ear by year further and more dimly into the past and is one of
the long, half-forgotten skirmishes wherein labor is learning the truth
that only in so far as labor dares to lean on peace and efficiency can
labor move upward in the scale of life. The larger life with its wider
hope, requires the deeper fellowship of men. The winning or losing of
the strike in the Wahoo meant little in terms of winning or losing; but
because the men kept the peace, kept it to the very end, the strike
meant much in terms of progress. For what they gained was permanent;
based on their own strength, not on the weakness of those who would deny
them.

But the workers in the mines and mills of the Wahoo Valley, who have
gone to and from their gardens, planting and cultivating and harvesting
their crops for many changing seasons, hold the legend of the strong
man, maimed and scarred, who led them in that first struggle with
themselves, to hold themselves worthy of their dreams. In a hundred
little shacks in the gardens, and in dingy rooms in the tenements may be
found even to-day newspaper clippings pinned to the wall with his
picture on them, all curled up and yellow with years. Before a
wash-stand, above a bed or pasted over the kitchen stove, soiled and
begrimed, these clippings recall the story of the man who gave his life
to prove his creed. So the fellowship he brought into the world lives
on.

And the fellowship that came into the world as Grant Adams went out of
it, touched a wider circle than the group with whom he lived and
labored. The sad sincerity with which he worked proved to Market Street
that the man was consecrated to a noble purpose, and Market Street's
heart learned a lesson. Indeed the lives of that long procession of
working men who have given themselves so freely--where life was all they
had to give--for the freedom of their fellows from the bondage of the
times, the lives of these men have found their highest value in making
the Market Street eternal, realize its own shame. So Grant Adams lay
down in the company of his peers that Market Street might understand in
his death what his fellows really hoped for. He was a seed that is sown
and falls upon good ground. For Market Street after all is not a stony
place; seeds sown there bring forth great harvests. And while the
harvest of Grant Adams's life is not at hand; the millennium is not
here; the seed is quickening in the earth. And great things are moving
in the world.