the street quickly and silently. The mother panted
with the exertion of the rapid gait and her excitement. She felt that
something big was happening. At the factory gates a throng of women
were discussing the affair in shrill voices. When the three pushed
into the yard, they found themselves in the thick of a crowd buzzing
and humming in excitement. The mother saw that all heads were turned
in the same direction, toward the blacksmith's wall, where Sizov,
Makhotin, Vyalov, and five or six influential, solid workingmen were
standing on a high pile of old iron heaped on the red brick paving of
the court, and waving their hands.

"Vlasov is coming!" somebody shouted.

"Vlasov? Bring him along!"

Pavel was seized and pushed forward, and the mother was left alone.

"Silence!" came the shout from various directions. Near by the even
voice of Rybin was heard:

"We must make a stand, not for the kopeck, but for justice. What is
dear to us is not our kopeck, because it's no rounder than any other
kopeck; it's only heavier; there's more human blood in it than in the
manager's ruble. That's the truth!"

The words fell forcibly on the crowd and stirred the men to hot
responses:

"That's right! Good, Rybin!"

"Silence! The devil take you!"

"Vlasov's come!"

The voices mingled in a confused uproar, drowning the ponderous whir of
the machinery, the sharp snorts of the steam, and the flapping of the
leather belts. From all sides people came running, waving their hands;
they fell into arguments, and excited one another with burning,
stinging words. The irritation that had found no vent, that had always
lain dormant in tired breasts, had awakened, demanded an outlet, and
burst from their mouths in a volley of words. It soared into the air
like a great bird spreading its motley wings ever wider and wider,
clutching people and dragging them after it, and striking them against
one another. It lived anew, transformed into flaming wrath. A cloud
of dust and soot hung over the crowd; their faces were all afire, and
black drops of sweat trickled down their cheeks. Their eyes gleamed
from darkened countenances; their teeth glistened.

Pavel appeared on the spot where Sizov and Makhotin were standing, and
his voice rang out:

"Comrades!"

The mother saw that his face paled and his lips trembled; she
involuntarily pushed forward, shoving her way through the crowd.

"Where are you going, old woman?"

She hear