My uncle had been called to investigate the matter. He came home and said that nothing could be done until morning, so we sat up to the table and made out as best we could with a supper. The next morning I went to uncle’s overseer with a note to the effect that he would be unable to be at work that morning. The mill-boys, who had passed the news around, met me and in indelicate haste referred to my misfortune, saying, “Goin’ to the trial, Priddy,” and, “What did yer have to eat last night, Priddy--tripe on a skewer?” I worked apart that day, as if interdicted from decent society. My aunt’s shame was mine, perhaps in a greater measure. On my return home that night I found my foster parents awaiting me with smiles on their faces. “Al,” said my aunt, in tears, “I want you to forgive me. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Both of us have. Uncle and I have been to the city mission and have taken the pledge. The judge wasn’t hard on me. He sent us there. We’ve put you to shame often enough and are sorry for it. You’re to have a better home, and we’ll get along famously after this. Maybe it’s all been for the best, lad; don’t cry.” And from the new, inspiring light in her eyes I could tell that she meant every word, and I thanked God in my heart for the experience that had made such words possible--strange words on my aunt’s lips. _Chapter XIX. A Reduction in Wages, Cart-tail Oratory, a Big Strike, and the Joys and Sufferings thereof_ _Chapter XIX. A Reduction in Wages, Cart-tail Oratory, a big Strike, and the Joys and Sufferings thereof_ In January of that year forty thousand mill operatives went on strike. I belonged to the union and had a voice in the preparations for the strike. The manufacturers wanted to reduce our wages ten per cent. Word was passed around the mule-room that there was to be a stubborn fight, and that every union member ought to be on hand at the next regular meeting, when a vote was to be taken which would be our answer to the officials. Our union headquarters were then in a long, narrow room in one of the business blocks, lighted by smoky oil lamps. The room was crowded when the meeting was called to order. The men were allowed to declare their feelings in speeches. “Th’ miserly manufacturers,” growled Hal Linwood, a bow-legged Socialist, “they never knows when they are well off, they dunno. Little enough we gets now, and worse off we’ll be if they slices our wages at the rate they would go. It ain’t just, and never will be just till we div--” “Order!” shouted the chairman. “This here isn’t no Socialist meeting. What the man said at first is all right, though.” “Hear! hear!” roared the crowd. Linwood represented the prevailing opinion, and when the vote was taken we declared in favor of a strike by a large majority. Messengers were coming in from the other meetings, and we saw that a general strike would be effected.