So Jurgis said that he understood it; and yet it was really pitiful, for the struggle was so unfair—­some had so much the advantage!  Here he was, for instance, vowing upon his knees that he would save Ona from harm, and only a week later she was suffering atrociously, and from the blow of an enemy that he could not possibly have thwarted.  There came a day when the rain fell in torrents; and it being December, to be wet with it and have to sit all day long in one of the cold cellars of Brown’s was no laughing matter.  Ona was a working girl, and did not own waterproofs and such things, and so Jurgis took her and put her on the streetcar.  Now it chanced that this car line was owned by gentlemen who were trying to make money.  And the city having passed an ordinance requiring them to give transfers, they had fallen into a rage; and first they had made a rule that transfers could be had only when the fare was paid; and later, growing still uglier, they had made another—­that the passenger must ask for the transfer, the conductor was not allowed to offer it.  Now Ona had been told that she was to get a transfer; but it was not her way to speak up, and so she merely waited, following the conductor about with her eyes, wondering when he would think of her.  When at last the time came for her to get out, she asked for the transfer, and was refused.  Not knowing what to make of this, she began to argue with the conductor, in a language of which he did not understand a word.  After warning her several times, he pulled the bell and the car went on—­at which Ona burst into tears.  At the next corner she got out, of course; and as she had no more money, she had to walk the rest of the way to the yards in the pouring rain.  And so all day long she sat shivering, and came home at night with her teeth chattering and pains in her head and back.  For two weeks afterward she suffered cruelly—­and yet every day she had to drag herself to her work.  The forewoman was especially severe with Ona, because she believed that she was obstinate on account of having been refused a holiday the day after her wedding.  Ona had an idea that her “forelady” did not like to have her girls marry—­perhaps because she was old and ugly and unmarried herself.

There were many such dangers, in which the odds were all against them.  Their children were not as well as they had been at home; but how could they know that there was no sewer to their house, and that the drainage of fifteen years was in a cesspool under it?  How could they know that the pale-blue milk that they bought around the corner was watered, and doctored with formaldehyde besides?  When the children were not well at home, Teta Elzbieta would gather herbs and cure them; now she was obliged to go to the drugstore and buy extracts—­and how was she to know that they were all adulterated?  How could they find out that their tea and coffee, their sugar and flour, had been doctored; that their canned peas had been colored with copper salts, and their