Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"For the first quarter year, she did. To whom must I look now?"

Unmindful, since this new distressing question had been raised, how much she inconvenienced him, Amy sat plump down and leaned her head against the hand-rail.

It always appeared to aid her reflective powers if she could rest her troubled head against something material.

"I'll try to think. I earn two dollars and a half a week."

"Oh, my foot hurts again. Let's get into a decent room and talk it over there. I hate draughty halls and unwarmed rooms. There's a fire in the little side parlor off the dining room. That's my own private den. I want to get there and lie down. That rabbit pie I had for lunch doesn't agree with me, I'm afraid. Do you like rabbit pie?"

"No, indeed; I wouldn't eat one for anything."

"Why not?"

"I should fancy the pretty creatures looking at me with their soft eyes. They're the gentlest animals in the world."

"The most destructive, you mean."

She did not contest. Besides, she was now in great haste to leave Fairacres and regain the shelter of her own home. Strange, she reflected, how quickly she had ceased to think of this house, her birthplace, as a home; since all that went to make it such had gone elsewhere.

"About that rent money. If Hallam is able to keep at work we may together earn five dollars a week. That would be twenty dollars a month. The rent is ten. We will be able to pay it, I think."

"Do you imagine you will be able to live upon the remainder? Upon two and a half dollars a week, four grown persons?"

"If we have no more, we shall have to do so, shan't we?"

"Excuse me; but what would you eat? I saw no sign of scrimping and pinching that day I first came here – to stay."

"Oh, then Cleena was determined you should say no blame of her housekeeping. She gave you all in one meal. We've often laughed over it since."

"Humph! But this two and a half per week, what would it buy?"

"Meal and milk. Sometimes oat meal, sometimes corn. Once and again an egg or something for father. Oh, we'd manage."

"Hmm, hmm; you'd rather live on that than run in debt? You younger Kayes, who are all I seem to take account of now – Salome is gone."

"We will run in no debt we cannot pay, unless we are ill and it is impossible to help. Hal and I settled that long ago. So far we have managed, and now he is working too, I feel as rich as – rich."

"Exactly. Amy, if this old house were yours, what would you do with it?"

The answer was prompt and decided.

"Make it into a Home for Mill Girls."

"Whew! What in the world! Fairacres? The proudest old mansion in the country, or in this part of it! Are you beside yourself?"

"I should be with delight, if I could make that dream a reality."

"I gave you credit for more sense. But, business – that donkey. How much did Mr. Metcalf intend to pay for it?"

"I suppose the same as he did for Pepita. Seventy-five dollars – burro, harness, and all."

"At ten dollars a month, that would take you along well into next summer. Tell Hallam that I will keep the animal and allow him eight months' rent for it. That's giving you a half month, you see. Will you?"

"Yes, I'll tell him," answered she, with a catch in her voice. "Only I had hoped to take him home with me. It would have made such a delightful Christmas for us all. You don't know how much we love those pretty creatures."

"Pretty! Opinions differ."

"And would it be quite right to make any such arrangements, after having asked the superintendent to buy it, and he agreeing? Wouldn't he be the one to say something about it?"

"Amy, you're incorrigible. You're a radical. A thing is either absolutely right or it is absolutely wrong – according to your standard. You'll be in trouble as long as you live, for you'll find nobody else with such antiquated notions as yours. There are a great many things that are expedient."

"I hate expedient things. I like just the easy, simple 'no' and 'yes' that was my darling mother's rule. I'm glad I'm at least a birthright Friend."

Mr. Wingate was silent. He seemed to drop into a profound reverie, and the girl hesitated to disturb him, eager as she now was to be away. Finally, as she had made up her mind to speak, he did so himself.

"Amy, do you ever use the plain speech now?"

"Sometimes – between ourselves. For mother's sake we can never let it die."

"Will thee use it to me now and then? It was the habit of my boyhood. Salome was my oldest friend. We've played together in this very room, again and again. She was my good angel. Until – No matter. You are her child. Not like her at all in face or manner. She was always gentle, and shrank from giving pain. Truthful and puritanical as she was in her ideas, she had the tact, the knowledge to say things without hurting those whom she corrected. She corrected me often and often, when we were young, but she hurt me – never. Now, you – heigho!"

"Now, I hurt – thee. Of course. I speak first and think afterward. But does thee know, cousin Archibald, thee is the very queerest man I ever met?"

"Have you – has thee – known many?"

"Very few. Thee is so good on one side and so – so – not nice on the other. Like a half-ripened pear. But I am sorry for thee. I wish I could do thee good. Do I speak it as thee wishes?"

"Indeed, yes. It is music, even though the words are unflattering enough. Well, I'll not keep thee longer. And I don't ask you to call attention to this whim of mine by saying 'thee' in public," he remarked, himself falling back into the habit of their intercourse.

"No; if I say 'thee,' it is to be always, whenever I remember – like a bond to remind me I must be kind to thee for my mother's sake. If she did thee good, I must try to do thee good too."

"In what way?"

Amy reflected. The first, most obvious way, would be by cheering his solitude. Yet she hesitated. The thing which had come into her mind involved the desires of others also. She had no right, until she consulted them, to commit herself. Yet she disliked to leave this lonely old fellow, without trying to make him glad.

She sat down again in the chair from which she had risen and regarded him critically.

"Oh, cousin Archibald, if thee were only a little bit different!"

"Thee, too!" he laughed – actually laughed; and the action seemed to clear his features like a sunburst.

"Oh, of course. Well, it's this way. To-morrow's Christmas, isn't it?"

"So I've heard."

"And somebody – Teamster John – has sent Cleena 'the furnishing of a good dinner,' she told me. I don't know when we may have another such a meal, one that thee would think fit to eat. I'd like to ask thee to come and share it with us, instead of staying here alone, all grumpy with the gout. But it isn't my dinner, thee sees, and I'm going home to tell my people everything. About the picture and the donkey and all. If, after that, they agree with me that it would be nice to ask thee to spend the holiday with us, I'll bring thee word. If I do, will thee come?"

Mr. Wingate leaned back in his easy-chair and hugged his gouty foot for so long and so silently that Amy grew impatient and rose.