The Breton Mills

'Jopyrighted by the Author, anfl published by arrangement witli Mm. CHAPTER I. A PICTURE AND ITS CRITIC3. , "Let's take a squint in." It is on the sidewalk in front of the fine resideuce of Ezekiel Breton. Surely everybody within the length and breadth of a hundred miles must have heard the name of the wealthy mili owner, whose energy and ehrewdness have passed into a byword. The house is brilliantly lighted, and the windows wide open as if to invite the attention and admiration of the humble passere by. Three men. laborers, if coarse, soiled clothes and dull, heavy tread mean anything, have come down the street and now stand leaning against the tall iron fence. "Why shouldn't we see the show, boys?" continued the long whiskered man, with an unpleasant lauíjh. "It's our work that's payin' for it, I guess. How long do you think it wouldtaU' you, Jack, to scrimp enough together to buy one of them candlesticks? Hnllo - there's the boss1 himself," and he thrust his hand inside the iron pickots to point out a portly gentleman whose bald head was fringed with silver whito hair. Mr. Breton had paused a moment before the wiudow. "Como, let's go on," urged the man with a clay pipe, edging olï a little intotho shadovr; "he'll see us and be mad." "Whafs the odds if he doesí" and the speaker frowned at the rich man from botween the pickets. "He can't get help no cheaper than us, can he? That's one good pint of bein' way down, you cau't tumblo a mite. But just look at him, boys; big watch chain and gold bowed specs a-danglin'. See the thumbs of his whito hands stuck in his vest pocket and him as smilin' as if he never did noboiiy a wrong in his whole blessed Ufe. There now is somethin' purtier, though." The old gentleman moved unsuspectingly aside and reyealed a young girl, large and fair, v.ith great calm blue eyes. Sho woro a palé blue silk, with delicate ruffles at her half bared elbow and at her neck, kissing the warm white skin. "Well, I suppose my girl Jane might look just as good in such clothes as them. But she wouldn't no more speak to Jane than as if the girl wasn't human. And as for a pooi' man, he inight pour his life out i'or her purty face and she wouldn't give him a look. A few dollars and a suit of clothes makes the odds." "What's she laughin' atT'saidthe tall man, taking his clay pipe from his mouth. "Cau't you see? There's the boy standin' jist bcyond her. Breton's yoiuig hopeful. Nothin' leis than the biggest kind of game for her, I calíate." "I never seon him bef ore," remarked the third man, rovereatially. "I s'pose ho'U bo our boss some day." "He's been to college polishin" up bis wits. Taint goin' to be so easy as it was to grind the poor. The old man now didn't need no extra schoolin'." "I aint bó sore now," said the tall man, blowing out a wreath of smoke. "The boy looks more kind about his mouth and eyes. See hun look at the gírl. I cal'late she don't think he's very bail." "Wait till he gets his heel on tho necks oL a thousand of us, as his father has. Wait till he flnds we aint got a penny ahead, nor a spot of Gods earth for our öwn, but lie at his mercy. See how kind he'll be then. 'Taint the nature of the beast, Bill Rogers." Bill Rogers took a long look at the slight f orm of the mili owner's son - at his fresh, young face and small, pleasant black eycs. "I wish the lad had a chance. I believo I'd trust him, Graves. Hadn't we better be startin'; The meetin' will begin purty soon." "Whatfs the buvry? Ciuran is always late hiniself. Well, come along, then." Just now Mr. Breton is leaning lightly On the mantel near one of his pet heirlooms- the siver eandelabra. Kear him stands a tall, elegantly formed gentleman, ouly a trifle past middla age, whose clear c-hiseled mouth bas the merest hint of a smile on it, as iL he had just said something bright. It was a smile he always wore when he had spoken- a smile witli an edge to it. But Mr. Ellingsworth had to make that smile do good service, for he never laughed. The funniest jokes had been told him - the most ridiculous situations described to liim - but he only srniled. "Whnt am I going to do with the boy V Mr. Breton's voice was alwaj'S loud and sharp a.s il' making itself heard abovo the roaring of his milis. "Why, marry him to your the first thing. Èh! PhiUp?' Would she be angry, proud and reservod as she was: Philip shot a f urtive glance at Bortha as she sat