for a final action. One thing she greatly feared for the Pacific Coast was the cosmopolitan population and the customs brought in from other lands. Soon she felt there would be a struggle between the two great powers. Labor and Capital would try their strength together. What the result would be she could not tell.

If the matter would be left entirely to the Americans she felt sure an amicable adjustment of things could easily be accomplished, but the grumbling of that dark spirit of anarchy that one could hear as they put their ear to the ground, which had flowed in from other countries, held a threatening hand over society, and she feared the result of an uprising if it should come. But whatever was to be, Ruth believed that God was with His people and she stood ready at an hour's notice to summon together an army of women, such as had never appeared in public demonstration in any city of the world. Her five years of quiet working had not been in vain. To-day as she was making a resume of all her public efforts, she smiled when she thought how great her achievements had been.

With the diligence of an enthusiast she had been banding the wage-earning women together and getting ready for the struggle that she saw must inevitably come before a proper adjustment of the affairs of the two contending parties could be made. Women from all stations in society were interested; every trade in the various lines of woman's activity was identified with the movement, from the professional woman down to the housemaid and the woman who worked upon the street. All were interested in the cause of Labor, and in general congress they had often taken counsel together. Women who loved their homes and were loyal to their country and unto their God; women who were just as enthusiastic

as she, and just as rabid in their denunciation of aristocratic rule; women who were just as anxious to bring about the delaceration of the power of the monopolists who are grinding the face of the poor as she could possibly be. But what their future line of action, she could not yet see as clearly as she wished. With firm faith in God, who had ever been the firm friend of the people, she moved forward, believing that His omnipotent hand would still lead the righteous hosts. She went on from day to day doing her utmost to breathe her burning spirit of enthusiasm into the heart of the womanly hosts which she was called to lead.

Rising with the sun on the morning following her conference with the mistress of Palace Earnestine, she went her way in search of a little snuggery in which her friend, so tempest tossed and tried in the furnace of affliction, could hide from the world and be at peace.

Having been successful in her search, at exactly the appointed time, she stood on the threshold of the Palace Earnestine. She embraced Marie, who stood in bonnet and gloves ready to take her departure. As her trunks and boxes were being loaded upon the wagon, the new mistress of the mansion was coming in with her personal effects. The proud and haughty stare with which she regarded Marie was the exact counterpart of Marie's own haughty pride a few years before. For the first time in her life Marie Stocklaid felt her spirit cringe under the domination of the power of an aristocrat. Taking her seat in the carriage, she brushed away an unbidden tear, and as she saw that Ruth had divined its source, she said: "The hateful creature! she at least might have waited until I was out of the house."

Ruth gave the order and the carriage rolled down from Nob Hill, freighted with its full complement of mourn

ers.

It wended its way out toward the Mission, where she had taken a sunny little cottage, already fitted for happiness and home. As they drew up before the place Marie gave a sigh of relief, for she noted its genteel appearance, which looked inviting to her tired soul. Entering, she found a cozy fire burning in the grate and an easy rocker which invited her to repose. Turning to Ruth, she gave her a tender embrace, saying as she did So: "You precious friend in need! What a wonderful woman you are! Who would have thought that all this brightness could have been in waiting for me?"

Wiping the tears which flowed in gratitude she, mid smiles and tears, continued: "Oh, I shall be a happy weanling by and by and then it will not seem so hard to be poor."

"None are so rich," replied Ruth, "as those who abound in Christ. He who is cognizant of even a feather that falls from the raven's wing will care for thee."

Bringing her chair, she seated herself in the same comfortable, homelike way that she had hitherto done, and continued: "There is much real happiness in poverty, Marie dear, and if you will pause to think now that 'the Son of Man had not where to lay His head' your lot will not seem so hard after all."

CHAPTER XXV.

DUPLICATING THE LABOR DEPARTMENT.

If Marie Stocklaid could have foreseen the natural gravitation of things that day when she stood before the woman's cell down in the city prison saying to Polly Hopkins: "When you get out from here come to me and I will talk to you," she would have been more chary of her words and weighed more carefully the meaning of a visit from that black siren of a hundred midnight revels. She had been only three days ensconced in her cottage home when she was one morning surprised to see the besotted visage of the poor fallen and abandoned Polly peering in at her as she sat reclining in an easy chair, partially hidden behind the lace curtains of her bay window. With a broad grin upon her face, revealing two rows of pearly teeth, the woman opened the gate and came up the walk with the air of assurance which betokened self-possession at least.

Without ringing, she opened the door and ushered herself right into the presence of Mrs. Stocklaid, saying as she did so: "Pardon my abruptness, Mrs. Stocklaid. I didn't want to trouble you to let me in." Then helping herself to a seat, she continued: "I have found you at last, my noble misses. I am so glad to come and have that talk with you. Wasn't you good though to ask me, a poor old drunkard, to come to your home? And you did it, too, just as though I had been a decent woman."

For a moment Marie was in terror, for as she looked