Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"I couldn't tell. The whistle will blow again in a minute."

"I'm going to build a Home for Mill Girls, where they shall have all things that any gentlewoman should have. I haven't the least idea how nor when nor where. But I'm going to do it. You'll see. And you shall help. Maybe that's just why God let me come here and be a mill girl myself."

After a pause the other spoke. "It seems queer to hear you say such things. Yet you're not what I call 'pious,' I – guess."

"Don't be afraid. I'm not goody-goody, at all. But it's the most interesting thing mother taught me: the watching how everything 'happens' in life, like a wonderful picture or even a curious, beautiful puzzle. Each part, each thing, fits so perfectly into its place, and it's such fun to watch and see them fit. Yes, I believe that's the key to my coming."

For a moment these girlish dreamers clasped hands and saw visions. The next, a whistle sounded and, still hand in hand, they returned to their frame and to this toil which was part of a far-reaching "plan." On the way they passed "Jack doffer," wearing his most fetching smile, and a new necktie, recklessly disported during work hours for the sole purpose of dazzling the bright eyes of the pretty "new hand."

Unfortunately for his vanity, the "new hand" never saw him, because of those still lingering visions of a Home with a capital H; and oddly enough, the youth respected her the more since she did not. Later on things would be altered; but neither of them knew that then.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF BALAAM

"Me Gineral Bonyparty, come by!"

The lad in the depths of the cellar vouchsafed no reply. He heard distinctly, and Cleena knew that he did. This did not allay her rising wrath.

"The spalpeen! That's what comes o' takin' in folks to do for. Ah, Fayetty," she called wheedlingly.

Good Cleena had almost as many titles for her "adopted son" as her "childer" had for her. Each one suggested to the simple fellow some particular mood of the speaker. "Gineral" meant mild sarcasm, and when "Bonyparty" was added, there was indicated a need for prompt and unquestioning obedience. "Fayetty" was the forerunner of something agreeable, to which might or might not be appended something equally disagreeable.

Said Hallam, once: "Freely translated, 'Fayetty' stands for ginger cookies, and sometimes the cookies must be earned."

The call came the third time: —

"Napoleon Bonyparty Lafayette Jimpson, come out o' that! Two twists of a lamb's tail an' I'll fasten ye down!"

The reconstruction of Fayette gave Cleena plenty of employment, and in one thing he disappointed her, sorely and continually: he utterly and defiantly refused to work in the mill or elsewhere that would bring in wages. Since Amy had become a daily toiler, this attitude on his part angered the poor woman beyond endurance.

Yet there was not any laziness about Fayette. Nobody could have been more industrious, or more illy have directed his industry. As long as it was possible to work in the ground he had labored upon the barren soil of Bareacre, and those who understood such matters assured the Kayes that they would really have a fine garden spot, when another spring came round.

"Surely, he that makes the wilderness to blossom is well engaged, Cleena," Mr. Kaye had remonstrated once, in his quiet way.

"Faith, yes, master, but till them roses bloom there might be better doin'," she had returned. In her heart she respected Mr. Kaye's judgment less even than the mill boy's, though she veiled this contempt by an outward deference.

To-day was a crisis. For good or ill, Cleena had determined to have the question of wage-earning settled. Either the lad must go to work and bring in something to pay for his keep, or he must "clear himself out."

"D'ye mean it?"

"Yes, avick, I means it! Up with ye, or stay below – for as long as I please."

Fayette threw down his pick and crawled forward through the trench he was digging. The idle suggestion of Hallam had taken firm hold of the natural's mind, and with a dogged persistence, that he showed also in other matters, he had now been daily laboring upon the cross-shaped excavation which was to ventilate the cellars of "Charity House." He had made a fine beginning, and so explained to Cleena, as his mud-stained face appeared above the cellar stairs.

"A beginnin' o' nonsense. When all's done, what use? Sit down an' taste the last o' the cakes me neighbor sent up. Here, you William, keep out o' that! It's for Miss Amy, dear heart. Four weeks an' longer she's been up before light, trudgin' away as gay as a mavis, with never a word that she's bothered. Alanna, Mister Gladstone, what's now?"

A surplus of small Joneses had swarmed over the lower floor of the house on the hill, and their presence was now accepted by Cleena with little opposition, because of the generosity of their parents.

