"It's Raymer, all right, and not the other one," he mused when the little vehicle had gone rocketing over the railroad crossing to take the turn toward the Iron Works. "The iron-man is the duck she's tryin' to help out of the labor-rookus. She was over there this morning, and she's goin' there again, right now." As the phaeton sped along through the over-crossing suburb there were signs of an armistice apparent, even before the battle-field was reached. Pottery Flat was populated again, and the groups of men bunched on the street corners were arguing peacefully. Miss Grierson pulled up at one of the corners and beckoned to the young iron-moulder who had offered to be her horse-holder on the morning visit. "Anything new, Malcolm?" she asked. "You bet your sweet life!" said the young moulder, meeting her, as most men did, on a plane of perfect equality and frankness. "We was hoodooed to beat the band, and Mr. Raymer's got us, comin' and goin'. There wasn't no orders from the big Federation, at all; and that crooked guy, Clancy, was a fake!" "He has gone?" she said. "He'd better be. If he shows himself 'round here again, there's goin' to be a mix-up." Miss Grierson drove on, and at the Iron Works there were more of the peaceful indications. The gates were open, and a switching-engine from the railroad yards was pushing in a car-load of furnace coal. By all the signs the trouble flood was abating. Raymer saw her when she drove under his window and calmly made a hitching-post of the clerk who went out to see what she wanted. A moment later she came down the corridor to stand in the open doorway of the manager's room. "I'm back again," she said, and her manner was that of the dainty soubrette with whom the audience falls helplessly in love at first sight. "No, you're not," Raymer denied; "you won't be until you come in and sit down." She entered to take the chair he was placing for her, and the soubrette manner fell away from her like a garment flung aside. "You are still alone?" she asked. "Yes; Griswold hasn't shown up since morning. I don't know what has become of him." "And the labor trouble: is that going to be settled?" He looked away and ran his fingers through his hair as one still puzzled and bewildered. "Some sort of a miracle has been wrought," he said. "A little while ago a committee came to talk over terms of surrender. It seems that the whole thing was the result of a--of a mistake." "Yes," she returned quietly, "it was just that--a mistake." And then: "You are going to take them back?" "Certainly. The plant will start up again in the morning." Then his curiosity broke bounds. "I can't understand it. How did you work the miracle?" "Perhaps I didn't work it." "I know well enough you did, in some way." She dismissed the matter with a toss of the pretty head. "What difference does it make so long as you are out of the deep water and in a place where you can wade ashore? You _can_ wade ashore now, can't you?"