then Justice Rowan rose. The speech of the justice was seasoned with abrogue as delicate in flavor as the garlic in a Spanish salad. 

"Mr. Prisident and Gintlemen of the Honorable Boord of VillageTrustees, " said the justice, throwing back his coat. The elaborateopening compelled attention at once. Such courtesies were too seldomheard in their deliberations, thought the members, as they lay back intheir chairs to listen. 

"No wan can be moore pained than meself that so estimable a womanas Mrs. Grogan--a woman who fills so honorably her every station inlife--should at this moment be stricken down either by the hand of anassassin or the hoof of a horse. Such acts in a law-abidin' communitylike Rockville bring with them the deepest detistation and theprofoundest sympathy. No wan, I am sure, is more touched by hermisforchune than me worthy friend Mr. Daniel McGaw, who by this directinterposition of Providence is foorced into the position of beingcompelled to assert his rights befoore your honorable body, with fullassurance that there is no tribunal in the land to which he could applywhich would lend a more willing ear. "

It was this sort of thing that made Rowan popular. 

"But, gintlemen, "--here the justice curry-combed his front hair withhis fingers--greasy, jet-black hair, worn long, as befitted hisposition, --"this is not a question of sympathy, but a question of law. Your honorable boord advertoised some time since for certain suppliesneeded for the growth and development of this most important of thevillages of Staten Island. In this call it was most positively andclearly stated that the contract was to be awarded to the lowestrisponsible bidder who gave the proper bonds. Two risponses were madeto this call, wan by Mrs. Grogan, acting on behalf of her husband, --wellknown to be a hopeless cripple in wan of the many charitableinstitootions of our noble State, --and the other by our distinguishedfellow-townsman, Mr. Daniel McGaw, whom I have the honor to ripresint. With that strict sinse of justice which has always characterized thedecisions of this honorable boord, the contract was promptly awardedto Thomas Grogan, he being the lowest bidder; and my client, DanielMcGaw, --honest Daniel McGaw I should call him if his presence did notdeter me, --stood wan side in obadience to the will of the people andthe laws of the State, and accepted his defate with that calmness whichalways distinguishes the hard-workin' sons of toil, who are not onlythe bone and sinoo of our land, but its honor and proide. But, gintlemen, "--running his hand lightly through his hair, and then layingit in the bulging lapels of his now half-buttoned coat, --"there wereother conditions accompanying these proposals; to wit, that within tindays from said openin' the successful bidder should appear befoorethis honorable body, and then and there duly affix his signatoor to theaforesaid contracts, already prepared by the attorney of this boord, myhonored associate, Judge Bowker. Now, gintlemen, I ask you to lookat the clock, whose calm face, like a rising moon, presides over thedeliberations of this boord, and note the passin' hour; and then Iask you to cast your eyes over this vast assemblage and see if ThomasGrogan, or any wan ripresinting him or her, or who in any way isconnected with him or her, is within the confines of this noble hall, toexecute the mandates of this distinguished boord. Can it be believedfor an instant that if Mrs. Grogan, acting for her partly dismimberedhusband, Mr. Thomas Grogan, had intinded to sign this contract, shewould not have dispatched on the wings of the wind some Mercury, fleetof foot, to infarm this boord of her desire for postponement? I demandin the interests of justice that the contract be awarded to the lowestrisponsible bidder who is ready to sign the contract with proper bonds, whether that bidder is Grogan, McGaw, Jones, Robinson, or Smith. "

There was a burst of applause and great stamping of feet; the tideof sympathy had changed. Rowan had perhaps won a few more votes. Thispleased him evidently more than his hope of cutting the contractpie. McGaw began to regain some of his color and lose some of hisnervousness. Rowan's speech had quieted him. 

The president gravely rapped for order. It was wonderful how muchbackbone and dignity and self-respect the justice's very flatteringremarks had injected into the nine trustees--no, eight, for theScotchman fully understood and despised Rowan's oratorical powers. 

The Scotchman was on his feet in an instant. 

