Worthy of his Name by Eglanton Thorne

IT was a Saturday evening towards the end of November. The six o'clock bell had rung, and the "hands," both men and women, were streaming out of Rayleigh Mill. The atmosphere was raw and cold, yet the work-people did not hasten to their homes, as they were wont to do. They gathered in knots outside the gates, talking eagerly. Some of the faces were flushed and triumphant, some pale and anxious-looking; but each told of unusual excitement. The younger people shouted and laughed; but their elders, especially the women, looked troubled. They were thinking forebodingly of empty cupboards and fireless grates.

As the last band of workers passed through the gates, the crowd broke into a loud "Hurrah! " The mill-hands had come out "on strike," and unless Philip Darnell yielded to their demands-which he had vowed he would not do-not one would enter the mill on Monday morning.

Amongst his employés, there was only one who had refused to join the strike, and that was the young clerk, Gus Rew. In vain, the men had urged him to forsake his post; in vain, when persuasions failed, had they resorted to threats. Gus was happy in his work, and satisfied with his pay; besides, he knew that Sebastian Mouncey disapproved of the action of the men. Had they listened to his counsel, their position might have been improved without such an exhibition of between master and men; but they had turned from their old friend to listen to the florid rhetoric and ardent appeals of a trade-unionist from London.

The mill-hands had passed out, and one of the great gates was already closed when Gus appeared, accompanied by Mr. Ellary.

"Here's that conceited youngster," muttered one of the men. "Hang it! He has Ellary with him, or we'd give him a jacketing."

"He shall have it yet," said another; "we'll flog the impudence out of the young sneak. He shall learn not to set himself against those older and wiser than himself."

"You had better leave the boy alone, I can tell you; it'll be the worse for any man who lays a finger upon him," said a tall, stalwart young fellow who stood near. The appearance of Gus' champion was so formidable that the men turned away, and uttered no more threats.

As Gus passed through the crowd, unconscious of the ill-will he had excited, an old man caught him by the hand, and said kindly, with lowered voice, "Gus, lad, you must join us. There are men ready to do you a mischief if you hold out. Their blood's up, and they don't care what they do. Come, lad, why should you turn against your old friends? Why risk your life for the sake of that scoundrel?"

"I will never turn against old friends; Mike, and as to risking my life, I cannot believe that any of the men would really do me harm. Why should they? They know I am their friend. But I cannot see that it would be right of me to throw up my work. I have no grievance."

"You might take up their grievances. It looks as if you had no feeling, to hold yourself aloof."

"Indeed I do feel for them," said Gus, looking troubled, "and so does Mr. Mouncey; but-"

"Oh, parson's agin us too. Parsons always take the side of the rich against the poor."

"That's not true," said Gus, with a touch of indignation in his tone. "No one feels for the poor more than Mr. Mouncey. But he thinks the men have been too hasty."

"Oh yes; of course we're in the wrong," said Mike. "But, Gus, these men have been drinking; you had better take yourself out of their way."

Three of the roughest, most disreputable of the workmen were approaching. The dark scowl on the face of the foremost and his clenched fist boded no good to Gus; but the boy made no movement to escape. His blue eyes looked fearlessly into the angry eyes bent on him, and the calm, strong glance had its power. The man shrank and swerved before it as an animal might have done; his hand fell to his side, he muttered some contemptuous words about "a bit of a lad," and passed on with his comrades, one of whom dropped a large stone he had taken up, with the intention of hurling it at Gus.

"Pon my word, you're no coward, lad! " cried Mike admiringly.

Rayleigh Mill looked dreary enough on Monday morning. Not a workman was in sight as Gus walked up to the gates at eight o'clock; but some one, unseen, was watching him, for suddenly a stone struck him on the temple, a little above the eye, with such force that the blood poured down his face. He stood outside the closed gates, trying to staunch the blood with his handkerchief, when Mr. Ellary came up.

"Who has done this, lad? " asked Mr. Ellary, with anger in his glance.

"I do not know, sir; no one was in sight when I looked round."

"A coward, whoever he was, to wound a lad for doing his duty! It is a mercy it missed your eye."