at the piano idly turning over the music sheets. But the girl might not have heard, not a shade of expression changed in her face. It might as weü have been the sources of the Nile they wero diacussing so far as she was concerned, apparently, but as she pressed her white hand on the music sheet to keep it open, her lover1 eyes soitcm-d at the flash of tbeir letrothal diamond. "I sliould think your hands must bo pretty full already," suggested Mr. Ellingsworth in the low smooth tone, as much a part 5f his gtyle as the ent of his black coat, "with a thousand unrcasonable beingsdown in your iactories. And by the way, I hcar that Labor is claiming its rignts, with a big L As if anybody had any rights, exoept by ftCcidenfc." "Steptical as ever, Ellingsworth," said the mili owncr witli all a practical nian's distaste for a thing so destructive to industry. "But (■, I gtt alqilg easily enough with my help if qiacksand tiamps would only keep out of the way; though there is soine kind of on agitation meeting to-night; somebody is raising the misehief among them. I wish I knew who it was," and Mr. Breton lookod fmpatiently arouuá the room as if he hoped to seize the incendiary in sonie coruer of nis om partor. He met Bertha's blue eyes wide open in a new interest. Sho had half turnea from the piano, but her sleeve was cauglit back on the edgo of the keyboard, reveaUng the fair (uil contour of her arm, which glistencd whiter than the ivory beneath it. "A mystexy, how oharining!" she smiled; "let mo picture him: tall, with clustering auburn hair on nis godliko head" - - "Pish - excuse me, my dear - but more likely the f ellow is some low, drunken jailbird you wo'ild be afj-aid to pass on tho Street. Somo day they will flnd out there is no good niaking working people uneasy. They want the work, and they ought to be glad the work wants tliem. Their interests are identical with ours. " "No doubt,'1 assented Mr. Ellingsworth, in his suavest tones, that seemed too smooth for sátiro, "but perhaps tbey think you get too large a share of the dividends." "You like to round your sentences pretty well," retorted Mr. Breton, flushing slightly, "but do you mean to say you, of all men, sympathize with this labor reform nonsense?" Ellingsworfch smiled and shrugged lijs shapely shoulders just visibly. "You ought to know me, Mr. Breton. I sympathize with - nobody. It is too much trouble. And as for the sufferiugs of the lower classes - they may be very pitiabla - but I don'frsee how the nether millstone can help itself, or for that matter be helped either." Then ho glanced curiously toward the piano. "Why, where areour young people?" After considerable dumb show Bertha had become aware that Philip had some intelligence of a startling nature to communleate. tío it happened that, at the moment Mr. Ellingsworth inquired for them, tho young people stood just inside tho door of the cozy littlo room called "tho study." "I am göing to have some high fun tonight, Bertha ; I am Loing to that labor meeting. I want to see the business from the insido, when the public show isn't going on." The girl lookcd at him in astonishment. "They won't let you in." "That's just where the fun is coming. It is going to be better than all the college deviltry, and - wait here two minutes and I'U show you." Book shel vesran up to the ceiling on the sida of the room, opposite the door. A long offlco tablo stretched across the center almost to the high window looking toward the street. But all the business associations did not oppress this elegant young woman, who threw hei'self in luxurious abandon into the solitary easy chair. She apparently did not find love very disturbing. No doubt she only smiled at its poems, fervid with a passion known to hei" calm, even life. Her young lover had ofton been f rigUteiicd at the firm outline of the cold red Ups, with never a thought of kisses on them, and at the spritelike unconsciousness of her blue eyes that looked curiously at him when love softened his voice and glorified his face. She was not listening for his returning footstops, uot one line of eagerness or of suspense was on the dispassionate face, while she plaj-ed with the flashing jewel her lover had placed long ago ou her finger. The door opens behind her, but she does not turn her head- no doubt he will come in front of her if he wishes to be - there he is, a slight figure, looking very odd and