"Comrades!" sang out the Little Russian, subduing the noise of the
crowd with his mellow voice. "Comrades! We have now started a holy
procession in the name of the new God, the God of Truth and Light,
the God of Reason and Goodness. We march in this holy procession,
comrades, over a long and hard road. Our goal is far, far away, and
the crown of thorns is near! Those who don't believe in the might
of truth, who have not the courage to stand up for it even unto
death, who do not believe in themselves and are afraid of suffering
--such of you, step aside! We call upon those only who believe in
our triumph. Those who cannot see our goal, let them not walk with
us; only misery is in store for them! Fall into line, comrades!
Long live the first of May, the holiday of freemen!"
The crowd drew closer. Pavel waved the flag. It spread out in the
air and sailed forward, sunlit, smiling, red, and glowing.
"Let us renounce the old world!" resounded Fedya Mazin's ringing
voice; and scores of voices took up the cry. It floated as on a
mighty wave.
"Let us shake its dust from our feet."
The mother marched behind Mazin with a smile on her dry lips, and
looked over his head at her son and the flag.
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