up my mind to it," said Ellen. "I am not going to be
a slave in any way, and I am not going to approve of others being
slaves."

"You think they ought to strike?"

"Yes, if it is true that Mr. Lloyd is going to dock their wages, but
I don't feel sure that it is true. Mr. Beals is a queer man.
Sometimes I have thought he was dangerous."

Chapter XLII

Tuesday evening was one of those marvellously clear atmospheres of
autumn which seem to be clearer from the contrast to the mists of
the recent summer. The stars swarmed out in unnumbered hosts.

"Seems to me I never saw so many stars," one would say to another.
The air had the sharp cleave of the frost in it. Everything was
glittering with a white rime--the house roofs, and the levels of
fields on the outskirts of the little city.

Ellen had an errand down-town that evening, and she wrapped herself
up warmly, putting on a fur collar which she had not worn since the
winter before. She felt strangely nervous and disturbed as she set
out.

"Don't you want your father to go with you?" asked Fanny, for in
some occult fashion the girl's perturbation seemed to be
communicated to her. She followed her to the door.

"Seems kind of lonesome for you to go alone," she said, anxiously.

"As if I minded! Why, it is as bright as day with the
electric-lights, and there are houses almost all the way," laughed
Ellen.

"Your father could go with you, or he could go for you."

"No, he couldn't go for me. I want to get one of the new catalogues
at the library and pick out a book, and there is no sense in
dragging father out. He has a cold, too. Why, there is nothing in
the world to be afraid of, mother."

"Well, don't be any longer than you can help," said Fanny.

Ellen, as she passed her grandmother's house, saw a curtain drawn
with a quick motion. That happened nearly every time she passed. She
knew that the old woman was always on the lookout for her, and
always bent on concealing it. Mrs. Zelotes never went into her son's
house, and never spoke to Ellen in those days. She had aged rapidly
during the past year, and even her erect carriage had failed her.
She stooped rigidly when she walked. She was fairly racked with love
and hatred of Ellen. She adored her, she could have kissed the
ground she walked on, and yet she was so full of wrath against her
for thwarting her hopes for her own advancement that she was
conscious of cruel impulses in her direction.

Ellen w