o.)ALO/WE; G)HEPARD BY- HELEN -M -WIN SLOW ^Tl 1^^ ■ PERKINS LIBRARY Duke University I^re Books k ^^^^; k V ■^^ SALOME SHEPAED, REEOEIER. HELEN M. WINSLOW. BOSTON, MASS.: ^xtm ^\m^\\m (Jjomimtttj, COPLEY SQUARE, 1893. Copyright 1893, BY HELEN M. WINSLOW. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ARENA PRESS. W7-7 " Pardon, gentles all, The flat, unraised spirit that hath dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great au object." Shakespeare. SALOME SHEPAED, EEEORMEE. Salome Shepard gazed wonderingly at the crowd of people in the street, as she guided her pony-phaeton through the factory pre- cincts. " What can be the matter with these people ? " she thought. " I'm sure they ought to have gone to their w^ork before this." It was a wet October day. The narrow street was slippery Avith the muddy water that oozed along to the gutters. The factory boarding-houses loomed up on either side, dingy and desolate. Even the mills looked larger and coarser, in the gloomy air of the 6 ut if that young woman hasn't got a level head on her shoulders, then I don't know who has." " I reckon you're right, sir," echoed Mr. Burnham, Avhile John Villard laughed in his sleeve at the yomig woman wlio evidently 66 ^i\\mu ^\\qmx(lf ^giiovmtx, dreamed of settling a prolonged strike. " Why," lie said to himself, " she has never known enough of the practical side of mill-life to recognize one of her operatives, and hardly knows the different brands of cloth manufac- tured by them." *?? ^ ^ tF ^ Salome Shepard had waked at an early hour that morning and found herself unable to sleep again. Her mind was alive with gratitude for the part she had been able to play the night before, Avith apprehension for the future, and with increasing self-accusation for the state of things in the Shawsheen Mills, both past and present. " Pshaw ! " she said to herself while dressing, true to her habit of communinor- with her own o conscience in default of a visible mentor, " how can I be blamed for the state of things here ? The entire business of the mills was put out of my hands by my father's will. I could have done no differently." " You could," replied that sternest of modern inquisitors — a New England conscience. " It was in your power to see that the moral and physical condition of these people was im- proved and cultivated. It was in your power to give them better homes and more privileges. It was in your power to raise their standards of life and to create new ones. But you have ignored their very existence, and let them live a mean and sordid life of unremitting toil, in order to fiunish you with money to live a selfish life of luxurious ease." Salome tied the blue ribbons to her wrapper, and giving her crimps a last touch went down to breakfast. Knowing she would be opposed, she said nothing of her plans for the morning to her aunt, but shnply announced, after they had left the table, that she was going for a long walk. Then she went upstairs and put on the plainest costume she owned (which, by the way, was a tailor-made gown that had cost her one hundred and fifty dollars), and started for the tenement houses where her operatives lived. It did not occur to her to feel any fear ; nor that the miscreants who had planned the ex- plosion for the previous night might be watch- ing her footsteps. She felt it incumbent upon her to see for herself exactly how these peo2)le 68 ^alomc ^Ucpuvrt, |lcfomfv. lived, and what they were bearing and suffer- ing in consequence of the strike. In the bright glare of the morning sun, the tenement houses had never looked so dingy and mean. They were built in Newbern Shepard's day, and had received but very few repairs since that time. Although it was cold January weather, Salome counted a dozen panes of glass gone from the first house, and noticed that the lower hingfe to the front door was broken. It was a two-story wooden building Avith four tenements of four rooms each. She ascended the rickety steps and rapped on the door. One of the women saw her from a front window and came to the door, holding it open only so far as to permit her to see the strange caller. " Good-morning," said Salome in pleasant tones. " Good-morning, miss." The politeness of Salome's manner thawed the other woman, and the door opened a little wider. " Will you walk in ? " That was precisely what she had come for, and Salome stepped inside with alacrity. She found herself in the sitting-room and living- ^atomc ^Ucpavrt, ^Ufovmcv. 69 room o£ the family. It was a meager home. The remnant of a faded oil-cloth was on the floor. The walls were unpapered and devoid of any attempts at ornament, except one un- framed, dilapidated old lithograph of " The Queen of the West," — a buxom young woman with disproportionately large black eyes, a dress of bright scarlet cut extremely decollete, and cheeks of a yet more vivid hue. A pine table covered with a stamped red cloth was littered with cheap, trashy story-papers and pamphlets addressed " To the Laboring Men of America." An old lounge, with broken springs, and six common wooden chairs con- stituted the other furnisliini>\s of the room. Salome's first thought as she looked about her was : " I don't wonder these people get discon- tented and clamor for something which seems to them better." But she found, before the forenoon was over, many houses that were not so pleasant as this. For, once inside these rooms, everything was neat and clean, and the woman who answered her questions was civil if not talkative. She found that five people lived in these 70 Salome ^Iwparit, |lcf0vmct. four small rooms : this woman, her two daughters, a son-m-law, and a grandchild. She also found that the other tenements con- tained five, six, and seven people, making twenty-three in all. There were absolutely no sanitary arrangements, and she discovered that the sanitation of this tenement house district consisted only of surface drainage. According to the statements of her hostess, there was nearly always somebody " ailing " in these houses. The first house she went into was a fair sample of the remainder. A few were slightly better, but more were in a worse condition. In most instances she was respectfully received, although at three houses she was met by un- gracious people, and received gruff replies to her kindly-put inquiries. Everywhere, strong, able-bodied men were lounging about in enforced idleness ; and one of them, resenting, with true American inde- pendence, this intrusion into the sacred pre- cincts of his miserable home, plainly intimated that " they was well enough off now, and didn't want no rich folks as was livin' on money they earned, to come pryin' round their houses." Finally, at the last of the tenement houses she 5atame ^hcimva, |lcfavmcv. 71 was met by a surly, burly mule-spinner, who gruffly refused her admittance. Nothing daunted, however, she sought out a boarding-house for the young women of the mills. The landlady, recognizing her, invited her in and willingly told her all about the life of mill-girls, offering, at last, to show her their rooms. Salome gladly accepted and followed the woman up bare, unpainted stairs to the rooms on the second and third floors. These were small and perfectly bare of comforts, almost of necessities. The floors Avere uncarpeted and guiltless of paint, or even of a very recent appli- cation of soap and water. They had no closets. A common pine bedstead — sometimes two of them — in each room, two chairs, in one of which stood a tin basin, while beside it on the floor stood a bucket of water, and a small bureau, made up the sum total of the furniture. In only one room did Salome see any evidences of a literary taste, and that, if she had known it, was a cheap paper, the worst of the sensa- tional class. Salome's heart sank within her. She no longer wondered that the mill-girls of to-day 72 ^atomc ^hcjjatd, ^Icfuvmcv. were a discontented, ignorant set, nor that many of them sank into lives of degradation. " The rooms are good enough for the girls," said the woman, noticing the look of disgust on Salome's tell-tale face. " They seem poor enough to elegant ladies like you. But these girls know no better. And they are good enough to sleep off a drunk in," she added, roughly. " You don't mean to say," asked her guest, " that any of your girls get intoxicated ? " . " Intoxicated ? I don't know what else you'd call it, when they have to be helped in at eleven o'clock Saturday night, and put to bed, and don't get up again until Monday morning." Salome was sick with pity and shame for her sex. She no longer questioned whether she had a mission toward these, her people. She went home and wrote the note to Mr. Greenough, given in an earlier part of this chapter. ^mUmt ^tie\mxA, ^Uformcv. VII. Promptly, at the hour named, Otis Green- ough, accompanied by the other officers of the mill, api^eared at the mansion of the Shepard family. Tall, beautiful, and always impressive in her bearing, Salome was at her best to-night. The fire of a new-born purpose was in her face, and a new force, born of spiritual strug- gles, stamped upon her brow. There are people who can look calmly upon a sunset, and see nothing but a glare of red and yellow light. There are others wlio see in it a glorious picture witli matchless tints and shadows. There are yet others, fewer, indeed, tlian the rest, but who hold the secret of God's holy purpose written more or less plainly in their souls ; who see not only the glare of red and yellow light, whose brilliant tints and deep 74 ^alomc ^'ltf|iat"her plane of living. Her grandfather's manuscripts did not help her much here. In Newbern Shepard's day, the factory-hand had not sunk to such igno- rance or even degradation, as he has, in some instances, in later times ; and in those more democratic times, it had not been so hard for him to rise above the level of his kind. In that day, too, it had been possible for him to find a home, in the true sense of the word, with families of a certain degree of refinement. But in Salome's more modern times, she saw, and grieved, that the factory boarding-places were of the sort that dragged the operatives down and kept them on a lower plane, even, than the Shawsheen tenement system. She consulted much with the superintend- ents and with Marion. She visited the large cities and thoroughly examined the young men's and young women's various houses and unions. She got ideas from all, but a perfected 132 ^alomc ^licpnvil, ^Ufovmcv. plan from none. Finally, she collaborated with her architect, Robert Fales, and soon had her model boarding-house on paper. After that it was only a work of days to begin on the foundations of the institution. The operatives at the Shawsheen Mills gazed on all these changes with curious interest, which, however, they carefully suppressed when any of their superiors were about. The aver- age independent American citizen, as he exists among workingmen, does not care to pose as an object of even partial charity. He delights in crying out against Capital, and clamoring for a share of the Profits ; but when it comes to actual taking of what he does not feel he has earned, he is more backward. The Shawsheen operatives, in spite of the promises which had been made, had gone to work again with little hope that the state of affairs for them would be any better in future than in the past. As days went by, and they saw Salome Shepard come to the mills every morning, and knew that she was personally inter- ested in them as her people, they were skeptical of any results for good. And when they began to hear it whispered that she, a woman, was ^alomr ^^hrpnnt. y*cfovmcr. 133 the actual head of the Shawsheen Mills, some of them talked earnestly of leaving. What ! they — strong', ahle-bodied, skilled mechanics — work under a woman ? But they didn't go. A dull season was upon them, and work scarce. Other miUs were shut- ting down and sending their operatives into two months of enforced idleness. The Shaw- sheen hands were forced to stay where they were and be thankful for a chance to work. Then, as the story that they were to be furnished with new and better homes jrained credence among them, their first real interest dawned. Many did not believe their condi- tions would be bettered ; many, even, did not care ; and most of them grumbled because their rents would probably be high, and said the new buildings were only a means to grind the poor and extort more money from them, to put into a rich woman's pocket. Such is the thankless task of the philanthropist. Salome heard something of this, but did not allow the knowledge to disquiet her. " A few months will convince them," she said, quietly. " No wonder they are on the lookout for oppression and extortion. As near 134 Salome ^Ucimnt, ^cfavmfv. as I can judge, this factory has long been run on a plan to warrant them in such a belief." And this was all she ever said against Otis Greenough's method of administering affairs at the mills. As the summer went by, Salome's friends in the town began to wonder at her extravagant outlay, as they called it. They prophesied that she would soon tire of her new amusement, and leave the houses unfinished, when her projects would fall flat. Some of them came to her and remonstrated, on the ground that her inexpe- rience in financial affairs was cause enough for her leaving the Shawsheen Mills and the employes as they had been. But invariably she replied, that if she had chosen to build herself a million-dollar castle, they would have approved of her ; but because she proposed to spend a half-million on the mill property, all of which she felt sure would return to her some day with interest, she was called extrava- gant and foolish. " But if you had built the million-dollar house," said Mrs. Greenough, " it would have been a great thing for the place. Think what an ornament to Shepardtown it would be ! " ^abww ^Ucinuut, ^^^fjjvmcv. 135 "And think what an imjirovement — what a great thing- for Shepardtown — it will be to tear away those miserable, tumbledown tene- ments on Shawsheen alley, and to add a hun- dred neat and cosy houses to the hill," she retorted. " And, besides, you haven't seen my — well, my Institution (I haven't named it yet). Think what an ornament that will be to the place." But as nobody realized what the " Institu- tion " of her dreams was to be, Salome got no sympathy from her friends. Curiosity increased on all hands, as the summer waned and an immense brick structure grew apace on the hill. It had a square, dome-like center, with huge wings on each side. But the workmen were sworn to secrecy, and nobody was allowed to go inside from the time the buildins: was far enough advanced to allow of its entrances being fastened up. 136 <^alomc ^hfjjjmH, ^Ufovmrv. XII. It was finished at last. The plasterers and painters and plumbers had done their last stroke of work and departed, leaving the keys with Salome, as she had requested. On the same afternoon, she sent for Robert Fales, and together they showed Burnham and Villard, with Marion Shaw and Mrs. Soule — who was as anxious as any of them to see the place, although she would not own it — over the new building. A broad flight of stone steps led up to the main entrance. The wooden framework, which had concealed the fagade, had been taken down, and there, over the massive doorway, was the name of Salome's " Institution," carved in red sandstone — " Newbern Shepard Hall." " Why not simply Shepard Hall ? " said Burnham, as they stood looking up at it. ^atamc ^Ucpant, ^Ufovmcv. 137 "Or Salome Slieparcl HaU?" put in Mrs. Soule's voice, for she felt that it would be like the rest of her niece's folly to have her name carved in stone up there. "Auntie!" exclaimed Salome reprovingly; then, turning- to Geoffrey Burnham — " Shepard Hall might have meant me, or it might have meant my father, or the Avhole race of us in general. This building is a memorial to New- bern Shepard, not to his family. How do you like the design of the fagade ? " The building was of red brick, with massive trimmings of red sandstone, and was substan- tial and useful in general appearance, rather than ornate. " Ten times as expensive as you needed," was her aunt's comment. " Yes," answered Burnham, to whom the re- mark was directed. " A cheap, wooden building would have answered the purpose, I should say." " Perhaps," laughed Salome ; " but I am not putting up wooden monuments to my grand- father's memory. Besides, you don't know my purpose, yet." " Something quixotic and unnecessary, I'm afraid, my dear," answered Mrs. Soule. 138 ^abmf ^Hcimnt, lUfovm^r. Salome did not answer but led the way up the stairway, and unlocked the heavy doors These opened into a vestibule leading into a large room fitted up with bookcases and tables. " This is the library," said she. " Now, see the two reading-rooms, one on each side. One is for the girls, and one for the young men." They passed out into the one designed for the girls, — a pleasant airy room with plenty of light and space. The walls were tinted and the woodwork was in the natural finish. Noth- ing in the way of furnishing had, of course, been done. Beyond the reading-room was an- other large class-room, and opening from it were several smaller ones. These all occupied one wing of the new building. " What do you propose to have done with all these rooms ? " asked some one. Salome looked over to John Villard and smiled. " I've read and studied * All Sorts and Con- ditions of Men ' to some purpose," she said ; " I propose, as time goes on, to have various practical and useful things taught the girls here. Dressmaking for instance, and millinery ^atomc ^hcpant, ^{cfovmtr. 139 and domestic science. The conveniences for that, though, are in the basement." She led the Avay by a flight of stairs that led from a side-entrance, at the end of the wing, to the basement. There was a spacious hall with rows of hooks to hang garments on. From this, opened a large and pleasant dining-room. Under the main portion of the building was a o-reat kitchen with ranges and all the modern appliances of a hotel kitchen, though on a smaller scale. "Isn't this rather elaborate for a factory boar din P'-house ? " asked Burnham ; " for, I take it, that is one of your objects, at least, if not the primary one." " I approve of this," said Mrs. Soule judi- cially. " It's poor poKcy to fit out a kitchen with cheap stuff. Give servants the best of everything to do with, and teach them how to take care of them." "Miss Shepard has gone over the subject very carefully," said Mr. Fales, " and, I must say, has shown most excellent judgment in everything. As you say, madam, it's only money wasted to put cheap stuff into a building like this." ^" 140 ^ixUxm $\it\m\% gcfavmcv. " Now, look throiigli the j^antries and larder and laundry," Salome interrupted; " I think, for a woman who knows absolutely nothing of the details of housekeeping, I've excelled my- self." She spoke boastfully and shook her head at Marion, at the close of her speech. " How much of it did Miss Shaw plan ? " slyly asked Geoffrey Burnham. "Every bit of it, below the main floor," responded Salome. " Since you seem incap- able of believing that I did it, I may as well own that Marion and Mr. Fales planned the whole of the basement, and that I, in my igno- rance, could only look on and admire. But they did so well that now I am inclined to take all th6 glory to myself." They passed through the basement, coming up at the other end of the building, and found themselves in the young men's wing. Here, besides the reading-rooms and class-room, was another fitted with two or three work- benches. " I propose to give them a chance to take an industrial education," said Salome, " if they should want it." " I declare ! " ejaculated Mrs. Soule. " To ^alomc .