disagreeable in the soiled and ill fitting clothes he has jut on, with' no collar or cuffs, but a blue iannel shirt open a button ortwo at hisneck. His faded pantaloons were roughly thruBt into the tops of au immense pair of cowhide boots which apparently had nover been so much as shadowed by a box of blacking. His black eyes eparkle as he holds out to her a bandlesa feit hat which shows the marks of a long and varied history. Bertha looked at him in dull distaste. What a poor mouth he had, and how unpleasantly his face wrinkled when he smiled. "I wouldu"t ever do this again,1' she said coldly. A hurt look came into his eyes ; he dropped his hat on the floor and was turning dejectedly away. The fun was all gone, and her words and her look he knew would come back to him a thousand times when he should be alone. But she put out 'aer hand to him like the scepter of a queen. "Never mind - you will generally wear better clothes thau these, won'tyouf' "But I wouldn't lik? to have that niake any difference," said Philip, looking wistfuUy at the cool white hand he held. "Supposing I was pooi" She drew her hand away impatiently. If he had loiown how he looked then, he woudd have chosen another time for his lover's foolishness. "Don't get poor. I like pretty things and gracef ui manners and elegant surroundings ; that is the way I am made. I should suffocatefif I didn't have them." "But," urged Philip uneasily, "you couldn't love anybody but me, could you?" She smiled charmingly. "You must not let me !" Then sfoa rose as if to dismiss the subject. "Are you all .roady?" In a minuto inore he was, after he had fostened on his yellow whiskers and bronsed over his face and neck and whito wrists. "Your own father wouldn't knowyou!"she laughed, as they opened the outer door. Philip went down two steps. ''You shake the foundation with those boots." He was quite recovering his spirits, now that she was so kind with him. "And you will teil me all about it, and whether the leader has auburn hair as I saidi How long before you will come back - au hour? Well, I'll be hero as lonic as that." He pulled his great hat "well dovni over his eyes and started, but at tbe gate he turned to look back. Bertha stood iu tho doorway, tal! and queenly, the red gold of her hair gl9tening in the light like a halo about her head. He could not catoh the look in her face, but as she stood she raised her hand to her lips and threw him a kiss with a gesture of exquisite grace. In a moment more ha heard her at the piano, and he tried to keep clumsy step to thes' i froni "La Traviata" that cama (1. . ter him. CHAPTER II. MASQUERADINO. Philip pushed open the door of Market hall and looked in. About sixty men were i scafctored over the benches in all conceivable positions. A munber held pipes between tbeir teoth, filling the room with tho rank smoke of the strongest and blackest tobáceo. Here and there two men appropriated a whole bench, oue at each end, for a sofa. But more of them were settled down on the small of thoir backs, with their knees braced against the benoh in front. He saw in a moment that, thoueh he was worse dressed than any of them, yet there was a diiïerenee in kind also, Thero was more meaning in one wrinkle on their well woi'n coats than in all his ingenious paraphernalia. He feit ashamed in the presence of these pathetie realities, and turned to go back, but his great boots creaked incautiously. Only two or three looked around; a poor man more or less does not count for inuch with the poor or with the rich. Two or three grave, woru faces, two or three pain of tired, hopeless eyes rebuked him unconsciously for the idle freak that brought him tliere. What right had he there, who carne out of tu watch Ciie unhealthy symptoms of the disease called povcrty.' What nn insult to their bitter need3 were his möck trinuniugs, in which he carne liko me masquerading among a graveyard f uil )f ghosts! "l'old on, friend, ye needn't go," and a long whiskered man beekoned to him. He found lus way to a seat with a hang dog i ir, the best piece of acting he had done yet. The same stolid look was on tliis man's face, bleached to a settled paleness from the confinement of years in the walls of the milis, and there was a bitterness about the mouth and nostrils as if he had not kissed the ï'od that smote him. "No cali to be shamed, young man. I suppose them's the best clothes you got. Your heart