Kitabı oku: «Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life», sayfa 9

"Oh, did you see me then? Did I see you? What is your name? Ah, are we up there already?"

"You can ask questions, can't you? Yes, I saw you. My name is Mary Reese. If you saw me, you certainly didn't notice me, and I'm always mighty glad when folks don't turn for a second stare at my poor shoulders."

"Mary, nobody would, surely," cried Amy, and flung her arm protectingly across the deformity of her new friend.

"You dear, to think you'd do that when you know me so little. Well, there's many a body touches my hump 'for luck,' but I can't remember when anybody did for – love. I'm not going to forget it, either. Even a homely little hunchback has her own power among these people. There, we're here. This is our 'jenny.' I'm so glad we are to work on the same machine. There'll be another girl on your side till you learn; then she'll be taken off and we'll be alone. I'll like that. Shall you?"

"I – think – so," responded Amy, absently, her attention now engrossed by the excitement about her. Girls were hurrying to take their places before the long frames filled with reels, on which fine woollen threads were being wound by the revolutions of the machinery overhead. These reels whirled round so rapidly that Amy could not follow their motion, and the buzz-buzz, as of a thousand bees humming, filled her ears and confused the instructions of the girl who was to give her her first lesson in winding and "tending."

Across the great frame Mary nodded encouragingly, but it is safe to say that Amy had never felt so incompetent and foolish as she did while she was striving to understand what was expected of her.

"No, no, no; you must be quicker. See, this spool is full. This is how. 'Doffer,' here!"

The lad who had created the ripple of admiration on his passage to this room, now approached. His motions were exact and incredibly swift. It was his duty to remove full spools and replace them by empty ones, and he did this duty for sixteen spinning frames. Seeing the "new hand's" astonishment at his deftness he became reckless and, intending an unusually dexterous movement, miscalculated his reach, and the result was a momentary tangle among the whirling spindles.

"Stupid, see what you're at!" cried Amy's instructor, as by a swift movement of her foot she brought the rapidly circling frame to a standstill. "Now, you've done it!"

"And I'll undo it," he returned, casting a side glance at the stranger.

"If those who've worked here so long make mistakes, I'll not give up," she thought; and Mary came round from behind the frame in time to read this thought.

"Don't you mind. You see, we have to be on guard all the time. If we're not, something happens like this. Wait. While they're fixing those spools, you watch me tie these threads. That's what you have to do. To keep everything straight and fasten on the new ends as the old ones run out."

"But I don't see you 'tie' it. There is no knot."

"Of course not. We couldn't have rough things in the thread that is going to make a carpet. We just twist it – so. Do you see? It can't pull apart, and it makes no roughness. Try; keep on trying; and after you have practised awhile, you'll be as swift as swift."

"I feel as slow as slow."

The "new hand" smiled into the eager face of her willing helper, and the poor hunchback's heart glowed. That so bright a creature should ever come to be a worker in that busy mill, side by side with her own self, was stranger than the strangest of the cheap novels she read so constantly.

"It beats all, don't it?" demanded Mary, clasping Amy's little brown hand.

"What, dear? What beats what? Have I done that one better? Do you think I'll ever, ever be able to keep up my side of the 'frame' after this other one leaves me?"

Mary's laugh was good to hear. Mr. Metcalf, entering the room, heard it and smiled. Yet his smile was fleeting, and his only comment a reprimand to "Jack doffer" for his carelessness.

"It must not happen again. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," answered the youth, humbly.

Of Amy herself the superintendent took no notice whatever beyond a curt nod. She did not understand this, and a pain shot through her sensitive heart. Then she reflected that he might not have seen her.

"Do you suppose he did, or that he knew me? You see, I've always worn white before, and maybe he did not recognize me."

"Oh, he saw you all right. He wouldn't more 'n nod to his own wife, if he's on his rounds, and full of business. I've heard that he was very pleasant outside the mill and among his folks, but I never saw him any different from just now. Seems to me he looks on us like he does the spools on the spinners. I always feel as if I were part of the machine – the poorest part – and I guess you will, too. There, it's fixed and starting up. Hurry to your place and don't get scared. Sallie's cross, but she can't help it. She used to be one of the 'fainters.' Yes; that's right. Now all there is, is to keep at it till twelve o'clock whistle."

