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Turn Of The Tide, The

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<h2>143CHAPTER XIX</h2> It was after eight o’clock. The morning, for so early in September, was raw and cold. A tall young fellow, with alert gray eyes and a square chin hurried around the corner of one of the great mills, and almost knocked down a small girl who was coming toward him with head bent to the wind. “Heigh-ho!” he cried, then stopped short. The child had fallen back and was leaning against the side of the building in a paroxysm of coughing. She was thin and pale, and looked as if she might be eleven years old. “Well, well!” he exclaimed as soon as the child caught her breath. “I reckon there’s room for both of us in the world, after all.” Then, kindly: “Where were you going?” “Home, sir.” He threw a keen look into her face. “Are you one of the mill girls?” “Yes, sir.” 144 “Night shift?” She nodded. “But it’s late—it’s after eight o’clock. Why didn’t you go home with the rest?” The child hesitated. Her eyes swerved from his gaze. She looked as if she wanted to run away. “Come, come,” he urged kindly. “Answer me. I won’t hurt you. I may help you. Let us go around here where the wind doesn’t blow so.” And he led the way to the sheltered side of the building. “Now tell us all about it. Why didn’t you go home with the rest?” “I did start to, sir, but I was so tired, an’—an’ I coughed so, I stopped to rest. It was nice an’ cool out here, an’ I was so hot in there.” She jerked her thumb toward the mill. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said hastily; and his lips set into stern lines as he thought of the hundreds of other little girls that found the raw morning “nice and cool” after the hot, moist air of the mills. “But don’t you see,” he protested earnestly, “that that’s the very time you mustn’t stop and rest? You take cold, and that’s what makes you 145 cough. You shouldn’t be——” he stopped abruptly. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Nellie Magoon.” “How old are you?” The thin little face before him grew suddenly drawn and old, and the eyes met his with a look that was half-shrewd, half-terrified, and wholly defiant. “I’m thirteen, sir.” “How old were you when you began to work here?” “Twelve, sir.” The answer was prompt and sure. The child had evidently been well trained. “Where do you live?” “Over on the Prospect Hill road.” “But that’s a long way from here.” “Yes, sir. I does get tired.” “And you’ve walked it a good many times, too; haven’t you?” said the man, quietly. “Let’s see, how long is it that you’ve worked at the mills?” “Two years, sir.” A single word came sharply from between the man’s close-shut teeth, and Nellie wondered why the kind young man with the pleasant eyes should 146 suddenly look so very cross and stern. At that moment, too, she remembered something—she had seen this man many times about the mills. Why was he questioning her? Perhaps he was not going to let her work any more, and if he did not let her work, what would her mother say and do? “Please, sir, I must go, quick,” she cried suddenly, starting forward. “I’m all well now, an’ I ain’t tired a mite. I’ll be back ter-night. Jest remember I’m thirteen, an’ I likes ter work in the mills—I likes ter, sir,” she shouted back at him. “Humph!” muttered the man, as he watched the frail little figure disappear down the street. “I thought as much!” Then he turned and strode into the mill. “Oh, Mr. Spencer, I’d like to speak to you, please, sir,” he called, hurrying forward, as he caught sight of the younger member of the firm of Spencer & Spencer. Fifteen minutes later Ned Spencer entered his brother’s office, and dropped into the nearest chair. “Well,” he began wearily, “McGinnis is on the war-path again.” Frank smiled. 147 “So? What’s up now?” “Oh, same old thing—children working under age. By his own story the girl herself swears she’s thirteen, but he says she isn’t.” Frank shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps he knows better than the girl’s parents,” he observed dryly. “He’d better look her up on our registers, or he might ask to see her certificate.” Ned laughed. He made an impatient gesture. “Good heavens, Frank,” he snapped; “as if ’twas our fault that they lie so about the kids’ ages! They’d put a babe in arms at the frames if they could. But McGinnis—by the way, where did you get that fellow? and how long have you had him? I can’t remember when he wasn’t here. He acts as if he owned the whole concern, and had a personal interest in every bobbin in it.” “That’s exactly it,” laughed Frank. “He has a personal interest, and that’s why I keep him, and put up with some of his meddling that’s not quite so pleasant. He’s as honest as the daylight, and as faithful as the sun.” “Where did you get him? He must have been here ages.” 148 “Ages? Well, for twelve—maybe thirteen years, to be exact. He was a mere boy, fourteen or fifteen, when he came. He said he was from Houghtonsville, and that he had known Dr. Harry Spencer. He asked for work—any kind, and brought good references. We used him about the office for awhile, then gradually worked him into the mills. He was bright and capable, and untiring in his efforts to please, so we pushed him ahead rapidly. He went to night school at once, and has taken one or two of those correspondence courses until he’s acquired really a good education. “He’s practically indispensable to me now—anyhow, I found out that he was when he was laid up for a month last winter. He stands between me and the hands like a strong tower, and takes any amount of responsibility off my shoulders. You’ll see for yourself when you’ve been here longer. The hands like him, and will do anything for him. That’s why I put up with some of his notions. They’re getting pretty frequent of late, however, and he’s becoming a little too meddlesome. I may have to call him down a peg.” “You’d think so, I fancy, if you had heard him 149 run on about this mill-girl half an hour ago,” laughed Ned. “He said he should speak to you.” “Very good. Then I can speak to him,” retorted the other, grimly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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