LABOR: Matriarch

Some strikers were milling aimlessly about a West Virginia mining camp. They lacked a leader. Down beside the creek, the road was guarded by State machine-gunners.

Along the road came a little old bespectacled woman in black dress and bonnet. The sentries called: "We've orders to sweep the roads." On trudged the old woman, her eyes flashing, her face set. In a voice amazingly big for one so old and small she cried:

"Oh, ye have? Do ye own th' roads?

"Orders is orders. The roads are to be cleared."

Retorted the little old woman: "Ye've...