^Ucpavrt, ^Ufovmcv. 141 give skilled mechanics a chance to take lessons at the work-bench ! You are out of your mind, child." "I didn't plan it for skilled mechanics, auntie," said Salome gently, " although they may come if they want to. But you know, or ought to, that the majority of our men can only i^erform one kind of work. They may he nearly perfect in their special branch, but are almost helpless when it comes to handhng the hammer and saw and chisel. If they learn the proper use of these things, it will not only in- crease their knowledge in that direction, it will broaden them in other w^ays." " I don't see how," persisted her aunt. " Besides," put in John Villard, " if it does no other good, if the experiment keeps a few of our fellows off the street at night and develops a new taste, it will be worth while." " Well, perhaps you are right," said Mrs. Soule, "but no such philosophy or philan- thropy was taught in my day." " ' The world do move,' auntie," laughed Salome. " Now, shall we go upstairs ? " A broad flight of steps from the hallway at the end of the wing led up to the second floor, 142 ^al0mf ^hfjmvit, |lcfcrvmfv. which was just Hke the one on the gu-ls' wing. Upstairs, the broad corridor ran through the middle o£ the wing, with bedrooms opening from either side. In the main body of the buikling, under the dome, was a large hall, fitted up with movable seats, and having a raised platform at the front. " This is the pride of my heart," Salome announced, as she ushered her friends into it. " If any one dares to criticise it, Avoe be unto him ! Mr. Burnham, what fault can you find with this ? " They all laughed at her inconsistency. " I should not dare make it known, if I had any," he said. " But may I ask what it is for ? " " Why, to hold meetings in, and lectures and things," she answered, quickly ; " what did you suppose ?" " Oh ! And for the Labor Unions to con- gregate in and plan how they may overthrow and destroy you, I suppose," scoffed Burn- ham. " And it is a capital place to breed the next strike." " There will be no * next strike,' " was the confident answer. " And as for the rest, wait <^aIomc ^hcpafd, ^(fovmcv. 143 and see. I had the seats all movable because once in a while there will be a party, and they will want the floor for dancing." " Salome ! Not dancing ? " cried her aunt. " Why not ? The floor is an excellent one for dancing. I saw to that myself," said she, purposely misunderstanding her rela- tive. " You are not ffoino; to let them have their low dances here ? " Mrs. Soule's tone showed how much the idea horrified her. " Low dances ? Certainly not," said her niece. " But we are going to show them how to have something better. We are going to lift them above wanting a low entertainment of any kind, and teach them how such things are carried on by better people, — by us, for example." " Salome, you don't mean me to understand that you are going to come and dance here, yourself ? " " Perhaps, though I had not thought of it. But why not ?" continued the perverse niece. " Mr. Villard, will you lead the first figure with me, on our opening night ? " " With the greatest pleasure in the worldj" 144 ^ulomc ^hciKU'tl, ^Ufavtncv. said he, with a thrill at his heart which he did not recognize. Mrs. Soule sat down on a convenient window- seat. " What would your father say?" she mur- mured. '"' I never knew my father well enough to judge." Salome answered, with a slight tinge of bitterness in her tone. " But I know what my grandfather would say. I am going to put a piano in here, — or would you have an organ ? — and I intend that this hall shall be the rally- ing place of the young people. I'm also going to give a course of entertainments here during the winter, twice a week ; I'm not going to begin with lectures and heavy ' intellectual treats ; ' but I will gradually lead up to them with con- certs and even a minstrel show or two." " Salome," gasped her aunt feebly from the window-sill. " You see, if we begin by shooting over their heads, they won't come at all," said Salome. "But if we begin with something light and amusing, and not too far above their level, and gradually raise the tone of the entertainments, they'll find themselves attending lectures and J^alomc ^hcpavrt, ^{cfovmcv. 145 other sugar-coated forms of intellectual better- ment, and like them ; and never mistrust that I am working out a mission on their unsuspect- ing heads." " I'm glad you realize something of their present intellectual condition," said John Vil- lard, who had been unusually silent and grave while looking over the new building; "and realize that it's only gradually that we can bring them, as a class, uj) to a higher grade as intelligent young people." " Oh, I do," said Salome, " I've seen too much of them, myself, this summer. At first, I was appalled by the absolute lack of common knowl- edge among the average girls. But there are a few, I know, who have already improved the slight advantages they've had ; and these few I shall rely on to help me by their influence in raising the rest ; the ' little leaven,' you know. It seems to me, that only by raising the in- tellectual condition, and the educational aspira- tion, can we hope to accomplish anything of permanent value to the mills." " That is the only way," was Villard's response. "And, Miss Shepard," he said, hurriedly, for the others had already scattered 10 146 J>jil0mc ^hcpitvtl, llcfotmcir. through the girls' wing, leaving them alone, "I want to say that, as I believe you have found the only true solution to the main ques- tions of the labor problem, I pledge myself to heartily sustain you in every way. You have only to command me, and I am ready." Why did Salome turn away to hide the vivid blush that suddenly swept over her face ? " I am sure of that," she said, presently, with an effort, " I have counted on you from the first. I shall try, by my own personal efforts, to help the factory girls. But I shall depend on you, and you alone, to manage the young men. " I shall not fail you," was all he said, as Salome locked the door of the hall behind them, and they went over the girl's wing to find the others. The bedrooms on this wing were like those on the other side. There were ample closets and plenty of light and air and window space. The rooms were not spacious, but they were complete in every respect, and a vast improve- ment on anything the Shawsheen mill girls had ever seen. " I did not want large rooms," said Salome; ^alowc .^Ucpavtl. |Ufovmcr. 147 " I think it is better to put not more than two girls in a room. I shall put two single beds in each, and fit up the rooms with everything necessary for comfort ; then I shall insist that the girls keep their own rooms in the best of order. Oh, you'll see what a disciplinarian I shall be ! " The third floor was entirely given up to bed- rooms, the two wings being entirely separated from each other l)y the upper portion of the hall which extended to the top of the dome. Every part of the building was beautifully finished, w^ell lighted, and planned for general, practical convenience. " There, if I never do anything else," said Salome, after they had come out of the place, and stood looking back at it, " I shall feel that I have raised a suitable monument to old Newbern Shepard. I believe, if he could have lived until now, that he would have done the same thing himself — only better." " He couldn't. Miss Shepard," said Villard. " It is absolutely perfect." " Yes," admitted Burnham, " it is. But do you realize. Miss Shepard, what an elephant you've got on your hands ? It's going to be a 148 ^'alome .^kpant, ^tfaxwtx, fearful tax on your mind and strength to keep it up, and to carry out half you've planned." " Well, what were health and strength given me for ? " Salome asked, with the abruptness which sometimes characterized her. " Most young women find a solution to that question without running an eleemosynary in- stitution," was Burnham's mental comment ; but he said nothing. " I expect to see my happiest days while I have the care of this establishment. I'm sure I never was so happy as I've been for the past six months. Now, I must finish this great house. I shall need all the suggestions and practical aid you can each give me, especially about the libraries and reading-rooms. As to the selection of books, I'm going to begin with a comparative few. Will you two gentlemen come up to the house to-morrow night, pre- pared to help make out a suitable list? " " You forget that I have to go to New York to-morrow," said Burnham. " But Villard can go ; and I can help afterwards, you know." " As soon as we get everything in readiness," pursued Salome, " we will have a formal open- ing. We'll have music and something good ^alomc ^hcpavrt, ^Icfovmcv. 