"I have listened, " he said, "to the talk that Justice Rowan has givenus. It's very fine and tonguey, but it smothers up the facts. You can'trob this woman"--

"Question! question!" came from half a dozen throats. 

"What's your pleasure, gentlemen?" asked the president, pounding withhis gavel. 

"I move, " said the courier member, "that the contract be awarded to Mr. Daniel McGaw as the lowest bidder, provided he can sign the contractto-night with proper bonds. "

Four members seconded it. 

"Is Mr. McGaw's bondsman present?" asked the president, rising. 

Justice Rowan rose, and bowed with the air of a foreign banker acceptinga government loan. 

"I have that honor, Mr. Prisident. I am willing to back Mr. McGaw tothe extent of me humble possissions, which are ample, I trust, forthe purposes of this contract"--looking around with an air of entireconfidence. 

"Gentlemen, are you ready for the question?" asked the president. 

At this instant there was a slight commotion at the end of the hall. Half a dozen men nearest the door left their seats and crowded to thetop of the staircase. Then came a voice outside: "Fall back; don'tblock up the door! Get back there!" The excitement was so great that theproceedings of the board were stopped. 

The throng parted, The men near the table stood still. An ominoussilence suddenly prevailed. Daniel McGaw twisted his head, turnedghastly white, and would have fallen from his chair but for Dempsey. 

Advancing through the door with slow, measured tread, her long cloakreaching to her feet; erect, calm, fearless; her face like chalk; herlips compressed, stifling the agony of every step; her eyes deep sunken, black-rimmed, burning like coals; her brow bound with a blood-stainedhandkerchief that barely hid the bandages beneath, came Tom. 

The deathly hush was unbroken. The men fell back with white, scaredfaces to let her pass. McGaw cowered in his chair. Dempsey's eyesglistened, a half-sigh of relief escaping him. Crimmins had not moved;the apparition stunned him. 

On she came, her eyes fixed on the president, till she reached thetable. Then she steadied herself for a moment, took a roll of papersfrom her dress, and sank into a chair. 

No one spoke. The crowd pressed closer. Those outside the railnoiselessly mounted the benches and chairs, craning their necks. Everyeye was fixed upon her. 

Slowly and carefully she unrolled the contract, spreading it out beforeher, picked up a pen from the table, and without a word wrote her name. Then she rose firmly, and walked steadily to the door. 

Just then a man entered within the rail and took her seat. It was herbondsman, Mr. Crane. 

XVI. A FRIEND IN NEED

Two days after Tom had signed the highway contract, Babcock sat in hisprivate office in New York, opening his mail. In the outside roomwere half a dozen employees--engineers and others--awaiting theirinstructions. 

The fine spring weather had come and work had been started in everydirection, including the second section of the sea-wall at the depot, where the divers were preparing the bottom for the layers of concrete. Tom's carts had hauled the stone. 

Tucked into the pile of letters heaped before him, Babcock's quick eyecaught the corner of a telegram. It read as follows:--

 Mother hurt. Wants you immediately. Please come. 

 JENNIE GROGAN. 

For an instant he sat motionless, gazing at the yellow slip. Then hesprang to his feet. Thrusting his unopened correspondence into hispocket, he gave a few hurried instructions to his men and started forthe ferry. Once on the boat, he began pacing the deck. "Tom hurt!" herepeated to himself. "Tom hurt? How--when--what could have hurt her?"He had seen her at the sea-wall, only three days before, rosy-cheeked, magnificent in health and strength. What had happened? At the St. Georgelanding he jumped into a hack, hurrying the cabman. 

Jennie was watching for him at the garden gate. She said her mother wasin the sitting-room, and Gran'pop was with her. As they walked up thepath she recounted rapidly the events of the past two days. 

Tom was on the lounge by the window, under the flowering plants, when Babcock entered. She was apparently asleep. Across her forehead, covering the temples, two narrow bandages bound up her wound. AtBabcock's step she opened her eyes, her bruised, discolored facebreaking into a smile. Then, noting his evident anxiety, she threw theshawl from her shoulders and sat up. 

