Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"Why – what's happened? Why will you get up in the middle of the night? Don't bother me – yet."

"Faith, an' I won't. Upon honor it's wrong, it's all wrong. What'll your guardian angel think of old Cleena to be leavin' you do it! Body an' bones, I'll do naught to further the business – not I!"

The woman's voice was tremulous with indignation or grief, and all at once Amy remembered. Then she sprang from her cosy nest, wide-awake and full of courage.

"Hush, dear old Goodsoul, I forgot. I forgot, entirely. I was dreaming of Fairacres. It was a beautiful dream. The old house was full of little children and young girls. They were singing and laughing and moving about everywhere. I can hardly believe it wasn't real; but, I'm all right now. I'll be down stairs in a few minutes. Don't wake anybody else, for there's no need. Is it six o'clock already? It might be midnight or – any time. Why, what's this?"

"A frock I've made for you, child."

"You made a frock for me? Why, Cleena!"

"Sure, it's not so handy with the needle as the broom me fingers is. But what for no? Them pretty white ones will never do for the nasty old mill. This didn't need so much. The body'll about fit, thinks I, if I sew it fast in the front an' split it behind. The skirt's not so very long. She was a mite of a woman, God rest her. Well, I'll go an' see the milk doesn't boil over, an' be back in a jiffy to fasten it for you. Ah, me lamb! Troth, a spirit's brave like your own will be prospered, I know."

Then Cleena went hurriedly out of the room. The frock which she had prepared for Amy's use in the mill was remodelled from an old one of her mistress's. As has been said, Amy had never worn any sort of dress except white. The fabric was changed to suit the season, but the color was not. Even her warm winter cloak was of heavy white wool, faced here and there with scarlet, to match the simple scarlet headgear that suited her dark face so well. Quite against the habits of her own upbringing, Mrs. Kaye had clothed her daughter to please the taste of her artist husband, and therefore it had not greatly mattered that this taste dictated a style more fanciful than useful.

Now everything was altered, and Cleena had consulted Mrs. Jones with the result just given. But from a true delicacy, the faithful old servant did not stay to watch the girl as she adopted the new garb which belonged to the new fortunes, though she need not have been afraid.

For a moment Amy held the gray dress in her hand, feeling it almost a sacrilege to put it on. She remembered it as the morning gown of her mother, plain to the extreme, yet graceful and precious in her sight because of the dear wearer. Then she lifted the garment to her lips, and touched it lightly.

"Mother, darling, it is a good beginning. It seems to me it is like a sister of mercy putting on her habit for the first time. It is a protection and a benediction. If I can only put on my mother's beautiful character with her clothing, I shall do well, indeed." Then she examined the alterations which Cleena had been instructed by the cottager to make, and was able to smile at them.

"The new sewing and the old do not match very well, but it will answer, and it does fit me much better than I would have thought. My! but I must already be as large, or nearly so, as she was. Well, no time for thinking back now. It's all looking forward, and must be, if I am to keep my courage."

Then she knelt beside her bed, prayed simply and in full faith for success in her efforts to provide for her beloved ones, and went below, smiling and gay.

"Think of it, Cleena Keegan. This is Monday morning. On seventh day I expect to bring back two splendid dollars and put into your hands. I, just I, your own little Amy. Think of the oatmeal it will buy."

It was not in Cleena's heart to dampen this ardor by remarking how small a sum two dollars really was, considered in the light of a family support; and, after all, oatmeal was cheap. Fortunately, it also formed the principal diet of this plainly nurtured household, and even that very breakfast to which the young breadwinner now sat down.

But the meal was exquisitely cooked, and the hot milk was rich and sweet. Also, there lay, neatly wrapped in a spotless napkin, the mid-day luncheon, which Cleena had been told to prepare, and which Mrs. Jones suggested should be of something "hearty and strong" for "working in the mill beats all for appetite."

Then Amy took the big gingham pinafore, that Cleena had also prepared, and with her little parcels under her arm, skipped away down the slope to the Joneses' cottage, where Gwendolyn was to meet and escort her to her first day's work.

"Pshaw! I thought you wasn't coming. We'll be late if we don't hurry. Hmm. Wore your white cloak, didn't you? Well, I guess the girls won't laugh at you much. A dark one would have been better."

"But I have no dark one, so it was this or nothing. How fast you walk, almost as if you were running!"

"We'll be late, I tell you. I don't want to get docked, if you do."

"What is 'docked'?"

"Why, having something taken from your wages."

"Would that be done for just so short a time?"

"Yes, indeed. The time-keeper watches out and nobody has a chance to get off. To be late five minutes means losing a quarter day's wages. They count off a quarter, a half, three-quarters, or a whole, according to time."

