At the second mill, the one of the broad square and the open lot, she saw the crowd of mill-hands pouring out of the gate as she approached. The crowd swelled and overflowed the sidewalk and then the street and poured over the wall into the lot, slowly, like some huge stream of molasses. As Sally continued on her way, she met this human stream coming toward her; but it divided before her and closed behind her, letting her through slowly. They are a peaceable, law-abiding set, for the most part, but the mill lays its heavy hand upon them. The older ones among them went stolidly to their kennels; but a few of the mill-girls looked after Sally and made quite audible remarks about her and giggled and laughed and nudged the men. And the men--the young men--looked back at her and thought--but I don't know what they thought. I only know that two of them, of mixed race, turned and followed on after her. Sally was not aware that she was being followed, but many of the mill-girls were, and the giggling and the laughter grew, until Sally turned to see the cause. Having seen, she did not change her pace, but pursued her way steadily without again looking back or seeming to know of her two followers. The crowd ahead, going north, and the crowd behind her, going south, were well separated by this time, and there was a wide space between them. In this space were only Sally and the two men, now close behind her, and a few stragglers. In this way they went on for some distance, while the crowd ahead gradually melted away into the tenements on either side; and they were within a few blocks of the corner where Sally would turn off of River Street. The street was not well lighted and it was deserted. The men came up, one on either side of Sally, and one of them said something to her, too vile to be recorded. Sally kept her eyes straight ahead and she thought rapidly. She was not exactly frightened, but she was thinking what she had better do. It would do little good to scream. The outcome of such a course was doubtful and, besides, Sally was not the kind of a girl who screams easily or at all. She meditated fighting. She could have put up a good fight; but there were two of the men and they would have been pleased with a fight, two men against one girl. What else was there for her to do? She could run, and she could run well; so well that there was an even chance, perhaps, that she could run faster and last longer than those mill-trained men. Eight or ten years of the mill do not help a man's lungs much or his morals. The dust, you know,--it seems to get into their morals as well as into their lungs. If only she didn't have skirts to bother her; but her skirt was neither tight nor very long. The man repeated his vile speech; and Sally darted away, gathering her skirts as she ran.