out went up.

"A strike! A strike!" yelled a hundred voices.

"Would you strike and see your families starve?" cried Nat Jackson. "I
have a mother to support. I care more for her than for the field and
everything on it. I shall not strike."

"You white-livered young idiot!" roared some one in the crowd.

"I tell you, men," went on Carmachel, "there is nothing to be gained by
striking. Get together some of your best speakers from each factory and
let them ask an interview of Mr. Coddington--now--this afternoon--before
anything more is done about the new factory."

"He'll not grant it!"

"Hasn't he always been fair with you?"

"Yes!"

"Aye!"

"So he has!"

"He has that!"

Grudgingly the workmen admitted it, even the most rabid of them.

Drawn by an irresistible impulse Peter elbowed his way into the midst of
the workmen.

"I am sure Mr. Coddington will listen to you," he ejaculated earnestly.
"Choose your men and let them go to him. Give him a chance to see your
side of it. He will be reasonable--I know he will."

"It's the Little Giant," said one man to another.

"Put it to vote," urged Peter. "Come! How many are for going to Mr.
Coddington? You fellows do not want a strike. Think what it would mean!"

"The lad's right. Up with the hands!"

It was a crisis.

Peter trembled from head to foot.

A few hands were raised, then slowly a few more; more came. All over the
field they shot into the air.

"And now choose your representatives," called Peter quickly, dreading
lest the tide of sentiment should turn.

"Carmachel! He doesn't seem to fear losing his job," piped a voice. "Put
on Carmachel!"

"And Jackson; he said he would not strike anyway," called somebody else.

"Bryant is a good fellow! Put Bryant on."

"Put on some men from the other factories, too," demanded a Pole
aggressively.

A committee of twelve were chosen.

"Add the Little Giant as the thirteenth--just for luck!" laughed a
knee-staker.

There was a cry of approval.

"The Little Giant! The Little Giant!" rose in a chorus.

"No! No, indeed! I couldn't!" Peter protested violently.

"Of course you could!" contradicted Carmachel. "Come, come! You mustn't
be so modest, Strong. You are with us for keeping the field, aren't
you?"

"Yes. But there are reasons that you don't understand why I
couldn't----"

"Pooh! What reasons?"

"I can't tell you. But I couldn't possibly go to Mr. Coddington with the
men--I couldn't, reall