omeless and starving of the city came trudging through
the snow from all over its two hundred square miles. That night
forty score of them crowded into the station house of the stockyards
district--they filled the rooms, sleeping in each other's laps, toboggan
fashion, and they piled on top of each other in the corridors, till the
police shut the doors and left some to freeze outside. On the morrow,
before daybreak, there were three thousand at Durham's, and the police
reserves had to be sent for to quell the riot. Then Durham's bosses
picked out twenty of the biggest; the "two hundred" proved to have been
a printer's error.

Four or five miles to the eastward lay the lake, and over this the
bitter winds came raging. Sometimes the thermometer would fall to ten or
twenty degrees below zero at night, and in the morning the streets would
be piled with snowdrifts up to the first-floor windows. The streets
through which our friends had to go to their work were all unpaved and
full of deep holes and gullies; in summer, when it rained hard, a man
might have to wade to his waist to get to his house; and now in winter
it was no joke getting through these places, before light in the morning
and after dark at night. They would wrap up in all they owned, but they
could not wrap up against exhaustion; and many a man gave out in these
battles with the snowdrifts, and lay down and fell asleep.

And if it was bad for the men, one may imagine how the women and
children fared. Some would ride in the cars, if the cars were running;
but when you are making only five cents an hour, as was little
Stanislovas, you do not like to spend that much to ride two miles. The
children would come to the yards with great shawls about their ears,
and so tied up that you could hardly find them--and still there would be
accidents. One bitter morning in February the little boy who worked at
the lard machine with Stanislovas came about an hour late, and screaming
with pain. They unwrapped him, and a man began vigorously rubbing his
ears; and as they were frozen stiff, it took only two or three rubs to
break them short off. As a result of this, little Stanislovas conceived
a terror of the cold that was almost a mania. Every morning, when it
came time to start for the yards, he would begin to cry and protest.
Nobody knew quite how to manage him, for threats did no good--it seemed
to be something that he could not control, and they feared sometimes
that he wou