140 to eat, and a little talking-, and perhaps a dance to close with." Salome looked wickedly at her aunt, but the latter paid no heed. " Re- member your promise, Mr. Villard." " I shall not be the one to forget it," he answered. They separated very soon, Salome and her aunt and Marion taking' the architect home with them, and Burnham and Villard going back to the mills. But all through the afternoon, and all through the watches of the night, one sentence repeated itself to John Villard's heart, com- forting and hel})ing him, strangely : " I have counted on you from the first." 150 ^alomc ^Uejmiut, ^ttatrntv. XIII. It was Halloween when the new bmlcling was formally opened. Up to that time, only a few privileged persons were allowed to enter its sacred portals; but every one connected with the Shawsheen Mills was invited to be present at the opening. On the hill, back of the mills, stood one hundred new cottages, each costing from fifteen to twenty-five hundred dollars, and all ready for occupancy ; but as yet none of the mill-hands had seen the inside of one of them. It had been a work of no small magnitude to find a suitable matron for the Newbern Shepard Hall. But, finally, the widow of a former physician in Sliepardtown, a woman of excellent character and judgment, and with some experience as matron of a young ladies' school, was secured and duly installed in the ^i\\om ^hcpavd, ^Ufonncv. 151 two pleasant rooms set apart for her in the girls' wing. John ViUard had relieved Salome's mind o£ another perplexity, by offering to take up per- manent quarters for himself in the young men's side ; for, although she had felt the necessity of such an arrangement, she had not liked to ask him to give up what she rightly guessed were more congenial apartments in a quiet corner of the toAvn. But he felt that his influence would be needed at the Hall, and that he could do the work which he hoped to do much better, if he were in the midst of the young men whom he wished to interest in many ways. And before Halloween, he was comfortably settled in two rooms at the Hall. The evening came, clear and cold ; such an evening as only the last of October can give. The building was brilliantly lighted from top to bottom, and decorated with flags and ever- green. Outside, Chinese lanterns and bunting lined both sides of the walk up to the main entrance, and helped to give it a holiday air. A band of street-musicians, who happened to be in town, had been engaged and were stationed in front of the building, where their tolerably 152 Salome Jihcpavtt, fvrfarm^f. harmonious strains gave just as much pleasure to the not over-critical audience that was fast assembling-, as Thomas' or Seidl's men could have afforded them. Inside, Salome waited impatiently. With- out any premeditated plan, Villard and Burn- ham placed her and Marion, with Mrs. Soule in the background — for she " declined to be introduced to these persons " — in the center of the library ; and forming themselves into a reception committee, they drafted into service a few of the best-appearing young men, who presented every comer to the owner of the mills and her friend. After oivinof each one a cordial welcome and hand-shake, Salome told them they were free to inspect the new build- ing as they pleased; and, consequently, every mill-hand, accompanied by every other member of his or her family, went critically over the wonderful new building, which seemed to their unaccustomed eyes a structure of unwonted magnificence, and furnished in a most luxurious style. It had been fitted up inexj)ensively, but with the utmost good taste. No carpets were on the floors, but American rugs abounded wher- fatomc ^Ucpuvrt, ^Ufovmcv. 153 ever they had seemed necessary. The library furniture was of plain, substantial oalv, like the heavy woodwork of the room. Throughout the rest of the house, bedrooms, dining-rooms, and class-rooms were furnished with strong, neat, ash furniture. There were a few good eno-ravings on- the walls of the principal rooms, and the bookcases were about half-filled with literature of a harmless and interesting, if light quality. They had all agreed it would not be best to fill the shelves at first, but to watch the popular taste and to " leave room for improve- ment," as Marion said. The operatives were simply astonished at what they saw. Some were even yet incredu- lous, and Avhispered that they would not be will- ino- nor able to live in such a place ; but many of the girls' eyes brightened as they inspected their new quarters, and showed a determination, on the part of their owners, to come in for some of the good times they saw in store. It is doubt- ful if even the lowest ones there did not feel a new self-respect creeping up in their hearts. Dress may not make the man, but surroundings often do the woman. By half-past eight the stream of people 154 (^atome <#'l«jmnt, ^efovmev. stopped pouring through the big front doors. Everybody had come in, shaken hands with Salome and Marion, and passed along, scatter- ino; themselves over the buildino'. " Now let's get every one into the hall, above," said Salome, " and have a little talking and some music." It was some little time before the crowd of visitors could be gathered in one place, but after a while the hall was well filled, and the musicians installed in their place. The sound of the band, indoors, proved an effectual sum- mons for the stragglers. For the first time, Salome, on the platform, faced a surging, eager crowd of her own people in Newbern Shepard Hall. She had wanted one of her two " faithful henchmen " to take the lead to-night ; but they had each refused, saying she was better fitted than they ; that it was eminently her own affair and not theirs, and that the success of the opening depended on her alone. The last argument was enough, and, much to Mrs. Soule's horror at seeing " Cora de Bour- dillon's daughter " in such a plight, Salome presided over her first meeting, — " exactly ^jilomc .^hcparrt, ^Ufovmcv. 155 as if she were one o£ those ' woman's riofhts '& When the musicians had finished, Salome stepped forward, and not without some inward quaking, made her first speech. It was an occasion the Shawsheen Mill hands never forgot. Salome, always well and appro- priately dressed, had not slighted them by refus- ing to appear at her best. She wore a white Clnna silk costume, rightly thinking her young people would be readily reached by the gos- pel of good clothes. Her gown was simply made, but fitted exquisitely her well-propor- tioned figure. Neck and wrists Avere finished Avitli beautiful old point lace, and she did not scorn to wear her grandmother's diamonds. Her attractive appearance, her cordial and interested manner, and her winning voice had pleaded her cause with the critical operatives before she had uttered a half-dozen sentences. Her sincerity and earnestness went straight to their sensibilities, and, before she had suspected it, every heart in the room was hers. "My dear friends," she began, "I never made a speech in my life, and cannot 156 Salome ^Ufpavtl, |>cfovmer. now. I never stood on a platform before ; and only my interest in every one of you brings me here to-niglit. I only want to say that this building, which you see now for the first time, and which I hope will prove a happy home for many of you, is built to my grandfather's memory. Some who are present to-night re- member him and love him still, I hope." Here several gray-haired men in the audience nodded their heads, and one was heard to mut- ter, " Ay, ay, we do." " If he had lived, I think everything in the factory would have been different. Your lives would have been different ; and mine, too, perhaps. For one thing, I don't believe you and I would have grown up strangers to each other. You know, by this time, I am sure, that I have a glorious plan for making the Shawsheen Mills the best on earth. '' Not by tearing down mills and building new and more elegant ones ; not alone by mak- ing costly improvements ; but by having — and mind, this is the only way it can be done, — by havinor the best and most conscientious and in- telligent class of operatives in this country, — and that will mean, of course, in the world. ^^alumc .^hcpiu'tl, |]cformcr. 157 Now, you all know I cannot do this alone ; every one of you has a part in carrying out this plan of mine. . And unless you all agree to help, it will fail. Don't think I want you to do any impossible thing. I only want every one of you to be the best and do the best you possibly can. You and I are going to have some splendid times in the future. \ye're going to get better acquainted with each other. We are going to become real friends. On your part, you are going to deserve my good opinion and my honest friendship ; on my part, I'm going to deserve your confidence and trust and love ; and between us we are going to show the people of Massachusetts that a cotton- factory can become something more than a great machine to grind out yards and yards of unbleached sheeting ; and that its operatives can become somethino; better and greater than so many smaller wheels in the machinery. We will show that a factory community may be, and is, a prosperous, happy, contented and intel- ligent people." Some of the young men could contain them- selves no longer, and broke into enthusiastic applause as Salome uttered the last sentiment. 158 .