"True for ye, the babies be forever under me foot, but one never comes atop the rise but there's doubled in his little fist the stuff to make him welcome. It may be a cake, or a biscuit, or a bowl o' milk even. It's something for some one."

"The 'some one' is generally the bearer of the loaf, or cake, eh, Cleena?" asked Hallam, who was lingering in the kitchen, gathering what warmth he could from the stove there. The coals provided in the autumn were long ago consumed, and out of the scanty supply she had been able to procure since then, Cleena wasted little below stairs. In the master's studio above a fire was always burning, and if, as he sometimes did, he asked whence the supply, the faithful servant put his inquiry aside with some evasive remark.

He had now work at hand which engrossed him entirely, and to which heat and physical comfort were a necessity. He was painting a life-sized portrait of his wife, and not one of the household could do aught but wish him God-speed on so precious a labor.

Meanwhile, Hallam lay so silent upon the settle beside the stove that neither of them, Cleena nor Fayette, noticed him.

"Here you, William, Beatrice, Belinda, come by! Set yourselves down in the corner, yon. Here's a fine bag o' scraps for you two little maids. Pick 'em over that neat your mother'll be proud; and, William, take out these things from Miss Amy's box till you puts them back as straight as straight. Sure, it's long since herself's had the time, an' he's a smart little gossoon, so he is."

The little girls emptied the bag of pieces on the floor, and sorting them into piles began to roll them into tidy bundles. Along with improving Fayette, Cleena had early set out upon the same lines with the small Joneses. Even William Gladstone, the mite, was already learning to distinguish between soiled hands and clean, and to enjoy the latter.

So now, while she talked, Cleena set the child to take out and replace with exactness the few treasured letters and cards, or papers, which were Amy's own, and kept in her big japanned box.

Once, idly, Cleena observed the child lingering over a square packet, like an old-time letter, sealed with red wax. It was this bit of color which the little one fancied, and she smiled to see his delight in it.

"The blessed baby! Sure, he's the makings of a fine man in him, so he has. Take a look, Fayetty, if yerself would copy yon."

"You'll let that youngster play with your things once too often. He's a hider, Lionel Percival says so."

"Humph! An' what that silly heeram-skeeram says means naught. Now, hear me, me gineral. This ends it. You goes to work, or you goes to play. Which is it?"

"I – I won't."

"Which is it?" repeated Cleena, sternly.

The natural fidgeted. In his heart he was afraid of his self-constituted "mother." He had no wish to return to the drudgery of the mill. He was wholly interested in his cellar-digging. He had heard tales of mining, and in some way he had obtained a miner's lantern. This he fastened to his "parade hat," and wore to lighten his underground labors.

Vague visions of untold wealth floated in his dull brain. Somewhere in the world he knew that other men were digging in other trenches for gold. He had heard the "boys" say so often, and some of them had even gone to do likewise. He had seen gold sometimes in Mr. Metcalf's office safe. Not much of it, indeed, but enough to fire his fancy. All the time he toiled he was looking for something round and glistening, like the coins he had seen. He was not in the least discouraged because he had found none. There was time enough, for he had not much more than begun what he hoped to complete. Yet, as Cleena knew, he had made a considerable opening under the west room and had carried out many barrowfuls of earth. This he had utilized upon his garden, which was almost as interesting to him as his mining.

"Which is it, avick?"

"Must I?"

"Troth, must ye? Indeed, look here." Leaning over the table she spread before her charge's eyes a dilapidated pocket-book. It had been the receptacle for the family funds, but it was now quite empty. Fayette stared hard. Then he whistled.

"You don't say so! All gone? Every cent?"

Cleena nodded. Her face was very grave. It frightened the lad. He glanced toward Hallam, apparently asleep on the settle, and whispered: —

"Where's hers? What she earns?"

"Humph! That little! Well, it's gone. The last week's wage to buy her shoes. Faith, the poor little feet! Steppin' along to her duty with never a turn aside, an' the holes clean through the soles. Oh, me fathers, that ever I should see the day!"

Overcome by her memories of far different circumstances, Cleena bowed her gray head upon her arms above the empty purse and shook in suppressed grief. So faithful was she that she would not have counted even her life of value if by sacrificing it she could have restored unto her "folks" the departed joy and comfort of their house.

Fayette reached over and lifted the purse. He was not satisfied until he had examined it for himself. Then he rose and took the lantern from his hat.

"I'll fetch some," he said briefly, and turned toward the door.