oner."

"So as you should not have had to make yourself unpopular?" asked
Kurfeldt. "You needn't be afraid. You've done your best for us. Now
we'll do our best for you."

"I was not thinking of myself. I was thinking of the dead," said Peter.

Peter sent a despatch to headquarters and went the rounds to see if all
was as it should be. Then spreading his blanket in the passenger
waiting-room, he fell asleep, not with a very happy look on the grave
face.

But the morning-papers announced that the strike was ended by a
compromise, and New York and the country breathed easier.

Peter did not get much sleep, for he was barely dreaming of--of a
striker, who had destroyed his peace, by striking him in the heart with
a pair of slate-colored eyes--when a hand was placed on his shoulder.
He was on his feet before the disturber of his dreams could speak.

"A despatch from headquarters," said the man.

Peter broke it open. It said:

"Take possession of Printing-house Square, and await further orders." In
ten minutes the regiment was tramping through the dark, silent streets,
on its way to the new position.

"I think we deserve a rest," growled the Lieutenant-Colonel to Peter.

"We shan't get it," said Peter, "If there's anything hard to be done, we
shall have it." Then he smiled. "You'll have to have an understanding
hereafter, before you make a man colonel, that he shan't run for
office."

"What are we in for now?"

"I can't say. To-day's the time of the parade and meeting in City Hall
Park."

It was sunrise when the regiment drew up in the square facing the Park.
It was a lovely morning, with no sign of trouble in sight, unless the
bulletin boards of the newspapers, which were chiefly devoted to the
doings about the Central Station, could be taken as such. Except for
this, the regiment was the only indication that the universal peace had
not come, and even this looked peaceful, as soon as it had settled down
to hot coffee, bread and raw ham.

In the park, however, was a suggestive sight. For not merely were all
the benches filled with sleeping men, but the steps of the City Hall,
the grass, and even the hard asphalt pavement were besprinkled with a
dirty, ragged, hungry-looking lot of men, unlike those usually seen in
the streets of New York. When the regiment marched into the square, a
few of the stragglers rose from their recumbent attitudes, and looked at
it, without much love in their faces. As the regiment