^atomc ^^Itcpatut, ^cfovmcv. Villard chuckled secretly as he observed that the leaders in it were the heads of the com- mittees in the recent strike. " I'm so glad you agree with me," said Salome heartily, when the noise had subsided. " Now, I want to tell you about this house. The rooms are all ready for occupancy. I think there are accommodations for all who care to come. You are to leave the old boarding- houses on the corporation, and I shall have them taken down at once. The price of board will remain the same as at the old houses. The reading-rooms are ready, the library is yours, and we shall soon find means of entertainment and work, which will keep us all contented, I hope. Mr. Villard will occupy rooms on this floor, and the matron, whom I will shortly pre- sent to you, will be on the girls' wing. There will be but few rules, and those, I trust, not irksome. I cannot imagine that any one will not be willing to obey them. The new houses on the hill are all ready for the families on the corporation to move into. A few of the larger and better houses are to be let at an increased rental ; but most of them will be let at the old rates. We have a plan, by which any ^ulomc <^hc|)avd, ^^cfovmrv. 159 one who wants to, may, after a little, buy a house and pay for it by monthly installments, just the same as you pay rent. But I will not go into details. Mr. Fales will be at the first cot- tage on the hill, and you can all make arrange- ments with him at any time after to-morroAV morning. Now I have talked too long, I know, and am going to stop. I want to have you hear what Mr. Burnham and Mr. Villard have to say ; but first we must have some music." If Salome could have read the trembling waves of sympathy and reverence which were already vibrating from the hearts of the young people whom she had addressed, she would not have sat down with the feeling of self-distrust and failure which followed her speech. The experience, the very atmosphere, was unique in the history of industrial experiments. The two superintendents followed the band with speeches that were characteristic of each. Burnham's, witty and tinged with sarcasm, but friendly and cordial enough ; and Villard's, strong Avitli earnest purpose and full of broth- erly love. The matron, Mrs. French, was pre- sented, also, and her few remarks won a friendly recognition among the young folks ; 160 ^'alomc ^hqmvd, ^^cfovmcr. and then Salome announced that the meetino- would adjourn to the dining-rooms in the basement. More refined audiences than hers have not been slow to exchange an atmosphere of sen- timent and intellectuality for one of prosaic salads and cold meats, and more fanciful ices and coffee ; and the Shawsheen operatives were soon encountering a more aesthetic collation, it is probable, than had ever been served them before. But as it was a bountiful one, they acted well their part and found no fault. The crownino- delisfht of the evenins: came afterward. The young men were asked to lend a hand, and soon the floor was cleared in the large hall, and word was circulated throuofh the house that the evening:' s enter- 'tainment would close with dancino-. Noth- CD ing could have gone so far toward convincing the mill-hands that Salome had meant what she said, than this concession to their social rights, unless it was the fact that she, herself, — the haughty, aristocratic daughter of Floyd Shepard, whom they had looked upon with envy not unmixed with hatred, — that she should lead the dance with the younger superintend- Salome ^hcpavrt, ^^cfovmcr. lOl ent. An orchestra of three pieces was selected from the band of musicians, and Marion and Salome, by turns, furnished the piano accom- paniment. Salome claimed her promise from Villard and danced merrily, not only the first figure but several others. Mrs. Soule was too much overcome by all she had seen and heard to endure this, and was taken home ; but the others staid until the midnight hour tolled, and the dancers had all bidden good-night to their newly-developed friends and gone home en- thusiastic in their praise of the new order of things in the mill regime, and, especially, of the woman who was opening to them the wider doors of opportunity. 11 162 <^aIouw; ^liqmt'a, "§cUxmtv, XIV. John Villard passed a wakeful niglit in his new rooms at Newbern Shepard Hall. A strange and unwonted feeling had taken pos- session of him ; one which he was slow to recognize, but which cried loudly to him of his folly and presumption, even while it refused to be put off. After that first dance, Salome had paused by an open window and he had stood idly watch- ing her. Suddenly a tremendous desire to clasp her in his arms, to hold her close, to demand her full surrender, swept over him. So sudden and strong was the passion, that it was with difficulty that he kept from seizing the soft hand which lay dangerously near on the window-sill. So over-mastering was it, that he dared not stay or even speak. He turned on his heel and went out under the (juiet stars, alone. <^atomc .^hcpavd, ^^cfovmcr. 163 In the days when she had held aloof from the mill, and the superintendents scarcely ever saw her, Geoffrey Burnhani had reg^arded her as " something too bright and good for human nature's daily food," looking upon her as im- mensely above him, socially speaking. But now that she had become familiarly associated with them in the daily affairs and interests of the mill, Burnhani thought of her as having entered the field of good comradeship, and felt that friendly, if not exactly equal, terms existed between them. With John Villard it was different. He had begun by looking with a certain degree of scorn upon a woman who held tremendous in- terests so lightly as she had done in the old days. He had felt for her all the contemjDt a man who does not know them — a man with serious purposes — may feel for the irresponsible butterflies he imagines society-girls to be. With her deeper interest in the side of life which interested him, and her efforts to raise the standard of the mills, her realization of what to him was a sacred object in life and her devo- tion to it, his thought of her had changed. With him, familiar every-day contact had not 1G4 ^alomc ^Uqmwl, ^Icfovmcr. made of lier a comrade, in the ordinary sense of the word. Her beauty and refinement;, to- gether with the consciousness which never left his sensitive soul, that it was her wealth and her generosity which made the new conditions possible, — these things only served to raise her to a pedestal where she stood, forever apart from the rest of the universe, — a Avoman to be revered and worshijDed ; not a woman to be aspired to. Suddenly, he found himself in love with her. The tide of feeling Avliich swept over him was one that no man could mistake. It was not enough that he might worship her on her pedestal, with a devotion silent and unknown. He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted her eyes to droop before his glance — not to look at him in the steady fashion he knew so well. He wanted to feel her heart beating aofainst his. He wanted to kiss her. " Poor fool ! " he told himself, a hundred times that nio-lit. " As if she would even look at me — a poor factory-boy, self-educated, self- trained, and — yes, self -conceited ! " He remembered his youth ; how poor he had been; how he had studied by moonlight to ^'alomf ^hcpavrt, ^cfovuwt iGa save the expense of a candle ; how he had worked all through his hoyhood in a cotton- mill, that he might help his older sister to sup- port their mother ; how, after his mother had died and his sister married, he had remained poor and alone and almost friendless ; how Httle he had seen and kno^vn of women ; how utterly lacking he was in all the graces of so- ciety and the refinements that he supposed to come from outward polish only ; in short, how utterly at variance with her tastes and interests and aims his life had heen. He rememhered her life of luxury, of travel, of careful training, and the indulgence of cultivated, aesthetic tastes. What was he, that he should dare to even think of her? What but a presumptuous fool, that he should dream of touching even her frail, white hand ? And yet, her eyes had drooped when they met his that day, when they all went over the Hall together. Stay — what did it mean ? Did she ? — could she feel ? — but, no. He was a pre- sumptuous idiot to think of it. He paced the floor for an hour. Then he lit a cigar and, under its peaceful influences, he tried again to fix his mind on the mills, on the 166 $^Umt $\u\mxA, ^tiovmt, changed condition of things, on anything, — but her. Still, constantly, over and over, her tall, white-robed figure took shape in the curl- ing wreaths of vapor, and he fell to dreaming what it would be like to have a happy home of his own, with her as its center and joy. Again, he was exasperated with himself and called himself hard names. He threw away the half-smoked weed and resolutely prepared for bed ; but only to toss wearily about, combat- ing himself on the old grounds until the dawn, pushing its way through the crevices of his blinds, told him to rise and set his face again toward the workaday world. It was the first time that hard-working, earnest, practical John Villard had ever pas-ied a sleepless night. He had hardly seen how he was to bear the daily contact with Salome, after that. He was too modest and too honest with himself to dream that there might be any hope for him. He had, at one time during the night, thought of leaving the mills, and going away to try a new and easier life than this promised to be. Then he called himself a coward and remem- bered her words : " I have depended on you from the first," ^n\mu ^\\t\)\\\% lUfovmev. 