However, one morning Marija took her usual detour, and, to her horror and dismay, saw a crowd of people in front of the bank, filling the avenue solid for half a block.  All the blood went out of her face for terror.  She broke into a run, shouting to the people to ask what was the matter, but not stopping to hear what they answered, till she had come to where the throng was so dense that she could no longer advance.  There was a “run on the bank,” they told her then, but she did not know what that was, and turned from one person to another, trying in an agony of fear to make out what they meant.  Had something gone wrong with the bank?  Nobody was sure, but they thought so.  Couldn’t she get her money?  There was no telling; the people were afraid not, and they were all trying to get it.  It was too early yet to tell anything—­the bank would not open for nearly three hours.  So in a frenzy of despair Marija began to claw her way toward the doors of this building, through a throng of men, women, and children, all as excited as herself.  It was a scene of wild confusion, women shrieking and wringing their hands and fainting, and men fighting and trampling down everything in their way.  In the midst of the melee Marija recollected that she did not have her bankbook, and could not get her money anyway, so she fought her way out and started on a run for home.  This was fortunate for her, for a few minutes later the police reserves arrived.

In half an hour Marija was back, Teta Elzbieta with her, both of them breathless with running and sick with fear.  The crowd was now formed in a line, extending for several blocks, with half a hundred policemen keeping guard, and so there was nothing for them to do but to take their places at the end of it.  At nine o’clock the bank opened and began to pay the waiting throng; but then, what good did that do Marija, who saw three thousand people before her—­enough to take out the last penny of a dozen banks?

To make matters worse a drizzling rain came up, and soaked them to the skin; yet all the morning they stood there, creeping slowly toward the goal—­all the afternoon they stood there, heartsick, seeing that the hour of closing was coming, and that they were going to be left out.  Marija made up her mind that, come what might, she would stay there and keep her place; but as nearly all did the same, all through the long, cold night, she got very little closer to the bank for that.  Toward evening Jurgis came; he had heard the story from the children, and he brought some food and dry wraps, which made it a little easier.

The next morning, before daybreak, came a bigger crowd than ever, and more policemen from downtown.  Marija held on like grim death, and toward afternoon she got into the bank and got her money—­all in big silver dollars, a handkerchief full.  When she had once got her hands on them her fear vanished, and she wanted to put them back again; but the man at the window was savage, and said that the bank would