That meant nearly five hours of the steadiest and most difficult labor which Amy had ever undertaken. Yet these others near her, and the crowds of spinners all through the great apartment, appeared to take this labor very easily, and were even able to carry on a conversation amid the deafening noise.

Amy watched so intently, and tried so faithfully to do just what and all that was expected of her that she did, indeed, make a rapid progress for one beginning; and when the welcome whistle sounded, she was surprised to see how instantly every frame was stopped, and to hear Mary saying: —

"If you don't want to go with anybody else, I'd admire to have you eat your lunch with me."

"I'd like to, certainly, but I don't believe I can eat. My head is whirling, whirling, just like those dreadful spools. Isn't it terrible?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't notice them now, except to make them say things. But come along, we have a half-hour nooning. We might have a whole hour, but most of the hands like to give up part of their dinner-time every day and then take the afternoon off on Saturday. The 'Supe' doesn't care, so that's the way we get our 'Saturday-half.' I sometimes wish we worked the other way, but of course we couldn't. If part stops, the other part has to, 'cause every room depends on some other room to keep it going."

"Why, I think that's beautiful, don't you? Like a big whole, and all of us the needed parts."

"No, I don't. I don't see one single beautiful thing about this hateful old mill. At least, I didn't before this morning, when you came."

Amy looked into Mary's face a moment. Then she stooped and kissed it gently. Small though Amy herself was, for her age, she was still taller than her new friend, and felt herself far stronger.

Away in another place Gwendolyn and her mates observed this little by-play, and one girl remarked: —

"Hmm. That settles her hash. If she's going to take up with that horrid Mary Reese, there won't anybody go with her. Not a single girl, and as for the fellows – my!"

To this flirtatious young person to be ignored by "the fellows" meant the depth of misfortune. Happily, however, Amy had never hear the word "fellow," as at present applied, and to do anything for the sake of attracting attention to herself she would have considered the extreme of vulgarity.

Mary guided her to a quiet corner behind some bales, and filling a tin cup with water from a faucet, proceeded to open her own luncheon. Then she watched Amy, who, almost too weary to eat, loitered over the untying of the dainty parcel Cleena had made up. When she at last did so, and quietly sorted the contents of the neat box, she was surprised by Mary's astonished stare.

"What is it, dear? Aren't you hungry?"

"Hungry? I'm starved. But – see the difference. It goes even into our victuals. Oh dear, there isn't any use!" and, with a bitter sob, the mill girl tossed aside her own rude parcel of food and dropped her face in her hands.

Girlhood is swiftly intuitive. The boarding-house lunch which the hunchback had brought was quite sufficient in quantity, but it was coarse in extreme, and meats had been wrapped in one bit of newspaper along with the sweets, so that the flavor of each article spoiled the flavor of all. Yet it was the first time that Mary had rebelled against such an arrangement.

Now it was different. Amy's speech, Amy's manner and belongings, opened before the slumbering ambition of the mill girl a picture of better things, which she recognized as unattainable for herself.

Then she felt again the clasp of firm, young arms about her own neck, and a face that was both smiling and tearful pressed close to her own.

"You dear little girl. I see, I understand. But you've never had a chance to try how I've lived and I've never tried how you do. Let's change. Yes; I insist, for this once. You eat my lunch, and I'll eat yours. It will do Goodsoul's great heart no end of good when I tell her about it, and it will make me comprehend just how life looks from your side. Remember, we're both poor girls together now, and I – insist."

Amy had a will, as has been remarked. So, in a few seconds, the two lunches were exchanged, and for almost the first time in her life Mary Reese knew what it was to feed daintily and correctly.

"It makes me feel as if I was straighter, somehow. And you're a dear, dear girl."

"Thank you, of course it does. I wouldn't like to do anything that hurt my own self-respect, even in such a little thing as eating. But, you see, I had my darling mother. Now I've had to let her go; yet if you'll let me, I'll be so glad to teach you all she taught me. It will be keeping her memory green in just the very way she'd like."