may be just as white as if you had a better livin'." The poor don't talk except when they have something to say. So Philip said nothing, to act in charocter. "I suppose you think you're pretty hard up," resumed the big whiskered man, who was no other than Graves, the man who had peered into his eompanion's ])arlor window only au hour ago. And he glanced signiflcantly at Philip's boots and soiled pantaloons. "Jest 'ook at that little chap over yonder, all bowed up. He don't look very hearty, does he? Up to his house there's a wife all faded and brokeii, and two little cripples for children, a whinin' and a screechin' from mornüi' to-night. He would chop his head off to help thern, but ho is slow and weak, and don't git but ninety cents a day, and he can't save them babies a single ache, nor ease their poor misshapen little bones one twinge. It takes every penny to keep the wretched breath iu 'em all, and him and his wife, once as purty a gal as ever you seen, has only to stand and see 'em cry. They used to cry themselves, too, but that was long ago." Graves looked about him. "Do you see that lean faced man with the hurt arm, at the end of the seat ye're on? Well, he's got the smartest little boy in town. All he vvanted was schoolin', and his father and mother sa ved and scrimped so he could have it. You oughter seen how proud they was to see their lad struttin' off to school while they kept a thitikin' of him all day long in the mili. And they was never too tired to hear :he boy teil them over the hard names ie had learned. And then they wóuld 11 the neighbors, who sometimes got jealous, hov.' they was savin' every cent and how their boy was goin' to college like oíd Breton's son. But there was no cali for the neighbors to be jealous; the woman went to work one day when she was sick, and caught her death o' cold and it took a mint of money to nuss and then bury her. Then the man feil and got hurt and the little aoy cried enough to break your heart when ;hey took his books away." The face of the ong whiskered man softened an instant, but he turned his head away. "He needn't a cried," he said gruffly; "I don't know as he was any better than the rest of us." Now there eame a little commotion cm the platform. A man who sat head and shoulders above ;he group on the platform rose to his f uil leight lilre a young giant and came forward. He looked down into the upturned faces for i moment iir silence, and Philip feit his steel blue eye.s piercing him like a sword. "Men," he began. Then he stopped speakmg a moment. "Yes, men you are, in spite of all the degradation the ricli and the powerful can put upon you. The time is coming when the principies of equality vaunted on ;he pages of so many lyiug coustitutions, and jreathed on the lips of so many false tongued demagogues, shall be fully realized. The time is coming when the work shall uot be on one side and the reward on She other. We shall not always wear rags as the livery of our masters. Ñot always shall the poor rise early and toil late, wear their skin till it be shri veled like parchmeut, aud their bodies till ;hey be ready to drop into grave for weariness, only to pluck the fruit of God's bountif ui earth for the lips of the idle and the jroud taste. The gracious favors of ten ;housand smiling hills and valleys are gathered only for the few, and those whose arrojance and hardness of heart have least deserved them. And they teil us it must be so; ihat the few who are more capable and prudent should thus ' be rewarded for their superiority. They point to six thousand years' oppression of the poor, and say what has been must be. Yes,, for six thousand years the groans of the poor have gone up, and as long the few, for whom alone all the beauty and bounty of the great earth seemed to blossom, have answered with curses and contempt." Now his magnificent chest seemed to expand; his voice lost its pathetic and rang out like a trumpet. "But th& knowledge they have given to make us better slaves is bursting onr fetters bef ore their f rightened eyes. The astouished people see at last the black and moustrous injustice of their subjection. They have numbei-ed their kosts, as countless as the sands of the sea. It is the strength of their has girdled earth with unceasing streams of wealth. It is the iugenuity of their brains bas harnessed each of the uutamed forces of nature to service. The infinite number