er happened, don't you, father? You know Grant is
not a fool--nor mad?"

"Oh, I suppose so, Laura--but he approximates both at times," piped the
father raspingly.

"Father--listen here--listen to me, dear. I know Grant--I've known him
always. This is what is the matter with Grant. I don't think one act in
all his life was based on a selfish or an ulterior motive. He has spent
his life lavishly for others. He has given himself without let or
hindrance for his ideals--he gave up power and personal glory--all for
this cause of labor. He has been maimed and broken for it--has failed
for it; and now you see what clouds are gathering above him--and I must
go to him. I must be with him."

"But for what good, Laura?" asked her father impatiently.

"For my own soul's good and glory, dear," she answered solemnly. "To
live my faith; to stand by the people with whom I have cast my lot; to
share the great joy that I know is in Grant's heart--the joy of serving;
to triumph in his failure if it comes to that!--to be happy--with him,
as I know him no matter what chance and circumstance surround him.
Oh--father--"

She looked up with brimming eyes and clasped his hand tightly while she
cried: "I must go--Oh, bless me as I go--" And the father kissed her
forehead.

An hour later, while Grant Adams, in his office, was giving directions
for the afternoon parade a white-clad figure brightened the doorway.

"Well, Grant, I have come to serve," she smiled, "under you."

He turned and rose and took her hands in his one flinty hand and said
quietly: "We need you--we need you badly right this minute."

She answered, "Very well, then--I'm ready!"

"Well, go out and work--talk peace, don't let them fight, hold the line
calm and we'll win," he said.

She started away and he cried after her, "Come to Belgian Hall
to-night--we may need you there. The strike committee and the leader of
each seven will be there. It will be a war council."

Out to the works went Laura Van Dorn. Mounted policemen or mounted
deputies or mounted militiamen stood at every gate. As the
strike-breakers came out they were surrounded by the officers of the
law, who marched away with the strangers. The strikers followed, calling
upon their fellow workers, stretching out pleading arms to them and at
corners where the strikers were gathered in any considerable numbers,
the guards rode into the crowd waving their whips. At a corner near the
Park a woman stepped from