factory machines.

Again, from all sides, from the windows and the yards, different words
and voices, now uneasy and malicious, now thoughtful and gay, found
their way to the mother's ears. But this time she felt a desire to
retort, to thank, to explain, to participate in the strangely
variegated life of the day.

Off a corner of the main thoroughfare, in a narrow by-street, a crowd
of about a hundred people had gathered, and from its depths resounded
Vyesovshchikov's voice:

"They squeeze our blood like juice from huckleberries." His words fell
like hammer blows on the people.

"That's true!" the resonant cry rang out simultaneously from a number
of throats.

"The boy is doing his best," said the Little Russian. "I'll go help
him." He bent low and before Pavel had time to stop him he twisted his
tall, flexible body into the crowd like a corkscrew into a cork, and
soon his singing voice rang out:

"Comrades! They say there are various races on the earth--Jews and
Germans, English and Tartars. But I don't believe it. There are only
two nations, two irreconcilable tribes--the rich and the poor. People
dress differently and speak differently; but look at the rich
Frenchman, the rich German, or the rich Englishman, you'll see that
they are all Tartars in the way they treat their workingman--a plague
on them!"

A laugh broke out in the crowd.

"On the other hand, we can see the French workingmen, the Tartar
workingmen, the Turkish workingmen, all lead the same dog's life, as
we--we, the Russian workingmen."

More and more people joined the crowd; one after the other they
thronged into the by-street, silent, stepping on tiptoe, and craning
their necks. Andrey raised his voice:

"The workingmen of foreign countries have already learned this simple
truth, and to-day, on this bright first of May, the foreign working
people fraternize with one another. They quit their work, and go out
into the streets to look at themselves, to take stock of their immense
power. On this day, the workingmen out there throb with one heart; for
all hearts are lighted with the consciousness of the might of the
working people; all hearts beat with comradeship, each and every one of
them is ready to lay down his life in the war for the happiness of all,
for freedom and truth to all--comrades!"

"The police!" some one shouted.

CHAPTER XIX

From the main street four mounted policemen flourishing their knouts
came rid