of their cunning fingers has woven the fabrics to clothe Christendom, and their red blood poured out on a thousand battlefislds has bought vaii triumphs for the of their masters." His lips snddenly cui-led in scorn. "And how long will your patiënt,, calloused hands build palaces for the great, while you live in hovels? Ought not sucji strong arms as yours De aoie to wm enougu w infice ouo modest home happy, if you were aot robbed? The world is full of cheap comforts; the harveots are boundless, the storehouses bursting, but eacb worthless pauper has as good a share as you who make the wealth. You cause the increase ; your hands till the teenúng lands and work the tireless looms. Your shoulders bow beneath the producís of your toil - like muzzled oxen beating out the grain f or unpitying masters. Why wiU you endure it? They tell you it ia ouly right; their books teach gentle submission; their oüytongued speakers soothe you with proverbs and consoling maxims, but all the wise uien of centuries and all the hundred thousand printing presses of today, heaping up books in every language like a new tower of Babel, cannot turn a lie into the truth." Philip sat leaning forward, his oyes fixed on the speaker in a strango excitement. Curran's words carne into his soul lito molteu fire, cousuming tho chaff of years and leaving a path of light behind. Ho was full of wonder that he had been blind so long, mixed with joy at his no%v piarciug visión. He had forgotten how he had come there, and feit a sudden desii-e to take the hand of cvery poor man in the room and pledge him his help. But no one seemed touched as he was. The same hard look was on each face, the maak the poor assume to cover their distress, but the oyes of them all were centered on theif orator. "But you are poor, and with your wives and children are hungry f o r even the crust of bread your masters cast you. Though you were a million to one, you ire held to their service, no matter how unjit, by tho daily recurring f acts of hunger a nd cold Look ! the fields are white with their harvests, the shops filled with their clotlis, but the law maHers and their pitüess pólice are in their pay, and you must 'bow your ueek ñecles and tharik vour masters IiuiudIj for the trifle their greol vuuchsafes you." Philip's heai-tthuinpedpainfully withinhis fadod coat. Could the speaker give no hope to the wretched listeners hanging on his lipsi Must they eringe forever at the ioot of power? Their thin, worn hands made the bread, but it wassnatc'ied trom their mouths and doled out in scanty allowance as the price of hopeless slavery. He had never seen it Defore. "Who is he?" he whispered to his companion. The man did not even turn his face from the speaker. "It is Curran. He belongs to the Labor league." This, then, was the agitator his father spoke of. And Bertha had pictured hiin rightly, with his clustering auburn hair. For a moment he stood silent, while under the divine light in his eyes the souls of each one ripened for his next words. "Alone you can do nothing, but nnited we can shake the world, aud all over the land the oppressed are banding together. We are weak now, but when the long stifled voice of your wrongs finds utterance, the answering moans of millions will rouse your souls to the resistless martyr pitch. Then it will seem sweet to die - yes, to starve - with your dear ones about you inspired with the same enthusiasm. When the generation is bom which dare starve but has forgotten how to yield, and even for the bread of life will not sell its children into eterna! slavery, then will the gold of the rich rot worthless in their whito hands till they divide with us our cornmon heritage." He stopped and sat down, and as his enthusiasm faded frorn hjs face, Philip saw he was not handsome. The eyes that had seemcd so wonderful were too deep seated beneath his heavy brows, and his smooth shaved face was scarred f rom exposuro to sun aiid storm ; yet, while he had been speaking, pity and divine wrath in turn melting and burning in his eyes and lighting up his rugged chcoks, he had seemed beautiful, like an archangel. The audienee sat in silenco a moment, then one man shuiïled his feet uneasily, then another, and then all rose listlessly to their feet. Philip thought their zest in life had gono so long ago that they did not even miss it; then he remembered what his life was, bright as a June morning. Did