"Teaching isn't all. The difference is born in us."

"Nonsense. Think of Mr. Metcalf. They say he was a foundling baby, and yet he's a gentleman."

"Even if he doesn't speak to you in work hours?" asked Mary, with a mischievous glance that would have surprised her mill mates had they seen it. Already the leaven of kindness was working in her neglected life, and for the moment she forgot to be upon the defensive against the indifference of others.

"Even anything. But, hear me, Mary Reese. Here am I, as poor as poor can be, but determined to succeed in doing something grand. Guess what?"

"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.

But Hallam had not been so fast asleep as he seemed, and he demanded whither Fayette was bound.

"It's nothin' to worry about, Master Hal. Just a little matter o' business 'twixt me gineral here an' meself. Can't a body wear out her shoes without so much ado?" she asked, thrusting into view her great foot with its still unbroken, stout, calfskin brogan upon it.

Hallam smiled. "You can't deceive me, dear old Scrubbub. It's not you that's wanting new shoes, and if Fayette is going millward, I am going too."

"Master Hal, what for now? An' what'll the master be sayin' if he's wantin' you betimes? Isn't it bad enough to keep him content without Amy, let alone yerself? No, no; go up by. It's warmer in the paintin' room, an' sure a body's still as you can't bother nobody, even a artist."

But the cripple limped across the room and took from a recess his cap and the short top-coat he wore when he rode Balaam. It was as warm as it was clumsy, and gave his slender figure a width that was quite becoming. Like Amy's, his headgear was always a Scotch Tam, and when it crowned his fair face Cleena thought him exceeding good to look upon.

"Arrah musha, but you're the lad for me! An' after all, no matter if the winds be cold, a ride'll do ye fine, an' make the oatmeal taste sweet in your mouth."

"It's time something did. Oatmeal three times a day is a trifle monotonous. Heigho! for one of your chicken pies, Goodsoul."

He was sorry as soon as he said that. Not to be able to give her "childer" what they desired was always real distress to Cleena. So he laughed her regret away, with the question: —

"If I bring home a pair of fowls, will you cook them?"

"Will I no? Fetch me the birds, an' I'll show you. Go on, Fayetty, an' saddle the beast."

But Fayette was not, at that moment, inclined to do this office for the other lad. He had resolved upon a kindly deed, one which involved self-sacrifice on his part, and like many other wiser people he was inclined to let the one generous act cover several meaner ones.

It was his heart's desire to own Balaam. If he took some of the money which the superintendent was keeping for him and gave it to Cleena for the housekeeping, he lessened his chance of obtaining his object by just that much. If he gave Cleena the money, he wanted everybody to understand that he fully realized, himself, how magnanimous he was.

However, in many respects Hallam was his hero, and between the two there had been, of late, a little secret which Fayette was proud to share. Each day he would ask, with extreme caution: —

"You hain't told nobody yet, have ye?"

Commonly the cripple would answer: "No; nor shall I. There's no use."

"Sho! Yes, there is. Read it an' see. If it's in the paper, it's so. Huckleberries! You ain't no more pluck than a skeeter."

Then Hallam would reread the scrap of newspaper he carried in his pocket; and each time, after such a reading, a brighter light shone in the eyes of both boys, and the foundling would observe: —

"It's worth tryin'. I say, it's worth tryin'. I ain't tired yet. Keep her up."

Hallam knew the half-column of print by heart. It had been brought him by Amy, on the day she went to Mr. Metcalf's office. She had asked the loan of the newspaper, and had received it as a gift. She had hurried home, full of enthusiasm, and showed it to Hallam. He had not been enthusiastic, and had apparently tossed the article aside as worthless to him. Amy was too busy to give the matter further thought, and did not know that after she had left the room her brother had read the paragraph a second time, and had then carefully preserved it.

Even now, as they started for the mill, Fayette requested to "hear it again," but Hallam declined.

"It's too cold. And if I don't hurry and do what I set out to, I'm afraid I'll back out."

