[_Almost joyously excited._] I had to run, or they would ha' caught me an' kept me. They was all roarin' to me to join 'em. Father Baumert was there too, and says he to me: You come an' get your sixpence with the rest--you're a poor starvin' weaver too. An' I was to tell you, father, from him, that you was to come an' help to pay out the manufacturers for their grindin' of us down. [_Passionately._] Other times is comin', he says. There's goin' to be a change of days for us weavers. An' we're all to come an' help to bring it about. We're to have our half-pound o' meat on Sundays, and now and again on a holiday sausage with our cabbage. Yes, things is to be quite different, by what he tells me. OLD HILSE [_With repressed indignation._] An' that man calls hisself your godfather! and he bids you take part in such works o' wickedness? Have nothing to do with them, Gottlieb. They've let themselves be tempted by Satan, an' it's his works they're doin'. LUISE [_No longer able to restrain her passionate excitement, vehemently._] Yes, Gottlieb, get into the chimney corner, an' take a spoon in your hand, an' a dish o' skim milk on your knee, an' pat on a petticoat an' say your prayers, and then father'll be pleased with you. And _he_ sets up to be a man! [_Laughter from the people in the entry-room._ OLD HILSE [_Quivering with suppressed rage._] An' you set up to be a good wife, 'eh? You calls yourself a mother, an' let your evil tongue run away with you like that? You think yourself fit to teach your girl, you that would egg on your husband to crime an' wickedness? LUISE [_Has lost all control of herself._] You an' your piety an' religion--did they serve to keep the life in my poor children? In rags an' dirt they lay, all the four--it didn't as much as keep 'em dry. Yes! I sets up to be a mother, that's what I do--an' if you'd like to know it, that's why I'd send all the manufacturers to hell--because I'm a mother!--Not one of the four could I keep in life! It was cryin' more than breathin' with me from the time each poor little thing came into the world till death took pity on it. The devil a bit you cared! You sat there prayin' and singin', and let me run about till my feet bled, tryin' to get one little drop o' skim milk. How many hundred nights has I lain an' racked my head to think what I could do to cheat the churchyard of my little one? What harm has a baby like that done that it must come to such a miserable end--eh? An' over there at Dittrich's they're bathed in wine an' washed in milk. No! you may talk as you like, but if they begins here, ten horses won't hold me back. An' what's more--if there's a rush on Dittrich's, you'll see me in the forefront of it--an' pity the man as tries to prevent me--I've stood it long enough, so now you know it. OLD HILSE You're a lost soul--there's no help for you. LUISE