God love him so mnch better than these weary creatures, whose only refuge was in hopelessness? Then he thought of Bertha waiting for him, and he hurried out, glad that he seemed to be escaping notice. Where was the funny adventure he had to teil his sweetheart? A new world had been revealed to him; a world within the world hehad played with, that knew no such thing as mirth, but fed forever on bitter realities, and his little sparkof happiuess seemed smothered in its black night. Each one must have a family circle of bis own. There wero hungry eyes that looked to him for the cheer his poor heart was too dead to give. Suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. "Praps you aint got no place to go to, friend." It was his big whiskered companion in the hall, Graves. "I sort o' liked your looks in the meetin' to-night, and you're welcome to a bed at my house if you want it." "Oh, no," stumbled Philip, at his wit'a end. "Oh, no? Wby not, then? Where be yoii goin' to stay?" and the man took his hand from the youngr man's shoulder and eyed him suspiciously. "Why, he wanted to go homo and lay oiï his masquerade forever. Bertha, alt radiant in all that wealth can add to beauty, was awaiting him. He had so much to teil her," but he had nothing to say aloud. "I won't take no refusal," insisted the man, taking Philip by-the arm. words; Jane will get along easy with an extra for once. I presume you' ve slept in wuss places." CHAPTEK. in. AN UMWUXOagg CHJEST. Philip thought thiugs were going a little too far, and as he walked along with his undesirable host he began to plan escapes. Up on the hill to nis left he eould see, now and then,. between the houses,. his own home and the lights in its window streaming welcome to him. The tense mood relaxed in him, old habits of thought and association made themselves feit again;. the poor man walking heavily by his side seemed a thousand miles removed f rom him. "Here we are," said Graves,, as he led the mili owner's son up a couple of rickety looking steps to a doorway. Philip was not pleased at all; he had seen enough poverty to-night; he did not care to particularize. What was the use of distressing himself over this man's private miseries and" discomforts? Wasn't it written in all the books of politica! economy that - but Graves opened the' door and waited f or his un willing gucst to; go ia before him. The poor man's heart was warm in the unwonted exercise of hospitalitj.. With an ungracious frown on his. face Philip entered the dimly lighted room, his great bootssounding with startling effect on the bare floor. The top heavy kerosene' lamp was turned down, but with the heartiness of a true host,. Graves turned up the lamp so that Philipcould look about him. There was little enough to see - a round pine table with a little blue,, cracked crokery on it, a rusty cooking stover two or three dingy, unpainted chaix-s, a high backed rocking ehair, with a faded, shapeless chintz cushion, and what seemed tobe a sofa in one corner. At first Philip thought the room had been unoccupied.but as Graves turned ap the lamp a trifle more he saw ii was a woman lying upon the sofa - a woman with sunken black eyes and wan, colorless eheeks, wliose loosely bound hair, grny before its time, feil down over her shoulders. "The woman is sick, or she'd get ap and speak to.j-ou," said Graves, with a new gentleness in his voice, as he looked at the wife of his youth. "They say she might get well if we could pay doctors' büls. Eh, Jennie?" The girl who stood in thedoorvvay had her mother's eyes, not quite large enough, but with a rare sheen in them ; it might be her mother's face, too, but with the bloom of perfect health lightening up its olive. Involuntarily he rose to his feet and bowed,. but as the girl only seeined to regard him as one might look at a circus tumbler, Philip relapsed into his seat, in the hurnüiation beauty can put upon the greatest of us. "Nothin' but cold potatoes? Well, I guess they'll do with a Úttle salt and a piece of bread." "Did Curran speakF asked the girl. "Yes," answered Philip. "And who is he - a common laborer?" Then he bit his lip. But nobody took offense, no oue suspected their guest of beiug anything above a common laborer. ' "Ouly a laborer," answered Graves, "a weaver, but he's got some book knowledge somehow. There aint many can beat him at talkin', is there?' The gü'l's eyes were