167 and he determined to stay, cost what it might. Besides, all his hopes and interests were with the Shawsheen workers. No : he could not leave them, he could not leave her now. So he went forth in the morning, unchanged in outward appearance, and yet, stronger and better for this first grand fight with himself. And he met her with his usual deferential bow and smile when, by and by, she came to the office for her usual morning's study of business affairs. It was unanimously agreed that the opening of the Hall had been a grand success. The mill-hands, themselves, seemed to feel the new attitude into which they had suddenly stepped, and were already brighter and more hopeful. On her way to the mills, Salome had met a young overseer, who was hurrying in to town for something. She greeted him pleasantly, calling him by name, when, to her surprise, he stopped. " I'd like to thank you. Miss Shepard," the burly young fellow began, '• for what you are doing for us. If all the employers took the interest in their operatives as you do in us, we'd want no more Unions, and there'd be no 168 ^nUm $}\t\mxAf ^tfotmv, more strikes. I'm thinking- you've got ahead of the rest of us on the labor question, and found the right answer to it." " I'm very glad to hear you say that," Salome answered, with a glow at her heart which no speech from a man of the world had ever produced. " I want to find it, if I haven't yet. But, you know it doesn't depend on me alone. I may try, as hard as I can, but if you people don't co-operate with me, I'm help- less. I want to depend on you, Mr. Brady." " And you can that, miss," was the hearty answer. " You've got us all on your side now, sure. I went up this morning to see the houses. They are fine ones, too." " And did you pick out one for yourself, Mr. Brady ? You are married, I believe ? " " I am that ; and I've got as good a wife as ever the saints sent to bless a man. Yes, I picked out the one I liked best ; but the woman'll have to see it first, you know. And then, do you know, I think I'll buy it. The terms are so easy, and I've a little money laid by, that I'd like to use ; and I'm thinking Carrie'd be happier in a home of our own." " Now, that's sensible of you," said Salome, ^'atamc ^hcpavrt, ^Uformcv. 109 delighted that her houses were in such good prospect o£ pleasing. " If you do it, I've no doubt a good many others will. And, by and by, we shall have quite a community of prop- erty owners." Brady straightened himself up unconsciously at the word, touched his hat and passed on, his heart warmed and gratified by the kindly notice ; while Salome entered the office in unusually good spirits. " It seems to me," she began, addressing her- self to Burnham, " that everything is swinging round into the circle of my plans far better than I had dared hope. I expected opposition, or at least indifference, on the part of the operatives. On the contrary, they are all as delighted with the state of affairs as I am." " Why shouldn't they be ? " was Burnham's comment. " They'd be ungrateful wretches if they weren't. They've far more to gain than you have to lose, remember." " But you've been trying to make me believe," pursued Salome, " that they didn't want their condition improved ; that they were satisfied to be let alone ; and that they'd resist every im- provement I offered." 170 J'alamjj ^h^pavil, %tUvimv, "Wait a little and see ;" Burnham tried to make his tone impartial, if not skeptical ; ^'you've only begun yet. Don't expect the habits o£ months and years, the loose customs and low tastes, are going to be overthrown in a single night. The affair of last night, for instance, was doubtless the most orderly enter- tainment and the quietest dance they ever had. But it don't follow that they will all of them be satisfied to drop entirely the old order of low dances -vhen they had plenty to drink, even if they didn't have salads and coffee, or ice-cream and cake. There's no telling how many of them Avill be stealing off to those places before winter is over." " Then we must get up some form of entertainment that will hold them to us," said Salome firmly. " They sha'n't fall back, if anything we can compass can save them." Villard looked across his big ledger at her, as if she had been an anofel sent from Heaven direct, to preach a higher political economy to the cotton factories of earth. She caught his look and smiled back at him ; but she said no more. ^atomc <^Ucimvrt, lUfovmcr. 171 She did not speak to liiiii until just as she was ready to go home. " How do you like your new quarters, Mr. Villard?" she said, then. "I hope you rested well last nioflit ? " Villard remembered his sleepless hours vaguely, as in a dream. She looked so bright and untroubled herself. " You deserted me after that first dance. Did I dance so badly that you feared or dreaded to be caught by me again ? If it hadn't been for Mr. Burnham and Mr. Fales I should have felt quite a wall-flower." " You never could be that. Miss Shepard," poor Villard managed to say. "Well, as soon as the young people get moved in we must start some classes. I know a jrood dressmaker whom I can get, and Marion will teach them some other things, if they want it." She lingered some minutes, talking over the Hall and her plans, and left him with a con- fused image of herself mixing up with the figures of the ledger in a most incongruous way. Alas ! John Villard was to have many a hard fight with himself before he could drive away that image at will. 172 M^lmt ^\it\im\f gefovmfr. The young oi)eratives — and all that dwelt withm the corjDoration boarding-house walls — began that very night to pick up their effects, and make ready to move into their new quarters. Mrs. French had all she could attend to in prepar- ing for her large family, assigning rooms, and attending to the thousand details of opening the Hall. But before the week was closed, every old boarding-house was closed and the new home full. Marion Shaw found her time altosrether occupied. Her work was to lie directly among the girls, as Villard's influence was to save the boys and young men. Marion had a gentle and pleasing manner that made friends every- where she went. She had had a o-ood deal of experience in managing boarding-school girls, and although they are a widely different class from factory girls, human nature — girl-nature, is the same everywhere. Before the week was over, Marion had made friends with many of the girls, and had already interested them in keeping their rooms tidy, in forming a girls' club, which should embrace all sorts of good ends, and in rousing in them what was of infinite value in the work she had laid out, — a ^lUomc (^hrpvrt, ^{cfovmfi', 173 desire to become as near like her and Salome as it was possible for them to be. " We shall have to endure the cross of having them cut all their dresses like ours, wear ribbons like ours, do up their hair like ours, and get up the most astonishing hats purporting to be like ours," said she to Salome one night ; " but if it all comes of their want- ing to be like us, — you understand me, dear, — I mean of their wantinj*' to reach a hiirher ideal of course, — we can bear it." " We shall have to," was the answer. " The truth of it is, they will be trying to copy our habits and manners and characters, too." " Then we shall have to be all the more careful," said Marion seriously. Life to Marion Shaw was a serious thinp*. Although she was but twenty-seven years old, she had come to realize that life may not be for any what the fancy of youth pictures it ; and even to realize that the highest good which life can hold is not to be happy. Already she knew that happiness is but a relative term, and that only by ceasing to search and plan for it, can any of us find it even in small decree. 174 ^atomc ^hqravrt, ^tUvmtw Just now, she walked dangerously near to happiness. On the opening night, Geoffrey Burnham had kept closely at her side all the evening, and after the affair was over, he had walked home with her, while Eobert Fales had gone ahead with Salome. At the door, the two had paused a little, looking at the exquisite, moonlit October night. Suddenly the extraordinary interest Burnham had felt in this young woman had culminated. He seized both her hands in his, and pressed them close to his breast. " Why have you not come to me before ? " he murmured, passionately. " Why have you waited all these years ? " " I was waiting for you," she answered, with a smile. ^nXomt ^\i(\)im\, ^Ufovmcv. i75 XV. One evening in January, Salome and Marion went over early to Newbern Shepard Hall. Marion's duties called her there every evening, and she was seldom unaccompanied by her friend. The success of Salome's schemes for the in- terest of the working-girls seemed already assured. Although the Hall had been open but little more than two months, classes in dressmaking and millinery and in domestic science were already established, and were well attended. Some girls there were, it is true, who felt that, after working all day, they were entitled to an idle evening, or to the right of amusing themselves after their own fashion. But plenty of young women had been found to open the classes, and the number was steadily increasing. No strong measures had been 176 ^alomc ^hcpavrt, ^Ufovmcv. taken to induce these girls to join. Marion had talked with some of them individually, at first, and found a few who, half skeptically, had consented to try the dressmaking class, as an experiment. Then the announcement was made that a class would be opened on a cer- tain night, and twenty-six girls were present. Instruction in sewing, cutting and fitting was given free to any woman connected with the Shawsheen Mills. As the girls had been pay- ing exorbitant prices for having cheap material poorly made up, and as Salome had provided instructors from the best dressmaking estab- lishment Shepardtown afforded, the girls were not slow to see the benefit that would come to them. The young wives of operatives, too, women with houses and children to care for, then began to avail themselves of the privileges which the class afforded. So that, on this Jan- uary evening, there were over a hundred and fifty women in the classes, and another room had been opened to them on the ground floor. It was the same with other classes. At first, the young women had joined with the older Salome ^hcpavd, ^{cfovmcr. 