simply listening in its expression, told the
sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of
hers.

"You think you never heard of this
wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think
I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded
by Milton, and whose own crow is the
whitest ever seen."

"No," said Margaret, with some spirit.
"It may be true that I was thinking I had
hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I
came to Milton. But since I have come
here, I have heard enough to make me
respect and admire him, and to feel how
much justice and truth there is in what you
have said of him."

"Who spoke to you of him?" asked Mrs.
Thornton, a little mollified, yet jealous lest
any one else's words should not have done
him full justice.

Margaret hesitated before she replied. She
did not like this authoritative questioning.
Mr. Hale came in, as he thought, to the
rescue.

"It was what Mr. Thornton said himself,
that made us know the kind of man he was.
Was it not, Margaret?"

Mrs. Thornton drew herself up, and
said,—

"My son is not the one to tell of his own
doings. May I again ask you, Miss Hale,
from whose account you formed your favourable
opinion of him? A mother is curious
and greedy of commendation of her children,
you know."

Margaret replied, "It was as much from
what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which
we had been told of his previous life by Mr.
Bell,—it was more that than what he said,
that made us all feel what reason you have
to be proud of him."

"Mr. Bell! What can he know of John?
He, living a lazy life in a drowsy college.
But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a
missy young lady would have shrunk from
giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing
that her son was well spoken of."

"Why? " asked Margaret, looking straight
at Mrs. Thornton, in bewilderment.

"Why! because I suppose they might have
consciences that told them how surely they
were making the old mother into an advocate
for them, in case they had any plans on the
son's heart."

She smiled a grim smile, for she had been
pleased by Margaret's frankness; and perhaps
she felt that she had been asking questions
too much as if she had a right to catechise.
Margaret laughed outright at the notion
presented to her; laughed so merrily that
it grated on Mrs. Thornton's ear, as if the
words that called forth that laugh, must
have been utterly and entirely ludicrous.

Margaret stopped her merriment as soon
as she saw Mrs. Thornton's annoyed look.

"I beg your pardon, madam. But I
really am very much obliged to you for
exonerating me from making any plans on Mr.
Thornton's heart."

"Young ladies have, before now," said
Mrs. Thornton, stiffly.

"I hope Miss Thornton is well," put in
Mr. Hale, desirous of changing the current of
the conversation.

"She is as well as she ever is. She is not
strong," replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

"And Mr. Thornton? I suppose I may
hope to see him on Thursday?"

"I cannot answer for my son's engagements.
There is some uncomfortable work
going on in the town; a threatening of
a strike. If so, his experience and judgment
will make him much consulted by
his friends. But I should think he could
come on Thursday. At any rate, I am sure
he will let you know if he cannot."

"A strike!" asked Margaret. "What
for? What are they going to strike for?"

"For the mastership and ownership of
other people's property," said Mrs. Thornton,
with a fierce snort. "That is what they
always strike for. If my son's work-people
strike, I will only say they are a pack of
ungrateful hounds. But I have no doubt
they will."

"They are wanting higher wages, I suppose?"
asked Mr. Hale.

"That is the face of the thing. But the
truth is, they want to be masters, and make
the masters into slaves on their own ground.
They are always trying at it; they always
have it in their minds; and every five or six
years there comes a struggle between masters
and men. They'll find themselves mistaken
this time, I fancy,—a little out of their
reckoning. If they turn out, they mayn't find it so
easy to go in again. I believe the masters
have a thing or two in their heads which will
teach the men not to strike again in a hurry,
if they try it this time."

"Does it not make the town very rough?"
asked Margaret.

"Of course it does. But surely you are
not a coward, are you? Milton is not the
place for cowards. I have known the time
when I have had to thread my way through
a crowd of white, angry men, all swearing
they would have Makinson's blood as soon
as he ventured to show his nose out of his
factory; and he, knowing nothing of it, some
one had to go and tell him, or he was a dead
man; and it needed to be a woman,—so I
went. And when I had got in, I could not
get out. It was as much as my life was
worth. So I went up to the roof, where
there were stones piled ready to drop on the
heads of the crowd, if they tried to force the
factory doors. And I would have lifted those
heavy stones, and dropped them with as good
an aim as the best man there, but that I
fainted with the heat I had gone through.
If you live in Milton, you must learn to have
a brave heart, Miss Hale."

'' I would do my best," said Margaret