those only who believe in our triumph. Those
who cannot see our goal, let them not walk with us; only misery is in
store for them! Fall into line, comrades! Long live the first of May,
the holiday of freemen!"

The crowd drew closer. Pavel waved the flag. It spread out in the air
and sailed forward, sunlit, smiling, red, and glowing.

"Let us renounce the old world!" resounded Fedya Mazin's ringing voice;
and scores of voices took up the cry. It floated as on a mighty wave.

"Let us shake its dust from our feet."

The mother marched behind Mazin with a smile on her dry lips, and
looked over his head at her son and the flag. Everywhere, around her,
was the sparkle of fresh young cheerful faces, the glimmer of
many-colored eyes; and at the head of all--her son and Andrey. She
heard their voices, Andrey's, soft and humid, mingled in friendly
accord with the heavy bass of her son:

"Rise up, awake, you workingmen!
On, on, to war, you hungry hosts!"

Men ran toward the red flag, raising a clamor; then joining the others,
they marched along, their shouts lost in the broad sounds of the song
of the revolution.

The mother had heard that song before. It had often been sung in a
subdued tone; and the Little Russian had often whistled it. But now
she seemed for the first time to hear this appeal to unite in the
struggle.

"We march to join our suffering mates."

The song flowed on, embracing the people.

Some one's face, alarmed yet joyous, moved along beside the mother's,
and a trembling voice spoke, sobbing:

"Mitya! Where are you going?"

The mother interfered without stopping:

"Let him go! Don't be alarmed! Don't fear! I myself was afraid at
first, too. Mine is right at the head--he who bears the
standard--that's my son!"

"Murderers! Where are you going? There are soldiers over there!" And
suddenly clasping the mother's hand in her bony hands, the tall, thin
woman exclaimed: "My dear! How they sing! Oh, the sectarians! And
Mitya is singing!"

"Don't be troubled!" murmured the mother. "It's a sacred thing. Think
of it! Christ would not have been, either, if men hadn't perished for
his sake."

This thought had flashed across the mother's mind all of a sudden and
struck her by its simple, clear truth. She stared at the woman, who
held her hand firmly in her clasp, and repeated, smiling:

"Christ would not have been, either, if men hadn't suffered for his
sake."

S