Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

This upper space was dark, save when the bedroom doors were open and gave it light. So, also, was the room below; and beneath this, still, was the "black hole," the extension of a cellar under the kitchen.

Whatever the original purpose of this "hole," which received no light nor ventilation except through the kitchen cellar, it was now the terror and despair of Cleena's cleanly soul. She had wasted many good candles in trying, by their light, to sweeten and make wholesome this damp, miserable place. But despite all it remained almost as she found it.

"The pit of original sin," Hallam named it, advising her to give over the task of purification. "You've sprinkled pounds of chloride, splashed whitewash galore, swept and scrubbed and worn yourself out, and it's hopeless. Well, I never heard that any of the Ingrahams died of pestilence bred down there, so I fancy it won't hurt us."

"Faith, it shan't that. I'll keep the front cellar door open into it incessant, an' I'll – "

"Waste your substance in lime. Don't, Goodsoul. But it's on my mind as it is on yours. If I were as strong as I wish, I'd turn rabbit and burrow galleries out from the middle vault under the middle rooms each side of the house. That would give light and air and keep everything dry."

Neither Cleena nor Hallam noticed that Fayette had been a close listener to this conversation, nor heard the muttered exclamation: —

"I'll do it! Huckleberries! I'll s'prise 'em!"

This had been some days before Amy drew the diagram of the house, which she now tossed into the waste-basket. From that it was rescued by the half-wit and treasured carefully; for to the purpose formed in his mind it would prove a great help.

"But go on, mother dear. What's the other sort of charity you mean?"

"That by all the advantages which we have had over these new neighbors we should be helpful to them. We possess nothing of our own, absolutely, not even our better training and – "

"Arrah musha! Sure the pullet was bad enough, but this baby'll be me death! An' me steppin' me great foot – There, there, darlin'. Cry no more, cry no more!"

The interruption was Cleena, and the cause "Sir" William Gladstone.

"Again, Goodsoul," jeered Amy.

"Again is it? An' me goin' down that hill betimes this mornin' to remind me neighbor as how it wasn't necessary to send all the childer up here to wonst. Not all!"

One of the first things which Cleena had made Fayette do was cut and smooth a path from the door of "Charity House" to that of the cottage below. She foresaw that there would be frequent errands to and fro, and the loose stones, with the tangle of running blackberry vines, were dangerous to life and limb. Then, because Hallam's lameness was also in her mind, she had persuaded the mill boy to add a row of driven stakes with rope strung along their tops.

"But never at all has Master Hal, for whom it was made, gone down or up by that same. Me fathers, what's a body to do!"

"We're living in 'Charity,' Goodsoul. And I've observed that, look out of window when I will, there's always a yellow headed Jones-let ascending to us by the easy road you've fixed. Belinda, the small, is apt to lead the way. She likes it up here. She likes it very much."

"Hmm, that's what the mother be's sayin'. But is that any reason at all, avick, why they should be let?"

"Mrs. Jones thinks it is. She feels that we are flattered by the preference her offspring show for our society; but between ourselves, Cleena, I think it's more raisin-bread than affection. You made a dire mistake in beginning to feed them."

"An' isn't it I that knows it? Now, this baby – "

"Yes, that baby. What's happened to him? He's spotted white and black, like a coach-dog. What's he licking from his fingers?"

"It's spoilin' the bakin' o' bread is he the day. Takin' the coals from the bucket, each by each, an' pressin' them deep in that beautiful dough. Will I wash his face, eh? Never a wash I wash, but home to his mother he goes the same as he is. If the sight does not shame her, I'd know."

"I'll take him, Cleena, and I'll bring back the milk for the day."

So with her pail in one hand and the other guiding the still uncertain steps of William Gladstone, Amy started.

"It's a pity, Sir William, it really is a pity that you ever learned how to climb. You've progressed so alarmingly. First time you tried it you could only stumble and fall backward. Now – you hitch along famously. Heigho! here's Victoria. All the high personages of Merrie England are honoring us 'the day.' Well, Victoria Regina, what's the errand now?"

"Nothing, only thought I'd tell you about that old Quaker man you like."

"Everybody likes. What about him?"

"He's gone away. Ma says he won't never live to come back again."

"Victoria – Jones, what are you saying?"

"That Mr. Quaker Burn, up Clove way, had been took to Ne' York."

"I guess you're mistaken. We would have heard about it if it were so. Now, if you please, though, I should like Master Gladstone to be 'took' home. If you'll hold his other hand we'll get him there the quicker."

"I guess I'll go up and set a spell; you take him," remarked Victoria, and turned to ascend the slope.

Amy sighed: "Something must be done to stop this!" Then she lifted her eyes and scanned the white dusty road which circled Bareacre knoll, and across which lay the Jones's cottage. A wagon was driving leisurely along this highway, and it had a most familiar appearance. A moment's watching showed it to belong to the Clove Farm, and it was Adam Burn's "hired man" who was driving in it. Her heart sank. What if Victoria had spoken the truth?

So she hurried her young charge to his home, and waiting only to have her pail filled with the milk, ran back to intercept the approaching vehicle.

"Good morning, Israel. How's dear old Adam?"

"Only the Lord knows. Sarah Jane's got him."

"She hasn't! Don't tell me!"

"But she has, though."

"Where?"

"York."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Why?"

"Same old story. If she hadn't gone to Europe, she'd had him last year. I knew how 'twould be when she come home this summer an' begun to send him the letters. She's the powerfulest hand to do her duty that ever was. Everything else has to give way."

Amy's hand trembled so that her milk began to trickle over the sides of her pail.

"That's what it meant, then, that dear, precious old fellow. He knew he was going to leave us, that First Day we spent at the farm. That was why his words in the meeting-house were so like a farewell. It is too bad! It must have broken his heart."

"No, it didn't. He didn't want to go, not a mite; but there wasn't no heart-break, not in sight. If there was, he kept it hid. But he went all round the place, into every shed and building, pointing out things that should be done, and being most particular about the flowers and garden. He told me to take care of everything just as if he was coming back to-morrow. But he'll never. He'll never."

"Israel, you shall not say that! He must come back!"

"Oh, he'll come, of course, one way: that's feet foremost. He's a sight feebler 'n he ever let on, an' this riotous livin' at York, what with balls and parties and wine suppers, he won't last long. They'll kill him out of hand amongst 'em."

"Oh, Israel, the idea of Adam Burn at 'balls and parties and wine suppers,' when he's so simple and sweet and abstemious. I don't believe he ever tasted wine during all his pure, beautiful life. I'm not worrying about that. It's the leaving the things he loved will hurt him so. Why couldn't Sarah Jane have left him in peace? O dear! O dear! This will be a fresh sorrow for mother."