_And oh, so many! And all in a row dressed in matchless gowns of snowy white. She would count them up to ten--as far as she had learned to count.... But there were ten,--yes, and many more than ten-- ... and just to think of whole rows of them-- ... all there-- ... and waiting for her to reach out and fondle and caress._ _And she--never in her life before had she been so fortunate as to own one...._ A smile lit up her dreaming eyes. _Rows upon rows of dolls.... And not even Appomattox and Atlanta had ever seen so many before; and now how funny they acted, dancing around and around and bobbing their quaint bodies and winking and nodding at her.... It was Mayday with them and down the long line of spindles these cotton dolls were dancing around their May Queen, and beckoning Shiloh to join them...._ _It was too cute--too cunning--! they were dancing and drawing her in--they were actually singing-- ... humming and chanting a May song...._ _O lovely--lovely dolls!..._ Jud Carpenter found her asleep in the greasy aisle, her head resting on her arm, a smile on her little face--a hand clasping a rounded well-threaded doll-like bobbin to her breast. It is useless to try to speak in a room in which the Steam Beast's voice drowns all other voices. It is useless to try to awaken one by calling. One might as well stand under Niagara Falls and whistle to the little fishes. No other voice can be heard while the Steam Beast speaks. Shiloh was awakened by a dash of cold water and a rough kick from the big boot of that other beast who called himself the overseer. He did not intend to jostle her hard, but Shiloh was such a little thing that the kick she got in the side accompanied by the dash of water shocked and frightened her instantly to her feet, and with scared eyes and blanched face she darted down to the long line of bobbins, mending the threads. If, in the great Mystic Unknown,--the Eden of Balance,--there lies no retributive Cause to right the injustice of that cruel Effect, let us hope there is no Here-after; that we all die and rot like dogs, who know no justice; that what little kindness and sweetness and right, man, through his happier dreams, his hopeful, cheerful idealism, has tried to establish in the world, may no longer stand as mockery to the Sweet Philosopher who long ago said: "_Suffer the little children to come unto me._..." They were more dead than alive when, at seven o'clock, the Steam Beast uttered the last volcanic howl which said they might go home. Outside the stars were shining and the cool night air struck into them with a suddenness which made them shiver. They were children, and so they were thoughtless and did not know the risk they ran by coming out of a warm mill, hot and exhausted, into the cool air of an Autumn night. Shiloh was so tired and sleepy that Bull Run and Seven Days had to carry her between them.