and. "Now," said the prophets. Surely, if they did not strike when
there was employment, they could not when there was none.

It began in the shoe-shop. The next Monday morning the men made their
demand in no gentle terms, and were refused. There was a large contract
at stake, however, and by Tuesday night the matter was talked over in a
better spirit. The employers were willing to accede to one-half of the
demand, otherwise the order must be sent to another firm. Thursday
morning they went to work with a rather ill grace, yet some elation.
Then the hatters took their turn. The hands at Hope Mills were served
with a notice that the mutual protectionists in all the towns around
were to be out on the following Monday; and stirring appeals were made
to those who had any feeling of honor in the cause.

It was exceedingly hard on the men. They gathered around in little knots
on Sunday, wild with conflicting emotions. Their faith in Hope Mills and
co-operation was undergoing a severe strain. The fear of secret frauds,
of underhand dealing, of distrust in Winston and Darcy, had been dinned
in their ears by outside influence, some of it very potent. Not one
appeal had been made by the managers: Cameron and the others decided it
was best.

Jack went over to the mill on Monday morning. The gatekeeper and the
bell-boy were there. The engineer came in with a quiet, solemn
"Good-morning." The Brotherhood of Engineers had warned him too, and he
was a little troubled; but he had cast in his lot with the rest, and it
might be as well to wait and see what they did. The main shaft was
turned.

Jack from his office-window watched the streets filling up with men and
women, many beside the regular operatives. They came to a halt.

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" the bell rang out cheerily on the summer morning
air. "Come to work, come to work! The birds build homes, and rear their
young; the bee skims the fragrant air in search of flowers; the rivers
run to the sea, turning wheels, driving ships: nothing in the great
economy of nature is idle," sang out the clang of the bell.

The hands glanced at one another in doubt and dismay, and there was an
awful silence for a few seconds.

Some one elbowed his way through the crowd. He had come from the bedside
of his sick child, who might be dying even now,--a small, wiry,
middle-aged man, with a set, resolute face. He glanced about, then he
sprang up on a pile of packing-boxes. It was Jesse Gilman.