"No, don't look so. It's nothin'; I'll be all right in a day or two. I've been hurted before, but not so bad as this. I wouldn't havetroubled ye, but Mr. Crane has gone West. It was kind and friendly o' yeto come; I knew ye would. "

Babcock nodded to Pop, and sank into a chair. The shock of herappearance had completely unnerved him. 

"Jennie has told me about it, " he said in a tender, sympathetic tone. "Who was mean enough to serve you in this way, Tom?" He called her Tomnow, as the others did. 

"Well, I won't say now. It may have been the horse, but I hardly thinkit, for I saw a face. All I remember clear is a-layin' me hand on themare's back. When I come to I was flat on the lounge. They had fixed meup, and Dr. Mason had gone off. Only the thick hood saved me. Carl andCully searched the place, but nothin' could be found. Cully says heheard somebody a-runnin' on the other side of the fence, but ye can'ttell. Nobody keeps their heads in times like that. "

"Have you been in bed ever since?" Babcock asked. 

"In bed! God rest ye! I was down to the board meetin' two hours after, wid Mr. Crane, and signed the contract. Jennie and all of 'em wouldn'thave it, and cried and went on, but I braved 'em all. I knew I had to goif I died for it. Mr. Crane had his buggy, so I didn't have to walk. Thestairs was the worst. Once inside, I was all right. I only had to sign, an' come out again; it didn't take a minute. Mr. Crane stayed and fixedthe bonds wid the trustees, an' I come home wid Carl and Jennie. " Then, turning to her father, she said, "Gran'pop, will ye and Jennie go intothe kitchen for a while? I've some private business wid Mr. Babcock. "

When they were gone her whole manner changed. She buried her face for amoment in the pillow, covering her cheek with her hands; then, turningto Babcock, she said:--

"Now, me friend, will ye lock the door?"

For some minutes she looked out of the window, through the curtains andnasturtiums, then, in a low, broken voice, she said:

"I'm in great trouble. Will ye help me?"

"Help you, Tom? You know I will, and with anything I've got. What isit!" he said earnestly, regaining his chair and drawing it closer. 

"Has no one iver told ye about me Tom?" she asked, looking at him fromunder her eyebrows. 

"No; except that he was hurt or--or--out of his mind, maybe, and youcouldn't bring him home. "

"An' ye have heared nothin' more?"

"No, " said Babcock, wondering at her anxious manner. 

"Ye know that since he went away I've done the work meself, standin' outas he would have done in the cold an' wet an' workin' for the childrenwid nobody to help me but these two hands. "

Babcock nodded. He knew how true it was. 

"Ye've wondered many a time, maybe, that I niver brought him home an'had him round wid me other poor cripple, Patsy--them two togither. " Hervoice fell almost to a whisper. 

"Or ye thought, maybe, it was mean and cruel in me that I kep' him aburden on the State, when I was able to care for him meself. Well, ye'llthink so no more. "

Babcock began to see now why he had been sent for. His heart went out toher all the more. 

"Tom, is your husband dead?" he asked, with a quiver in his voice. 

She never took her eyes from his face. Few people were ever tenderwith her; they never seemed to think she needed it. She read this man'ssincerity and sympathy in his eyes; then she answered slowly:--

"He is, Mr. Babcock. "

"When did he die! Was it last night, Tom?"

"Listen to me fust, an' then I'll tell ye. Ye must know that when meTom was hurted, seven years ago, we had a small place, an' only threehorses, and them warn't paid for; an' we had the haulin' at the brewery, an' that was about all we did have. When Tom had been sick a month--itwas the time the bucket fell an' broke his rib--the new contract at thebrewery was let for the year, an' Schwartz give it to us, a-thinkin'that Tom'd be round ag'in, an' niver carin', so's his work was done, an'I doin' it, me bein' big an' strong, as I always was. Me Tom got worsean' worse, an' I saw him a-failin', an' one day Dr. Mason stopped an'said if I brought him to Bellevue Hospital, where he had just beenappointed, he'd fix up his rib so he could breathe easier, and maybehe'd get well. Well, I hung on an' on, thinkin' he'd get better, --poorfellow, he didn't want to go, --but one night, about dark, I took theBig Gray an' put him to the cart, an' bedded it down wid straw; an' Iwrapped me Tom up in two blankits an' carried him downstairs in me ownarms, an' driv slow to the ferry. "

