ored down to the
gate, and there waited the approach of what seemed to be a procession of
some sort or other.

At the gate Dr. Templeton, returning from his pastor visitations, found
them standing.

"Come here, Papa!" cried Patricia. "Let us wait here. There is something
coming up the street."

"But what is it?" asked Dr. Templeton. "Does anybody know?"

"I guess it is a strikers' parade, sir. I heard that they were to
organise a march-out to-night. It is rather a ridiculous thing."

Through the deepening twilight they could see at the head of the column
and immediately before the band, a double platoon of young girls dressed
in white, under the command of an officer distinguished from the others
by her red sash, all marching with a beautiful precision to the tap
of the drum. As the head of the column drew opposite, Patricia touched
Vic's arm.

"Vic!" she cried. "Look! Look at that girl! It is Annette!"

"My aunt! So it is!" cried Vic. "Jove! What a picture she makes! What a
swing!"

Behind that swinging company of girls came the band, marching to the
tapping of the drum only. Then after a space came a figure, pathetic,
arresting, moving--a woman, obviously a workman's wife, of middle age,
grey, workworn, and carrying a babe of a few months in her arms, marched
alone. Plainly dressed, her grey head bare, she walked proudly erect
but with evident signs of weariness. The appearance of that lone, weary,
grey-haired woman and her helpless babe struck hard upon the heart with
its poignant appeal, choking men's throats and bringing hot tears to
women's eyes. Following that lonely figure came one who was apparently
the officer in command of the column. As he came opposite the gate,
his eye fell upon the group there. Swiftly he turned about, and, like a
trumpet, his voice rang out in command:

"Ba-t-t-a-a-lion, halt!! R-r-r-i-g-h-t turn!"

Immediately the whole column came to a halt and faced toward the side of
the street where stood the group within the shadow of the gate.

"I am going to get Annette," said Patricia to her father, and she darted
off, returning almost immediately with the leader of the girls' squad.

"What does this mean, Annette? What are you doing? It is a great lark!"
cried Patricia.

"Well, it is not exactly a lark," answered Annette, with a slight laugh.
"You see, we girls want to help out the boys. We are strikers, too, you
know. They asked us to take part in the parade, and here we are. B