"I can't help it," he said desperately. "What am I to do? Pope says we'd be cowards now to give in."
"Pope says!" she repeated with scorn. "Can't you think for yourselves, and not be at Pope's beck and call?"
"Just see how Holdfast was treated—" Stevens began, and stopped.
"Ah, that's it! That's the real truth! You're afraid, all of you,—afraid of Pope, and afraid of each other, and afraid of being called 'blacklegs.' What's that but cowardice? . . . Roger, are you going to wait, and let your little ones starve afore your eyes? . . . There's work to be had now, for I know there is. It's offered to any who'll take. Mr. Holdfast 'ud be at work, if it wasn't for his arm. What's to keep you back?"
"I daren't be the first to give in," he faltered. "They'd hoot at me for a 'blackleg.'"
"Daren't! And you call yourself a man! You call yourself independent! You call yourself a freeborn Englishman! Daren't! And you call that liberty!" she uttered, with unconscious eloquence. "I call it being a slave."
Stevens seemed too dejected for anger. "You know well enough, there's lots of men willing to get to work," he said, "if others would let them. But there's too many for holding out still. What's a man to do? He can't stand alone—and there's nobody to take the lead."
"Except Pope! Take the lead yourself," said Martha.
Roger sat in gloomy silence.
"They do say there's signs that the masters 'll give in soon," he observed at length.