were—­and the enemies that had been lurking for them, crouching upon their trail and thirsting for their blood!  That first lying circular, that smooth-tongued slippery agent!  That trap of the extra payments, the interest, and all the other charges that they had not the means to pay, and would never have attempted to pay!  And then all the tricks of the packers, their masters, the tyrants who ruled them—­the shutdowns and the scarcity of work, the irregular hours and the cruel speeding-up, the lowering of wages, the raising of prices!  The mercilessness of nature about them, of heat and cold, rain and snow; the mercilessness of the city, of the country in which they lived, of its laws and customs that they did not understand!  All of these things had worked together for the company that had marked them for its prey and was waiting for its chance.  And now, with this last hideous injustice, its time had come, and it had turned them out bag and baggage, and taken their house and sold it again!  And they could do nothing, they were tied hand and foot—­the law was against them, the whole machinery of society was at their oppressors’ command!  If Jurgis so much as raised a hand against them, back he would go into that wild-beast pen from which he had just escaped!

To get up and go away was to give up, to acknowledge defeat, to leave the strange family in possession; and Jurgis might have sat shivering in the rain for hours before he could do that, had it not been for the thought of his family.  It might be that he had worse things yet to learn—­and so he got to his feet and started away, walking on, wearily, half-dazed.

To Aniele’s house, in back of the yards, was a good two miles; the distance had never seemed longer to Jurgis, and when he saw the familiar dingy-gray shanty his heart was beating fast.  He ran up the steps and began to hammer upon the door.

The old woman herself came to open it.  She had shrunk all up with her rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow parchment face stared up at him from a little above the level of the doorknob.  She gave a start when she saw him.  “Is Ona here?” he cried, breathlessly.

“Yes,” was the answer, “she’s here.”

“How—­” Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching convulsively at the side of the door.  From somewhere within the house had come a sudden cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish.  And the voice was Ona’s.  For a moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; then he bounded past the old woman and into the room.

It was Aniele’s kitchen, and huddled round the stove were half a dozen women, pale and frightened.  One of them started to her feet as Jurgis entered; she was haggard and frightfully thin, with one arm tied up in bandages—­he hardly realized that it was Marija.  He looked first for Ona; then, not seeing her, he stared at the women, expecting them to speak.  But they sat dumb, gazing back at him, panic-stricken; and a second later came another piercing scream.