177 ones in " pooh-poohing " the cooking and housekeeping lectures and demonstrations. The idea that they and their mothers did not know how to cook, and that Salome, who knew absolutely nothing of such matters, essayed to teach them, was a most distasteful one. But when they found that a celebrated teacher was to come out twice a week from Boston, and ffive demonstrations in the model class-rooms below, and that a o^raduate of the Boston Cookino- School had been engaged to take charge of the lessons every evening, they, the young married women from the cottages, especially, dropped in from curiosity ; and although they had come to scoff, they remained to cook. In short, they had become deeply interested in the new ways of housekeeping, and were surprised and delighted to find a way of making their few dollars go farther and procure a better and more healthful living. Consequently, these classes, too, were full, although the older matrons did not yet give up their prejudices. Among the girls who had not yet joined the classes, there were many who sat quietly in their own rooms or in the laro-e readina--rooms, and enjoyed the current magazines and papers, 12 178 Salome <#1tf}nn'tl, ^Ufomcr. or gossiped quietly and harmlessly about the fashions and each other — not altogether unlike women of higher pretensions. It was astonish- ing, even to Salome, who had, from the first, believed in her girls, how few of them went out on the streets at night. " It is not astonishing to me," said Marion, that January evening, in reply to a remark from her friend to this effect. " The girls are tired at night and are only too glad to have a pleasant, light and steam-heated place to stay in. Their rooms at the old boarding-houses were cold, bar- ren and dismal. In winter weather they could not sit in them, and the so-called parlor was not much better. When I was at Mme. Blanc's one of her servant girls went wrong. I shall never forget something she said. When Mad- ame heard of it, she sent for the girl and asked her, bitterly, what had made her bring such a scandalous thing upon a select house like hers. I was in her room at the time. The poor girl looked up at Mme. Blanc and said, ^ 0, ma'am, you're awful particular about where your young ladies spend their evenings, — girls that you're paid for looking after. But us servant girls — how did you look after us ? You didn't allow ^nlomt ^\\t\rm\r '^.efonncx'. 179 us a light in our own rooms, or to speak above a whisper in the kitchen, or seem to think we was human beings at alL What else could we do, but go out on the street when we wanted a bit of freedom ? And once, on the street, ma'am, girls like us ain't never safe. If you'd looked out for me, ma'am, and treated me as well as you treat your own dog or cat, it would never have happened.' Poor Madame Avas overcome entirely, and the girl left her white Avith rage. But she looked after her servants more closely afterward, and kept them in at night in warm rooms. I don't believe our girls Avant to do Avrong, — especially if Ave make it comfortable for them to do right." On the young men's side, things had gone equally Avell. There Avas a class of them who, like their fathers before them, Avere sturdy, honest and faithful. It Avas a small class, but upon these John Villard depended to counter- act the influence of the lower foreiofu element that had crept in ; and to the pride of these he appealed, both directly and indirectly, in his efforts to establish a better social atmosphere among the operatives. With a few of these to bejiin Avitli, he had 180 ^nlomt ^\x(\rm\, ^tfoKwsx, opened an evening school on the other wing of the Hall ; and, as in the case of the women's classes, it had increased in numbers and interest from the start. The overseers, almost to a man, gladly availed themselves of its opportu- nities for the education that the true American always feels the need for ; and they, with the better class of men from the looms and mules, set the example for others to follow. No better man for the work could have been chosen than John Villard. He had come up under much the same conditions that governed them. He had begun on the lowest round, and worked up to the position he now occupied, by hard work and the closest application to business. This fact, together with his attitude toward them during the ^rike, had made him a favorite with nearly every man on the works. They felt that they could place the utmost confidence in Villard ; and in the Shawsheen Mills, as everywhere, a rugged sincerity and honesty of purpose carried a weight that even the most unstable felt. The lecture-hall was usually packed at the weekly entertainment which Salome provided, and a new feeling of content and self-respect ^alomc <^hri)avd, ^{cformcv. 181 had begun to permeate the mills. Make a man who has been looked upon as a mere machine feel that he is estimated at something near the worth which every human being feels in his heart that he is entitled to, and you have done much to raise him to a higher social standard. For the first time since old Newbern Shepard's day, the mill-liands began to feel a just pride in being individual American citizens. Unconsciously, both men and Avomen were setting: their faces toward the hig^her standards which Villard by his life, and Salome by her newly awakened energy, had set for them. At the mills, affairs were on a most flourish- ino' basis. The Shawsheen brand of cloth was too well known to allow of a few months shut- down of the mills making any difference in the law of demand. Orders had increased, even while the mills were closed, and they had been worked to their utmost capacity ever since they had opened. Never had the Shawsheen Mills been more prosperous than at the beginning of January, or their future looked brighter. When Villard had opened his evening school he invited Burnham to co-operate with him ; 182 ^i\\o\m ^^hfpavtli, '^vdovrntv, but tlie latter had put him off without a definite reply, and not until the afternoon of the day referred to in the beginning of this chapter had Villard asked him whether or not he might count on his assistance. Burnham occasionally looked in at the Hall of an even- ing, but Villard had begun to suspect that this was principally for the purpose of seeing Marion Shaw. " Well, to tell the truth," Burnham finally admitted, " I've no taste for this sort of thing. Oh, yes; it's a good scheme, and seems to be working first-rate ; but I'm not the right fellow for the place. I don't like philanthropic work, never did, never shall. I work hard enough during the day. I need rest and freedom at night." Villard smiled. " And I suppose I don't do anything day- times and need this sort of thing as recreation and intellectual stimulus?" His tone was sarcastic, for he had little patience with selfish- ness in any form. "No, not that," said Burnham. "You work hard enough — too hard, in fact. But all this is more in your line. You're like Miss ^alomc ^Ucpanl, |{cfovmcr. 183 Shepard ; you're both of you happier working yourselves to death for others. Now, I'm not built on that plan. I've no faculty for teach- ing, and I'm sure that my well-meant efforts to meet the men half-way are looked upon by them as condescension on my part." He waited an instant for Villard to speak, but no answer came. " I can't help it. I wasn't born to the manor, so to speak. I didn't come up from the ranks, as you know. I suppose they'd believe in me more, if I had. But you know that my father put me under Mr. Greenough to learn the business, only after I had graduated from college and fooled away a year in Europe. I sometimes doubt if I'm not out of place in this mill as it is run nowadays." " Oh, no, not that," put in Villard hastily. " You're too good a business man. We couldn't spare you." " I can see how it's all coming out," Burn- ham continued, as if he had not heard Villard. " You two " (ViUard's heart jumped at the words) " will go on and make a model in- stitution of the Shawsheen Mills. I should doubt if you made a profitable one, only that I 184 ^^Umt ^\\t\m\% ^Icfovmcr, know you've got a mighty good business head on your shoulders ; and, I say, the way Miss Shepard is developing is a caution to us men. I'd no idea she'd take such a practical turn, or learn the details so readily. Oh, I can see where it's s-oing: to end. She'll be the reco™zed head and you'll be her first assistant. As for me, I sha'n't be in it. I shall have resigned." " Jeff ! " It was only occasionally that these two caUed each other by their boyhood names. " Yes, I don't think I should care to have it known that I worked under a woman, much as I admire and respect Miss Shepard. There' d be no other way, unless I married her ! " Villard turned pale with sudden, inward rage, but he said nothing. " Don't think I'd have much chance there, though," Burnham went on lightly. " You're more her style. And you're both so much wrapped up in good works that you've no time for faith in each other, beyond what you waste in philanthropic effort. Miss Shepard don't seem to be the marrying kind. I don't believe she ever thinks of a man unless he has the merit of being an operative in the mills." " And since you're bent on discussing matri- J^atonw ^'hfpavil, ^»cformcr. 