on Philip now, impatient, as he fancied, even for his poor ti-ibute to her lover's praise. "He is wonderful," he assented, "buttvhat I don't understand is, that lie can be such a man and stül a weaver. Where dld he learn it allí" "Have you got enough to eat? Well, knowledge has got pretty well through all classes now, for those as wants it. lt's there for all who havo eyes or ears i'or it. Why, friend, where have you been all your life? Brains and hearts don't go by station. I've fouud smarter men in shops and milis than mosf we send to congress. There's thousands like Currau, iL they only got he stirrin' he's had somo way. Now, June, ït s about time j you got this nian's bed ready." Philip's heart jumped. Of course he couldn't stay, but what excuse eould he give for coming at all, then? "Be you lookin' for a job?" askod Graves, after his daughter had left them. It oecurrel to Philip that he had one, if he wanted it- to put one spark of happiness into such livos as these, but ho noddod. The man lookod him over rather disparagingly. "Weil, wash yourself up and black your boots a bit, and I guess I can do somethin' for you in the mili. It's hard work and small pay, but we never had better, you and me. We don't well know what we miss bein' poor, we miss it such a big ways." "How long bas Curran lived here?" asked Philip incoherently. ïhe man stared at him a moment. "Oh! Curran, he ain't been here more'n a six month. He aint got no folks; he lives down to one of them factory boardin' houses, but don't have no friends, or talk about anythin' but what you heard to-night. But it's all useless." Graves looked gloomily on the floor. "We aint got no show; the rich are too many for us. I guess it's human nature for one man to boss the crowd, or it wouldn't a always been so. There's the girl, she'll show you where to sleep. Be up early in the morniu', now." The only course for him seemed to be to follow the girl, and Philip rose to his feet. "Good night," he said. The sick woman opened her oyes in surprise. Such people as they found no time for amenities iu their dreary home. Graves looked around. "What? Oh, yes, goodby, but I'm goin' to see you in the mornin'." His bedroom, on which the roof encroached greedily, was nowly whitewashed, orelse was seldom uscd. His lamp sat on a wooden chair with no back to it, crowded by a tin wash basin, with his portion of water half filling it, and a round,,, black ball of soap. Then Philip turned to look at the bed they had made for him on a slat bedstead with low headboard but not so low as the thin pillow. Höw many times must anybody doublé the pillow to make it fit for his head? ! For a counterpane was the girl's plaid shawl ; i he had seen it on a nail down stairs. Poor little girl, sho would want it very early in the morning. Then he glanced in the eight by ten looking glass that hung on the white wall. Disguisedl his own father would not have known him, and he had a sensation of i doublé consciousness as he saw his own reflection. Perhaps Graves was disguised too, and all the ill dressed men he had scen that i evening, who suffered as much in their wretched lives as ho could, who could enjoy all that brightened his own life as much. And clothes made the difference bet ween him and them, apparently, perhaps really. The world managed according to the clothes Standard - for the man who could borrow a broadcloth suit, comforts, consideration, happiness- for tho man I in overalls, weary days, cheerless houses, hunger and - bah. Phillip pulled off his great boots and threw them angrily across tho room; he did not know what to make of it all. He did not propose to spend the night hero, of course, and face the family and his job in the mili in the morning, but he might as well lie down till the house was asleep and escapo becamo possible, But he could not lie down with all his, paint on and spoil the poor little pillow. So he takes off his yellow whiskers, and makes such good use of the basin of water and the ball of soap that when he next looked in the little mirror he saw no longer the road dusty tramp, but the fresh, kindly face of a young man who has never tasted of the bitter fouixtaias 3Í lii'e. IIo started as if he had been shot ; the Windows hnd no eurtains, and any passerby might have seen his transformation. Then carne a heavy step on the stairs, He b!er out the light and buried himself in the bedclothcs. In