She hesitated for a moment, leaned her bruised head on her hand, andthen went on:--

"When I got to Bellevue, over by the river, it was near ten o'clock atnight. Nobody stopped me or iver looked into me bundle of straw whereme poor boy lay; an' I rung the bell, an' they came out, an' got him upinto the ward, an' laid him on the bed. Dr. Mason was on night duty, an'come an' looked at him, an' said I must come over the next day; an' Ikissed me poor Tom an' left him tucked in, promisin' to be back early inthe mornin'. I had got only as far as the gate on the street whin one ofthe men came a-runnin' after me. I thought he had fainted, and ranback as fast as I could, but when I got me arms under him again--he wasdead. "

"And all this seven years ago, Tom?" said Babcock in astonishment, sinking back in his chair. 

Tom bowed her head. The tears were trickling through her fingers andfalling on the coarse shawl. 

"Yis; seven years ago this June. " She paused for a moment, as if thescene was passing before her in every detail, and then went on: "Whin Icome home I niver said a word to anybody but Jennie. I've niver toldPop yit. Nobody else would have cared; we was strangers here. The nextmornin' I took Jennie, --she was a child then, --an' we wint over to thecity, an' I got what money I had, an' the doctors helped, an' we buriedhim; nobody but just us two, Jennie an' me, walkin' behint the wagon, his poor body in the box. Whin I come home I wanted to die, but I saidnothin'. I was afraid Schwartz would take the work away if he knew itwas only a woman who was a-doin' it wid no man round, an so I kep' on;an' whin the neighbors asked about him bein' in a 'sylum an' out of hishead, an' a cripple an' all that, God forgive me, I was afraid to tell, and I kept still and let it go at that; an' whin they asked me how hewas I'd say he was better, or more comfortable, or easier; an' so hewas, thank God! bein' in heaven. "

She roused herself wearily, and wiped her eyes with the back of herhand. Babcock sat motionless. 

"Since that I've kep' the promise to me Tom that I made on meknees beside his bed the night I lifted him in me arms to take himdownstairs--that I 'd keep his name clean, and do by it as he would hevdone himself, an' bring up the children, an' hold the roof over theirheads. An' now they say I dar'n't be called by Tom's name, nor sign itneither, an' they're a-goin' to take me contract away for puttin' hisname at the bottom of it, just as I've put it on ivery other bit o'paper I've touched ink to these seven years since he left me. "

"Why, Tom, this is nonsense. Who says so?" said Babcock earnestly, gladof any change of feeling to break the current of her thoughts. 

"Dan McGaw an' Rowan says so. "

"What's McGaw got to do with it? He's out of the fight. "

"Oh, ye don't know some men, Mr. Babcock. McGaw'll never stop fightin'while I live. Maybe I oughtn't tell ye, --I've niver told anybody, --butwhin my Tom lay sick upstairs, McGaw come in one night, an' his ownwife half dead with a blow he had given her, an' sat down in this veryroom, --it was our kitchen then, --an' he says, ' If your man don't gitwell, ye'll be broke. ' An' I says to him, 'Dan McGaw, if I live twelvemonths, Tom Grogan'll be a richer man than he is now. ' I was a-sittin'right here when I said it, wid a rag carpet on this floor, an' hardlyany furniture in the room. He said more things, an' tried to make loveto me, and I let drive and threw him out of me kitchen. Then all metrouble wid him began; he's done everything to beat me since, and nowmaybe, after all, he'll down me. It all come up yisterday through McGawmeetin' Dr. Mason an' askin' him about me Tom; an' whin the doctor toldhim Tom was dead seven years, McGaw runs to Justice Rowan wid the story, an' now they say I can't sign a dead man's name. Judge Bowker has thepapers, an' it's all to be settled to-morrow. "

