en
ceased playing, and stared and pointed. They formed into groups, the
larger boys, of from ten to twelve, by themselves, the older girls
anxiously clutching the small children by the hands or gathering them
into their arms.

Saxon could not see the cause of all this, but she could guess when she
saw the larger boys rush to the gutter, pick up stones, and sneak into
the alleys between the houses. Smaller boys tried to imitate them. The
girls, dragging the tots by the arms, banged gates and clattered up the
front steps of the small houses. The doors slammed behind them, and the
street was deserted, though here and there front shades were drawn aside
so that anxious-faced women might peer forth. Saxon heard the uptown
train puffing and snorting as it pulled out from Center Street. Then,
from the direction of Seventh, came a hoarse, throaty manroar. Still,
she could see nothing, and she remembered Mercedes Higgins' words "THEY
ARE LIKE DOGS WRANGLING OVER BONES. JOBS ARE BONES, YOU KNOW"

The roar came closer, and Saxon, leaning out, saw a dozen scabs,
conveyed by as many special police and Pinkertons, coming down the
sidewalk on her side of the street. They came compactly, as if with
discipline, while behind, disorderly, yelling confusedly, stooping to
pick up rocks, were seventy-five or a hundred of the striking shopmen.
Saxon discovered herself trembling with apprehension, knew that she must
not, and controlled herself. She was helped in this by the conduct of
Mercedes Higgins. The old woman came out of her front door, dragging a
chair, on which she coolly seated herself on the tiny stoop at the top
of the steps.

In the hands of the special police were clubs. The Pinkertons carried
no visible weapons. The strikers, urging on from behind, seemed content
with yelling their rage and threats, and it remained for the children to
precipitate the conflict. From across the street, between the Olsen and
the Isham houses, came a shower of stones. Most of these fell short,
though one struck a scab on the head. The man was no more than twenty
feet away from Saxon. He reeled toward her front picket fence, drawing a
revolver. With one hand he brushed the blood from his eyes and with
the other he discharged the revolver into the Isham house. A Pinkerton
seized his arm to prevent a second shot, and dragged him along. At the
same instant a wilder roar went up from the strikers, while a volley of
stones came from between Saxon's hou