With the rout of the mob that Sunday morning the backbone of the strike at the Barriscale mills, and at other industrial plants in Fairweather, was broken. Smoke again belched forth freely from the tall stacks, the roar and clatter of machinery fell heavily on the air, laboring humanity swarmed once more through the ways and byways of the shops. Workmen were no longer heckled and abused on their way to and from their homes. Many adherents of the radical labor organizations, finding themselves on the losing side, dropped their open affiliation with their destructive bodies, abandoned, for the time being at least, their anarchistic principles, and returned to work on conditions already accepted by union labor. Not that the backbone of anarchy had been broken in Fairweather. Far from it. There were still those who, cowed for the time being, were sullen and woeful, and awaited only an opportune time to exhibit openly and forcibly their resentment. Marie Brussiloff, from her cot in the hospital, and Gabriel from his headquarters in the near-by city, still suffering from their wounds, were “breathing out threatenings and slaughter.” Donatello alone, of all the group, in the columns of _The Disinherited_, was mild and conciliatory. He appeared to be grieved rather than outraged, disappointed rather than angered. Meeting McCormack a few days after the riot, he exhibited no bitterness nor resentment but he told him that in his judgment he had missed the opportunity of a lifetime to do a splendid service for humanity. “I feel,” was Hal’s reply, “that I am doing a far greater service for humanity by upholding the laws of my country than I could possibly do by letting a mob work its will.” “But those laws,” protested Donatello; “you know by whom they were made.” “I know; I have gone all over that phase of the matter a thousand times. But it’s democracy; and, so far, democracy has proved to be the best form of government that any peoples of the earth have ever lived under. I tell you, Donatello,” he was growing eager and emphatic now, “when Gabriel tried to cut down my flag that morning, a sudden reverence for the ‘Stars and Stripes’ took hold of me, and I would have dared anything to protect them. I am just as much of a humanitarian as I ever was. I am just as much in sympathy with the toiling masses of the world as ever. But since that moment I have felt that my first duty is to protect my own. I believe I am not lacking in a sense of chivalry, but my mother and my sisters are my first concern above all other women in the world. Just so my own country must come first in my loyalty and devotion.” And never, after that, could any argument or appeal shake Halpert McCormack’s conception of patriotism.