The same light was in the eyes of Andrey Krugloff, from the great Putiloff works, when he said: “Freedom for the worker. The day of the proletariat has come. The men who use the tools shall control them, the fruits of labor shall belong to labor. We will put an end to capitalistic exploitation; we will do away with poverty; the workers of the world shall unite.” Ivan Borovsky, who had come from the front to attend the all-Russian convention of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Deputies, saw freedom in terms of the soldiers. “Peace, peace,” he said. “We dig our graves and call them trenches. What is the use of freedom to a man in his grave? We will stop this bloody slaughter. This is not our war. This is the Tsar’s war. The soldiers of all the world shall rise as we have done. They will throw off the yokes of kings and kaisers, and we will all make peace. There shall be no more court-martial, no more capital punishment. We will have honest, democratic peace. Then we can go back to our farms and our factories and put an end to all wars.” Little curly blond-haired Petroff, who brought me my morning _chei_ (tea), with a smile that sparkled like the sunshine on the Neva, defined revolution in his own way when he refused to accept my first tip. “We are free now,” he explained. “We will get our regular per cent of the bill for service.” So it went. Revolution was to every man the sum of his desires. Yet above and beneath and beyond each man’s interpretation was the deeper thing that old Chekmar voiced when he spoke of land as “God’s and the people’s.” It was not only of himself that Chekmar thought when he said, “It is ours!” Personal greed could never have brought that light into his dull blue eyes. Something more than his own hours and wages sounded through the words of Andrey Krugloff. Hours and wages alone were not enough to lift his heavy face out of the mold of common clay. It was the knowledge that they were one with the great living, breathing human mass--the people--that filled their eyes with visions. The honeymoon of Revolution was already waning on that day when the American commission came to Petrograd; but the consciousness of “the people” as an entity still remained. Slowly the years of political and economic slavery, land hunger, and hideous physical poverty imposed upon the many by the few had brought about a mass consciousness that was the most vital force in revolutionary Russia. I discovered with surprise that the Tsar’s name was seldom mentioned. He ceased to count for anything. A month after the first revolutionary attack, he was as completely forgotten as if he had never lived. When Vera and Ivan tore the double-headed eagles from the great wrought-iron fence around the Winter Palace, and ripped the imperial coat-of-arms from the buildings to make bonfires in the streets, all that there was of Nicholas, even his memory, was burned.