"But they can't take your contract away, " said Babcock indignantly, "nomatter what Rowan says. "

"Oh, it's not that--it's not that. That's not what hurts me. I can gitanother contract. That's not what breaks me heart. But if they take meTom's NAME from me, an' say I can't be Tom Grogan any more; it's likerobbin' me of my life. When I work on the docks I allus brace myselfan' say' I'm doing just what Tom did many a day for me. ' When I sign hisname to me checks an' papers, --the name I've loved an' that I've workedfor, the name I've kep' clean for him--me Tom that loved me, an' neverlied or was mean--me Tom that I promised, an'--an'"--

All the woman in her overcame her now. Sinking to her knees, she threwher arms and head on the lounge, and burst into tears. 

Babcock rested his head on his hand, and looked on in silence. Here wassomething, it seemed to him, too sacred for him to touch even with hissympathy. 

"Tom, " he said, when she grew more quiet, his whole heart going out toher, "what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know that ye can do anything, " she said in a quivering voice, lifting her head, her eyes still wet. "Perhaps nobody can. But I thoughtmaybe ye'd go wid me to Judge Bowker in the mornin'. Rowan an' all of'em 'll be there, an' I'm no match for these lawyers. Perhaps ye'd speakto the judge for me. "

Babcock held out his hand. 

"I knew ye would, an' I thank ye, " she said, drying her eyes. "Nowunlock the door, an' let 'em in. They worry so. Gran'pop hasn't slep'a night since I was hurted, an' Jennie goes round cryin' all the time, sayin' they 'll be a-killin' me next. "

Then, rising to her feet, she called out in a cheery voice, as Babcockopened the door, "Come in, Jennie; come in Gran'pop. It's all over, child. Mr. Babcock's a-going wid me in the mornin'. Niver fear; we'lldown 'em all yit. "

XVII. A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT

When Judge Bowker entered his office adjoining the village bank, JusticeRowan had already arrived. So had McGaw, Dempsey, Crimmins, Quigg, thepresident of the board, and one or two of the trustees. The judge hadsent for McGaw and the president, and they had notified the others. 

McGaw sat next to Dempsey. His extreme nervousness of a few daysago--starting almost at the sound of his own footstep--had given placeto a certain air of bravado, now that everybody in the village believedthe horse had kicked Tom. 

Babcock and Tom were by the window, she listless and weary, he alertand watchful for the slightest point in her favor. She had on her browndress, washed clean of the blood-stains, and the silk hood, which betterconcealed the bruises. All her old fire and energy were gone. It was notfrom the shock of her wound, --her splendid constitution was fast healingthat, --but from this deeper hurt, this last thrust of McGaw's whichseemed to have broken her indomitable spirit. 

Babcock, although he did not betray his misgivings, was greatly worriedover the outcome of McGaw's latest scheme. He wished in his secretheart that Tom had signed her own name to the contract. He was afraidso punctilious a man as the judge might decide against her. He had neverseen him; he only knew that no other judge in his district had so greata reputation for technical rulings. 

When the judge entered--a small, gray-haired, keen-eyed man in ablack suit, with gold spectacles, spotless linen, and clean-shavenface--Babcock's fears were confirmed. This man, he felt, would belegally exact, no matter who suffered by his decision. 

Rowan opened the case, the judge listening attentively, looking over hisglasses. Rowan recounted the details of the advertisement, the openingof the bids, the award of the contract, the signing of "Thomas Grogan"in the presence of the full board, and the discovery by his "honoredclient that no such man existed, had not existed for years, and did notnow exist. "

"Dead, your Honor"--throwing out his chest impressively, his voiceswelling--"dead in his grave these siven years, this Mr. Thomas Grogan;and yet this woman has the bald and impudent effrontery to"--

"That will do, Mr. Rowan. "

Police justices--justices like Rowan--did not count much with JudgeBowker, and then he never permitted any one to abuse a woman in hispresence. 