"Is it somethin' ye hate to do?"

"Yes; it – Don't let's talk about it."

"Just the way I feel. I'd ruther live on one meal a day 'n do it. Once I give it to her, I shan't never see no more of it. Oh, I know her! She's a regular boss, she is."

"Cleena? But she's a dear old creature, even so."

"Oh, I like her. I like her first rate. She's a good cook an' middlin' good-lookin'. I hain't got nothin' again her. They say, to the village, how 't John Young talks o' sparkin' her."

"What? Teamster John? Our Cleena? Well, he'd better not!"

In his indignation Hallam nearly slipped from his saddle. He did let one of his crutches fall, and Fayette picked up that, took the other, and cheerfully "packed" them to the end of their journey.

"Why not? His wife's dead."

"Yes. But – our Cleena! Cleena Keegan! Well, there's no danger of her encouraging him. Between her own 'folks,' yourself, and the Joneses, I think she has all she can attend to without taking in a man to worry with."

The subject was idlest village gossip, but it served to divert Hallam's thoughts from his impending errand, and he arrived at the office of the mill in good spirits. Then he remembered a saying he had heard in the community: —

"All roads lead to the mill," and quoted it for Fayette's benefit.

"That's so. But, say, I hate that old Wingate that's got it now. He licked me when I worked for him. Licked me more 'n once, just because I fooled a little with his horses. I was bound out to him from the poor-farm, an' I run away. He treated me bad. I'm goin' to get even with him some day. You watch an' see."

"Well, here we are. Is this the office? Will you go in with me and help me find the superintendent? I've never been here, you know."

"Huckleberries! Ain't that queer? And Amy comes every day."

Fayette meant no reproach. His thoughts were never profound, but Hallam flushed and felt ashamed.

"That's true. The more disgrace to me. Well, cripple or not, that's the last time anybody shall ever say, truthfully, that my little sister has set me an example of courage and effort. Hurry up. Open the door."

A moment later both lads stood within the little room wherein so many big money transactions took place; and it is doubtful if any speculator coming there had felt greater anxiety over the outcome of his visit than these two whose "operations" were to be of such a modest limit.

"Boss, I've come after my money. I want the whole lot."

"Good day, 'Bony'; good day, Hallam Kaye, I believe."

Hallam bowed, and before his courage could wane, replied: —

"Yes; I'm sorry to interrupt you in business hours, but – will you buy Balaam, Pepita's brother?"

Before the gentleman could answer, Fayette had clutched Hallam's shoulder.

"What's that? Did you come here to sell that donkey?"

"I came to try to sell it, certainly."

"Then I'm sorry I ever touched to help you. I want him myself. I come to get my money a purpose. My money is as good as his. He shan't have it. I'll have it myself."

Mr. Metcalf interrupted: —

"But, 'Bony,' you can't afford to keep such an animal. It would take all your capital to pay for him. Wait. Sometime, if you're industrious, you'll be rich enough to have a horse and carriage. Indeed, I mean it; and, yes, Hallam, I will very gladly buy your burro. I've wanted him ever since Amy let us have Pepita. I – "

"You shan't have him, then. You never shall. I want him, an' I'll keep him. You see!"

The door opened and shut with a bang. Whether purposely or not, it was impossible to say, but in his outward rush the half-wit brushed so rudely past Hallam that he knocked his crutch from his grasp, so that he would have fallen, had not the superintendent caught and steadied the lad to a seat.

"That's 'Bony' all over. As irresponsible as a child and ungovernable in his rage. Yet, never fear; he'll be back again, sometime."

"But – he has taken Balaam. What can I do now?"

Mr. Metcalf walked to the window and looked out. There was a dash of something black disappearing at the turn of the road.

"Humph! That's bad. He's taken the road to the mountains. When his 'wood fit' comes over him, summer or winter, he vanishes. Sometimes he is gone for months."

"And he's taken Balaam with him," repeated the other.

"Yes; he certainly has;" but when the superintendent looked toward Hallam he was startled by the hopeless expression of the lad's fine face.