The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1890-01-09
THE LITTLE FOLKS.
Ned, the Factory Boy.
BY COUSIN GERTRUDE.

of B stood idle. 1t was not hol-
iday, but it's leathern bands hung
loose and the whirr and click of it's ma
chinery was silent. The factory hands
were collected in little groups here and
there on the streets, some of them talk
ing in sullen tones, others in an angry,
excited manner.
"He will rue the day." said one burly
workman, when he cut down our
wages Beggarly ones they were at
best, curse him."
"He don't believe in live and let
Ive,'" said another. $50 his house be
runnin' over with plenty, he cares not
how we poor 'uns has to scrape and
pinch to keep from starvin'. 4"
"True for you, Tom," replied the
first speaker, Bill Nevins. Boys,
meet me tonight in my room. I have
plan to tell you then" he continued,
as he separated from his companions.
Mr.. Clayton, the owner of the fac
tory, was hard, stern man. He be-
lieved in grinding from his workmen
all the labor practicable at the small
est possible cost. He had never been
known to speak kind, pleasant word
to any of them, and while they labored
for him because they were compelled to
earn living, they hated and despised
their employer.
Early that morning he had called
the men together and informed them
that as business was unusually dull he
felt compelled to lower their wages.
They listened in silence until he had
finished speaking; then they talked to-
gether, and Bill Nevins, advancing to
the front. said:
"Mr. Clayton, we have agreed that
our wages bent now not half what they
ought to be, and not for one cent less
will we lift our hands to do a lick of
your work" And his heavy, rough fist
came down upon table with resound
ing emphasis.
Mr.. Clayton exhorted his workpeo-
pie to be reasonable, but to no pur-
pose. Without another word, headed
by Bill, they walked out of the build
ing-men, women, and children-and
gathered together into the groups of
which we have spoken.
One barefooted urchin, with thin,
pale face, stood near the crowd clus-
tered around Bill Nevins. Poor little
Ned Williams He wandered what was
going to become of him now He had
no father nor mother, and his scanty
earnings had paid for a crust and
lodging with cross old woman, Bet
sey Wingate, Or old Betsey, as her
neighbors called her.
Ned knew that she would storm at
him when he told her that even his
small wages must cease for the present.
He was in no hurry to seek his poor
abode, though faint for want of proper
food. After listening to the last words
of Bill, ne, too, wandered off, but in
different direction from that taken by
the others.
Down the street he went, past dingy
stores, until he reached wide, shady
avenue which led to the woods. Pres
emily he came to the beautiful home of
the factory owner. He stopped and
stood peeping through the palings of
tine fence, his heart burning at the in
Justice done to himself and his friends.
A lofty white mansion, built i'm the
latest style, long stretch of green
lawn before it, and beautiful flowers
this was what he saw. But something
Near the gate, romping with an i'm
mense Newfoundland dog, was little
girl about eight years old He knew
her TO be Mr.. Clayton7s only child
Soft golden hair waved around her fair
face, and pair of blue eyes danced
with fun as the dog brought her the
ball which she had tossed away for him
to find. Ned thought she hooked like
a picture he had seen in an old story
book once loaned to him He won
dered If she knew what it was to be
hungry.
Suddenly she spied hin, and drop
ping the ball timidly approached the
fence. Lifting her blue eyes to his,
she said:
What is your name, little boy?"
Ned" he muttered.
you look so thin and pale" she
said. Are you hungry?"
I'm always hungry" said poor Ned.
care you? I'm S., sorry! Wait until
[ come back"
Quick as thought she darted into
the house, but presently returned,
bringing a dainty package containing
bread, meat, and slice of pie, which
she handed to the boy.
His eyes sparkled at sight of the
food, and with a grateful "Thahk you,"
he passed on. That small act of kind
ness performed by the factory owners
little daughter wiped from his memory
the bitterness of Der fathers treatment
of himself and the other factory hands.
At night he wandered with the crowd
which gathered in Bill Nevins' room to
discuss his "plan." His rough face
wore threatened look. He reviewed
in his talk their oppression for SO many
months, and ended by saying
"And now, friends, this last act of
Oscar Clayton's has been too much.
I am in favor of revenge. What say
you, lads?'
Revenge! reyenge!" echoed on all
sides.
The company had grown into a
turbulent mob, ready to do and dare
anything.
"Let us burn his house to the
ground!" yelled one.