brothers, for they confess themselves children of the same gracious
and good mother who makes no difference between her children, but
loves them all with equal intensity and equal devotion, and it is
all the same to her whether this one of her sons is prince or count,
and that one workman or citizen. For our mother, Freedom, we are all
alike, we are all brethren."

"That sounds very finely," said the cobbler, shaking his head.
"There is only one fault that I can find with it, it is not true.
For if we were all alike, and were all brothers, why should the king
ride round in his gilded chariot, while I, an old cobbler, sit on my
bench and have my face covered with sweat?"

"The king is no son of Freedom!" exclaimed the stranger, with an
angry gesture. "The king is a son of Tyranny, and therefore he wants
to make his enemies, the sons of Freedom, to be his servants, his
slaves, and to bind our arms with fetters. But shall we always bear
this? Shall we not rise at last out of the dust into which we have
been trodden?"

"Yes, certainly, if we can, then we will," said Simon, with his
gruff laugh. "But here is the hitch, sir, we cannot do it. The king
has the power to hold us in his fetters; and this fine lady, Madame
Freedom, of whom you say that she is our mother, lets it come to
pass, notwithstanding that her sons are bound down in servitude and
abasement."

"It must be for a season yet," answered the other, with loud,
rasping voice; "but the day of a rising is at hand, and shows with a
laughing face how those whom she will destroy are rushing swiftly