ed a group of girls who were sewing badges.

We had made up all description of political badges--badges for the
court, for processions, school badges, military badges, flimsy bits of
coloured ribbon and gold fringe which go the tour of the world, rallying
men to glory. In the dismal twilight our fingers were now busied with
black-and-silver "in memoriam" badges, to be worn as a last tribute to
some dead member of a coterie who would follow him to the grave under
the emblem that had united them.

We were behindhand for the dead as well as for the living. At six the
power was turned off, the machine hands went home, there was still an
unfinished heap of black badges.

I got up and put on my things in the dark closet that served for
dressing-room. Frances called to the hand sewers in her rasping voice:

"You darsn't leave till you've finished them badges."

How could I feel the slavery they felt? My nerves were sensitive; I was
unaccustomed to their familiar hardships. But on the other hand, my
prison had an escape; they were bound within four walls; I dared to
rebel knowing the resources of the black silk emergency bag, money
lined. They for their living must pay with moral submission as well as
physical fatigue. There was nothing between them and starvation except
the success of their daily effort. What opposition could the German
woman place, what could she risk, knowing that two hungry mouths waited
to be fed beside her own?

With a farewell glance at the rubbish-strewn room, the high, grimy
windows, the group of hand sewers bent over their work in the increasing
darkness, I started down the stairs. A hand was laid on my arm, and I
looked up and saw Mike's broad Irish face and sandy head bending toward
me.

"I suppose you understand," he said, "that there'll be no more work for
you."

"Yes," I answered, "I understand," and we exchanged a glance that meant
we both agreed it was Frances' fault.

In the shop below I found Mr. F. and returned the fifty cents he had
advanced me. He seemed surprised at this.

"I'm sorry," he said, in his gentle voice, "that we couldn't arrange
things."

"I'm sorry, too," I said. But I dared not add a word against Frances.
She had terrorized me like the rest, and though I knew I never would see
her again, her pale, lifeless mask haunted me. I remembered a remark the
German woman had made when Frances dismissed the Polish girl: "People
ought to make it easy, and not hard, for oth