a moment more the door opened and Philip was breathing heavily. "Asleep?' it was the voice of his host. "Well, I s'pöse the morning will do. Pretty tired, I gness; wonder how far he carne to day?" and Grayes closed door af ter him and went down staire again. Of course Philip was not goiiig to sleep, but there would be no harrn in just closing his eyes. he eould think so much better. Here he was drinking in the very life of the poor,. a strange, terrible lite he had never really imagüied before. He had seen how tvorn and broken were their men, and read the pathetic lines of despair and sullen wretchedness written on their faces, as if in silent reproach to tho providence that had inflicted the unsof tened curse of life on them. He had seen, too, their hapless girlhood, which beauty cannot cheer, which love only makes blaeker, as tho path of lightning a starless night. And their sick, too, with no nursing, no gentle vvords, no camforts to assuage one hour of pain. Theu he seemed to be in the-üall once more, and tñrilling under the eloquence of the man Curran. Suddenly he opened his eyes wido. It covdd not be he was going to sleep,' the bed was too hard - absurd - there could be no danger. But in five minutes the heil' of the Briton milis was sound asleep in John Graves' garret room. How long he had slept Philip, had no more idea than Rip Van Winkle on a f ormer occasion ; indeed it took him a ridlculously long time toseparate dreams and facts enough to get his bearings. Was that ïmsonlight in the east, OB-dawni Perhaps the family were all up and escape would be irapossible. He bounded to his feet and clutcUed at his false whiskers, but alas! his pain-t was all dissolved in the tin bnsin. His only chance was in getting away unnoticed, and; in two minutes more he was groping out of his little room and down the steep stairs, boots in hand. He slowly opened the door into the' sitting room. AVhat if Graves stood within curiously watching. An odd guest, this stealing out before daybreak. Again Philip wished he had stayed at home that night. Thauk God ! no one was in tho room. Thera was the craeked, rusty stove and the sofa the ,sick woman had lain upen ; there was the dish of cold potatoes on tho table and th chair he had sat in while hetried to eat. But somebody must be up in the inner room;, a stream of light made a wbite t'-ack througl the half open door. Would that bolt nev.e gjjp - there, It slipped with a vengeance, anc Philip drew back into the staircase in morta terror. The light streak on the floor began to move, and in a moment more a whit figure stood on the thresholil of the bec room. It was Jane Graves, with her long black hair about her neck and white nigb. dress, and her eyes glistoning brightly. Sh held the lamp above her head, and let he drapery ding as fondly as it chose about form that would have charmed a seulptor As she listened he could see her wavy hai rise and fall over her beating heart. Woul she notiee the open stair door and came for wardi W'liat then? He must pnsh her rudely to one side. He imagined her startle screams and the father's figure hurrying int the scène ironi another room to seize tho in terloper. No, sUo returns to her room. I another instant hé has opened the door anc is walking along the street. His escape was well timed, for the gray dawn of another da of toil and weariness is creeping over th factory village. The houses were all alike, the front doors just as soiled, the steps equally worn, the 2int the same cheerlees yel' o w to a simde Through the windows of Oi of them he caught a glimpse of a tall gaunt woman building tho kif-ehen fire, her face and form lighted up by the flames she was nursing, His ready imagination pictured the wan'catured man who mast be her husband, out ! whoso oyes had faded so many years ago ie last lingering gleam of tenderness. He magined their oíd faced, joyless childi-en bejrudged the scant play hours of childhood. 'rooping behind them all, he pictured a long ine of special wants and sorrows, the anions of their days, the specters of their ïights. Their houses looked all alike as he walked along, so their lives might seem just like at flrst thought. Ten hours for each in lie same milis - who got almost the same rittance for their hot work - and niust spend ;heir peimies for almost the same necessities. But infinite niust be the diversities of their ufferiug. (TO BE CONTTXrED.l