"The point you make is that Mrs. Grogan had no right to sign her name toa contract made out in the name of her dead husband. "

"I do, your Honor, " said Rowan, resuming his seat. 

"Why did you sign it?" asked Judge Bowker, turning to Tom. 

She looked at Babcock. He nodded assent, and then she answered:--

"I allus signed it so since he left me. "

There was a pleading, tender pathos in her words that startled Babcock. He could hardly believe the voice to be Tom's. 

The judge looked at her with a quick, penetrating glance, whichbroadened into an expression of kindly interest when he read her entirehonesty in her face. Then he turned to the president of the board. 

"When you awarded this contract, whom did you expect to do the work, Mrs. Grogan or her husband. '"

"Mrs. Grogan, of course. She has done her own work for years, " answeredthe president. 

The judge tapped the arm of his chair with his pencil. The taps could beheard all over the room. Most men kept quiet in Bowker's presence, even men like Rowan. For some moments his Honor bent over the desk andcarefully examined the signed contract spread out before him; then hepushed it back, and glanced about the room. 

"Is Mr. Crane, the bondsman, present?"

"Mr. Crane has gone West, sir, " said Babcock, rising. "I represent Mrs. Grogan in this matter. "

"Did Mr. Crane sign this bond knowing that Mrs. Grogan would haul thestone?"

"He did; and I can add that all her checks, receipts, and correspondenceare signed in the same way, and have been for years. She is knowneverywhere as Tom Grogan. She has never had any other name--in herbusiness. "

"Who else objects to this award?" said the judge calmly. 

Rowan sprang to his feet. The judge looked at him. 

"Please sit down, Justice Rowan. I said 'who else. ' I have heard you. "He knew Rowan. 

Dempsey jumped from his chair. 

"I'm opposed to it, yer Honor, an' so is all me fri'nds here. This womanhas been invited into the Union, and treats us as if we was dogs. She"--

"Are you a bidder for this work?" asked the judge. 

"No, sir; but the Union has rights, and"--

"Please take your seat; only bidders can be heard now. "

"But who's to stand up for the rights of the laborin' man if"--

"You can, if you choose; but not here. This is a question of evidence. "

"Who's Bowker anyhow?" said Dempsey behind his hand to Quigg. "Ridin''round in his carriage and chokin' off free speech?" After some momentsof thought the judge turned to the president of the board, and said in ameasured, deliberate voice:--

"This signature, in my opinion, is a proper one. No fraud is charged, and under the testimony none was intended. The law gives Mrs. Groganthe right to use any title she chooses in conducting her business--herhusband's name, or any other. The contract must stand as it is. "

Here the judge arose and entered his private office, shutting the doorbehind him. 

Tom had listened with eyes dilating, every nerve in her body at highesttension. Her contempt for Rowan in his abuse of her; her anger againstDempsey at his insults; her gratitude to Babcock as he stood up todefend her; her fears for the outcome, as she listened to the calm, judicial voice of the judge, --each producing a different sensation ofheat and cold, --were all forgotten in the wild rush of joy that surgedthrough her as the judge's words fell upon her ear. She shed no tears, as other women might have done. Every fibre of her being seemed to beturned to steel. She was herself again--she, Tom Grogan!--firm on herown feet, with her big arms ready to obey her, and her head as clear asa bell, master of herself, master of her rights, master of everythingabout her. And, above all, master of the dear name of her Tom thatnothing could take from her now--not even the law!

With this tightening of her will power there quivered through her asense of her own wrongs--the wrongs she had endured for years, thewrongs that had so nearly wrecked her life. 

Then, forgetting the office, the still solemnity of the place--evenBabcock--she walked straight up to McGaw, blocking his exit to thestreet door. 

"Dan McGaw, there's a word I've got for ye before ye l'ave this place, an' I'm a-going to say it to ye now before ivery man in this room. "

McGaw shrank back in alarm. 