185 monial matters," observed Villard, with sarcasm, " how about Miss Shaw ? And when are the weddinof-cards to be issued ? " Burnham shook the ashes from his cijrar and looked at his watch critically. " Marion Shaw is a fine girl," he said. " She's the right kind of woman to tie to ; but " — and Burnham took up his hat to go out — " I'm not the marrying kind either." So Villard had come to understand that he must take care of his eveninof school as best he could alone. Robert Fales had settled in Sliepardtown. There were to be more cottasfes built in the spring, and to him Salome had alone confided her plan of erecting a new church which should be named for her grandfather. When the evening school began to grow, he went to Villard and offered his services as assistant, and had proved a most valuable one. This evening Salome looked in upon them, and asked Villard if he could give her a few moments after the class. " I shall be very glad," he replied. " I have been working up the idea you spoke about the other day, and Avanted to talk with you about it." 186 Mom ^Itfpa^t, lUfavmcv. " The pi'ofit-sliaring scheme ? " asked Salome. " That's just what I wanted to speak of. It seems to me we ought, now, at the beginning of the year, to get it into manageable shape, and tell the men, so that they may know what to expect. I will be in the reception-room when your class is through." Much as Villard was interested in his work the remainino' hour dra<>-p;ed a little. The prospect of a quiet tete-a-tete with Salome, even on so unromantic a subject as profit-sharing, was too alluring. But, at last, he found himself face to face with her, and for a few moments forgot all else in the pleasure of listening to her voice and watching the curve of her chin and mobile lips, as she talked of immaterial things. " And now, what kind of a plan have you formulated as to the profit-sharing?" she asked, after a little. " Profits — oh, yes," said Villard, suddenly brouofht to himself. " I have examined all the accounts of such experiments in foreign countries, and tried to remember the differing conditions and better wages here. I have prepared a rough draft of a circular which I ^atomr cfovmtv. 211 Towards the close of the summer, as Salome came out of the Ilall one evening, one of the joung men came up to her side, and asked if he might speak to her alone. " Certainly," she said ; '' Mr. Fales, will you walk ahead with Marion, while O'Donovan walks home with me ? " She remembered the young fellow perfectly. She had seen him first during the strike, a handsome young dare-devil Avho seemed, in fact, to be one of the ringleaders among the younger men. When the mills had re-opened, she had taken an uncommon interest in him. He was a faithful and industrious man, and when, after a few weeks of sneering at the " new-fangled notions," he had settled into harmony with the strange atmosphere, he had tried to improve himself in many ways. When Villard took charge of the evening school, he had held aloof for a few weeks, but at last joined one of Fales' classes. In their entertainments and dances, he had taken lead- ing parts ; and that day, Villard had offered him the post of overseer in one of the minor departments at the mills. It was quite a step up for the young man, and Villard had been 212 ^ixXomt ^\\c\nm\, ^ttovwm, surj)rised at liis hesitation in accepting the offer. Salome knew all this ; and as she heartily liked the fellow, she determined to influence him for his own interest. O'Donovan was silent for some moments, after they started, doubtless being unaccustomed to escort ladies of her degree in that friendly way. But Salome soon put him at his ease by her kind and easy manner. " And so you're going to be j)romoted," she said, after a little. " I hope you like that ? " " Miss Shej)ard," he blurted out in confused speech, " that's what I want to talk about. There's somethinof — I mean, I want to tell — I ought to tell you something, Miss Shepard." " Very well. It oughtn't to be very difficult to do that," and her tone Avas cordial and en- couraging. " I don't think I ought to take the position — unless you say so. But I expect you'll put me in irons, if I tell you. Only — well, the other fellows would say I was a blasted fool — barrin' your presence, miss." " Why, John," exclaimed Salome wonder- ingly. For the young man was in a great ^ixhmt ^hcpjud, ^{rfonufv. 213 state of excitement. "What can it be? Surely, you know you need not be afraid of me ? " " You remember the night some one tried to blow up the mill — and Mr. Greenough — and Mr. Villard " Salome stood still and gazed through the summer moonlight at her stranoe escort. He did not look up, but stood like a culprit before her. " I don't know how you managed to find out and save 'em," he went on. "Miss Shepard — it was me." " You ? John O'Donovan ! " For an instant there was silence. " Go on," she said, when she could com- mand her voice. " Tell me all." " It was John Ross that planned it and put me up to it. When he died, I wondered if he hadn't told you or Mr. Villard. Ever since then, I've been trying to, but somehow I couldn't — tell Mr. Villard — nor you neither. It was John Ross that planned it. He called me a coward and a scab — and, finally, well — you know I was a crazy fool then, with the rest of 'em.— It ain't no use talkin', miss, but we all discussed and brooded over thino-s until 214 ^'atomj ^H^inivtl, %tUxmtt, we were half out of our heads. If any one of us had weakened first, we'd all give up, and the strike would have bu'st ; but — well, 'tain't no use talkin', I s'pose. I've confessed, and you can have me put in irons, if you want to." " How did you come to want to tell me,. John ? " Salome said softly. " Oh, miss, when I found how you saved the mill that night, and the lives of those two men, I went down on my knees with thankfulness. It somehow seemed to open my eyes to where I'd been standin'. Then, when the mills opened and you took us back, and when you commenced to take an interest in us ; when you built that beautiful big Hall, and all them cottages ; and, if you'll pardon me for sayin' it, when you begun walkin' thro' the mills yourself, speakin' a pleasant word to us all and smilin' at us as if we were all your equals, miss — and you a saint, it was then I seemed no better'n a murderer. And when John Ross died, and the detectives gave up lookin' for the men, it was bore in on me as how I ought to confess ; and to-day, when Mr. Villard called me into the office and praised my work, and said I'd been faithful and trust- <^atomc ^hcpavil, |Ufovmcv. 215 worthy tnistworthy, ma'am ! — why, then, I couldn't stand it no longer." The young man stood silent in the moon- light. Salome's eyes were filled with tears. " John," she said, " you are a noble fellow. It is no more than right that you should con- fess this to me, but not all fellows in your place could do it. You can because you have the making of a man in you." The young man looked up. " And what are you goiu' to do with me ? " he asked. " Will you do just what I say ? " returned Salome. " I will, indeed," he said. " Then I want you to go to Mr. Villard to- morrow morning and tell him you accept the place. Then do your best, and deserve better things in future." " Miss Shepard ! " Young O'Donovan fairly gasped. " John," she went on, and she seemed to him like the pictures of saints in the church, as she stood in her white gown in the silvery light, " if your scheme had succeeded, you would not only have destroyed most valuable property of 216 Momt ^\\t\)m\, Icfom^v. mine ; you would have killed two of my dear- est friends ; but you have turned over a new leaf. I feel sure that nothing will ever induce you to consent to anything- of the kind again." " Never, so help me Heaven ! " he exclaimed, fervently. " Now, you have confessed like a man, I will forgive like a woman. You will accept the new place. You will go on studying and improving yourself, and some day I shall be proud of you, and you will be proud that you once had the manliness to come to me and confess a crime. Now, we will bury the thing forever, and never speak of it again. Only promise me you will go to Mr. Villard in the morning and do as I ask you." " I promise," said the young man solemnly. Then he dropped on his knees and seizing her hand, bent his head reverently upon it. " If the God in Heaven above is like you," he said, " He is a God worth serving." " My poor forgiveness resembles His, John, only as a drop of rain resembles the mighty ocean." They walked silently home, and O'Donovan left her with a new purpose in his heart that ^^lamt $\\e\mvi\, '^tUvnitv. 217 has never left it since. He is to-day a thriv- ing Christian gentleman. Dare any one say it Avould have been better to condemn him as a law-breaker ? "Nobody but a woman, I suppose, would have dealt justice so," said Salome to herself, as she put out her light an hour later, and turned to the window — " nobody but John Villard." 218 J>aIom