"Then Gwendolyn, let's run. I wouldn't make you lose for anything."

"All right."

When they arrived at the mill, Gwendolyn said: —

"You come this way with me. Hang your cap and coat right here, next to mine. Never mind if the girls do stare, you'll get used to that. I felt as if I should sink the first day I came, though that was ages ago. Hello, Maud, where was you last night?"

Amy did not feel in the least like "sinking." She had overcome her drowsiness, and the light was already growing much stronger. She looked around upon these strangers who were to be her comrades at toil, with a friendly interest and curiosity. Some of her new mates regarded her with equal curiosity, though few with so kindly an interest as her own. The unconscious ease of Amy's bearing they esteemed "boldness," or even "cheek," and her air of superior breeding was distasteful to them.

"My, ain't she a brazen thing! Looks around on the whole crowd as if she thought she could put on all the airs she pleased, even in the mill. Well, 'ristocrat or no 'ristocrat, she'll have to come down here. We're just as good as she is and – "

"A little better, too, you mean," commented a lad, just passing.

The girl who scorned "'ristocrats" paused in fastening her denim apron and looked after the youth, who was, evidently, a personage of importance in the eyes of herself and mates. They watched his jaunty movements with undisguised admiration, and his passing left behind him a wake of smiles and giggles which to Amy seemed out of proportion to the wit of his remark.

However, there was little loitering, and the long procession of girls, with its sprinkling of men and boys, swiftly ascended the narrow open staircase to the upper floors. This staircase was built along the side wall of the great structure, flight above flight, an iron frame with steps of board. The only protection from falling upon the floor below, should one grow dizzy-headed, was a gas-pipe hand-rail; and even this might not have been provided had not the law compelled.

As she fell into line behind Gwendolyn and began the upward climb, Amy grasped this slender support firmly; but everything about her seemed very unlike her memory of her first visit here. Then the sun was shining, she was under the guidance of the genial superintendent, and the scene was novel – like a picture exhibited for her personal entertainment. Now the novelty was past, the scene had become dingy, and herself a part of it.

All around her were voices talking in a sort of mill patois concerning matters which she did not understand. But nobody, not even Gwendolyn, spoke to her, and a sudden, overpowering dismay seized her stout heart and made her head reel. Then she made a misstep and her foot slipped through the space between two stairs. This brought the hurrying procession to a standstill, and recalled attention to the "new hand."

"My sake! Somebody's fell. Who? Is she hurt? Oh, that donkey girl. Well, she ain't so used to these horrid stairs as we be."

"Hold back! She's sort of giddy-headed, I guess."

Amy felt an arm thrown round her waist, a rather ungentle pull was given her dangling foot, and she was set right to proceed. But for an instant she could not go on, and she again felt the arm supporting and forcing her against the bare brick wall, so that those below might not be longer hindered.

Then she half gasped: —

"Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean – "

"Of course you didn't. Never mind. You ain't the first girl has had her foot through these steps, and you won't be the last. After somebody has broke a leg or two, then they'll put backboards to 'em. Not before. Is your head swimming yet?"

"It feels queerly. It jars so."

"That's the machinery and the noise. The whole building just shakes and buzzes when we get fairly started. Don't be scared. You're all safe. Lots of girls feel just that way when they first come. Lots of 'em faint away. Some can't stand it at all. But you'll get used, don't fear. I was one of the fainters, and I kept it up quite a spell. The 'boss' of the room got so mad he told me if I didn't quit fainting I'd have to quit spinning. So I made a bold face and haven't fainted since. You see, I couldn't afford to. I had to do this or starve."

By this time Amy's fright was past, and she was regarding her comforter with that friendly gratitude which won her the instant liking of the other, who resumed: —

"Pshaw! The girls didn't know what they were saying. You don't look a mite stuck up. You aren't, are you?"

"Indeed, no. Why should I be? But I do thank you so much for your kindness just now, and I'm sorry if my blundering has made you late. Will you be 'docked'?"

"Oh, no. We've time enough. Gwen is always in a desperate hurry. She likes a chance to talk before she begins work. She's a nice girl, but she isn't very deep. Say, have you seen her new winter hat?"

"No; has she another than that she wore this morning?"

"My! yes."

The "old hand" and the "new" were now quietly climbing to the top floor where their tasks were to be side by side, and Amy had time to examine her companion's face. It was plain and freckled, boasting none of that "prettiness" of which Gwendolyn was so openly proud, but it was gentle and intelligent, and had a look of delicacy which suggested chronic suffering, patiently borne. Amy had not far to seek the cause of this pathetic expression, for Mary Reese was a hunchback. In her attire there was as much simplicity as in Amy's own, but without grace or harmony of coloring.