"You an' I have known each other since the time I nursed yer wife whenyer boy Jack was born, an' helped her through when she was near dyin'from a kick ye give her. Ye began yer dirty work on me one night whenme Tom lay sick, an' I threw ye out o' me kitchen; an' since that timeye've"--

"Here! I ain't a-goin' ter stand here an' listen ter yer. Git out o' meway, or I'll"--

Tom stepped closer, her eyes flashing, every word ringing clear. 

"Stand still, an' hear what I've got to say to ye, or I'll go into thatroom and make a statement to the judge that'll put ye where yewon't move for years. There was enough light for me to see. Look atthis"--drawing back her hood, and showing the bandaged scar. 

McGaw seemed to shrivel up; the crowd stood still in amazement. 

"I thought ye would. Now, I'll go on. Since that night in me kitchen ye've tried to ruin me in ivery other way ye could. Ye've set these deadbeats Crimmins and Quigg on to me to coax away me men; ye've stirred upthe Union; ye burned me stable"--

"Ye lie! It's a tramp did it, " snarled McGaw. 

"Ye better keep still till I get through, Dan McGaw. I've got the canthat helt the ker'sene, an' I know where yer boy Billy bought it, an'who set him up to it, " she added, looking straight at Crimmins. "Hemight'a' been a dacent boy but for him. " Crimmins turned pale and bithis lip. 

The situation became intense. Even the judge, who had come out of hisprivate room at the attack, listened eagerly. 

"Ye've been a sneak an' a coward to serve a woman so who never harmedye. Now I give ye fair warnin', an' I want two or three other men inthis room to listen; if this don't stop, ye'll all be behint bars whereye belong. --I mean you, too, Mr. Dempsey. As for you, Dan McGaw, if itwarn't for yer wife Kate, who's a dacent woman, ye'd go to-day. Now, onething more, an' I'll let ye go. I've bought yer chattel mortgage of Mr. Crane that's past due, an' I can do wid it as I pl'ase. You'll sendto me in the mornin' two of yer horses to take the places of those yeburned up, an' if they're not in my stable by siven o'clock I'll beround yer way 'bout nine with the sheriff. "

Once outside in the sunlight, she became herself again. The outbursthad cleared her soul like a thunder-clap. She felt as free as air. Thesecret that had weighed her down for years was off her mind. Whatshe had whispered to her own heart she could now proclaim from thehousetops. Even the law protected her. 

Babcock walked beside her, silent and grave. She seemed to him like someJoan with flaming sword. 

When they reached the road that led to her own house, her eyes fellupon Jennie and Carl. They had walked down behind them, and were waitingunder the trees. 

"There's one thing more ye can do for me, my friend, " she said, turningto Babcock. "All the old things Tom an' I did togither I can do bymeself; but it's new things like Carl an' Jennie that trouble me--thenew things I can't ask him about. Do ye see them two yonder! Am I freeto do for 'em as I would? No; ye needn't answer. I see it in yer face. Come here, child; I want ye. Give me yer hand. "

For an instant she stood looking into their faces, her eyes brimming. Then she took Jennie's hand, slipped it into Carl's, and laying her big, strong palm over the two, said slowly:

"Now go home, both o' ye, to the house that'll shelter ye, pl'ase God, as long as ye live. "

*****

Before the highway-work was finished, McGaw was dead and Billy andCrimmins in Sing Sing. The label on the empty can, Quigg's volunteeredtestimony, and Judge Bowker's charge, convinced the jury. Quigg hadquarreled with Crimmins and the committee, and took that way of gettingeven. 

When Tom heard the news, she left her teams standing in the road andwent straight to McGaw's house. His widow sat on a broken chair in analmost empty room. 

"Don't cry, Katy, " said Tom, bending over her. "I'm sorry for Billy. Seems to me, ye've had a lot o' trouble since Dan was drowned. It wasnot all Billy's fault. It was Crimmins that put him up to it. But ye'veone thing left, and that's yer boy Jack. Let me take him--I'll make aman of him. "

*****

Jack is still with her. Tom says he is the best man in her gang.