hat her own was Gemma, that she was a "fine speeder" in
the Chippering Mill, where she had received nearly seven dollars a week.
She had been among the first to walk out.

"Why did you walk out?" asked Janet curiously.

"Why? I get mad when I know that my wages is cut. I want the money--I get
married."

"Is that why you are striking?" asked Janet curiously.

"That is why--of course."

"Then you haven't heard any of the speakers? They say it is for a cause
--the workers are striking for freedom, some day they will own the mills.
I heard a man named Rolfe yesterday--"

The girl gave her a radiant smile.

"Rolfe! It is beautiful, what Rolfe said. You think so? I think so. I am
for the cause, I hate the capitalist. We will win, and get more money,
until we have all the money. We will be rich. And you, why do you
strike?"

"I was mad, too," Janet replied simply.

"Revenge!" exclaimed the girl, glittering again. "I understan'. Here come
the scabs! Now I show you."

The light had grown, but the stores were still closed and barred. Along
Faber Street, singly or in little groups, anxiously glancing around them,
behind them, came the workers who still clung desperately to their jobs.
Gemma fairly darted at two girls who sought the edge of the sidewalk,
seizing them by the sleeves, and with piteous expressions they listened
while she poured forth on them a stream of Italian. After a moment one
tore herself away, but the other remained and began to ask questions.
Presently she turned and walked slowly away in the direction from which
she had come.

"I get her," exclaimed Gemma, triumphantly.

"What did you say?" asked Janet.

"Listen--that she take the bread from our mouths, she is traditore--scab.
We strike for them, too, is it not so?"

"It is no use for them to work for wages that starve. We win the strike,
we get good wages for all. Here comes another--she is a Jewess--you try,
you spik."

Janet failed with the Jewess, who obstinately refused to listen or reply
as the two walked along with her, one on either side. Near West Street
they spied a policeman, and desisted. Up and down Faber Street,
everywhere, the game went on: but the police were watchful, and once a
detachment of militia passed. The picketing had to be done quickly, in
the few minutes that were to elapse before the gates should close.
Janet's blood ran faster, she grew excited, absorbed, bolder as she
perceived the apologetic attitude of the "s