Frank Spencer found the mental atmosphere of Hilcrest in confusion when
he returned from his two days' trip. Margaret had repeated to Mrs.
Merideth the substance of what McGinnis had told her, drawing a vivid
picture of the little children wearing out their lives in plain sight of
the windows of Hilcrest. Mrs. Merideth had been shocked and dismayed,
though she hardly knew which she deplored the more--that such conditions
existed, or that Margaret should know of them. At Margaret's avowed
determination to go over the mills, and into the operatives' houses, she
lifted her hands in horrified protest, and begged her to report the
matter to the Woman's Guild, and leave the whole thing in charge of the
committee.
"But don't you see that they can't reach the seat of the trouble?"
Margaret had objected. "Why, even that money which I intended for little
Maggie went into a general fund, and never reached its specified
destination." And Mrs. Merideth could only sigh and murmur:
"But, my dear, it's so unnecessary and so dreadful for you to mix
yourself up personally with such people!"
When her brother came home, Mrs. Merideth went to him. Frank was a man:
surely Frank could do something! But Frank merely grew white and stern,
and went off into his own den, shutting himself up away from everybody.
The next morning, after a fifteen minute talk with Margaret, he sought
his sister. His face was drawn into deep lines, and his eyes looked as
if he had not slept.
"Say no more to Margaret," he entreated. "It is useless. She is her own
mistress, of course, in spite of her insistence that I am still her
guardian; and she must be allowed to do as she likes in this matter.
Make her home here happy, and do not trouble her. We must not make her
quite--hate us!" His voice broke over the last two words, and he was gone
before Mrs. Merideth could make any reply.
Some twenty-four hours later, young McGinnis at the mills was summoned
to the telephone.
"If you are not too busy," called a voice that sent a quick throb of joy
to the young man's pulse, "the other half of the committee would like to
begin work. May she come down to the mills this afternoon at three
o'clock?"
"By all means!" cried McGinnis. "Come." He tried to say more, but while
he was searching for just the right words, the voice murmured, "Thank
you"; and then came the click of the receiver against the hook at the
other end of the line.
The clock had not struck three that afternoon when Margaret was ushered
into the inner office of Spencer & Spencer. Only Frank was there, for
which Margaret was thankful. She avoided Ned these days when she could.
There was still that haunting reproach in his eyes whenever they met
hers.
Frank was expecting her, and only a peculiar tightening of his lips
betrayed his disquietude as he turned to his desk and pressed the button
that would summon McGinnis to the office.
"Miss Kendall would like to go over one of the mills," he said quietly,
as the young man entered, in response to his ring. "Perhaps you will be
her escort."
Margaret gave her guardian a grateful look as she left the office. She
thought she knew just how much the calm acceptance of the situation had
cost him, and she appreciated his unflinching determination to give her
actions the sanction of his apparent consent. It was for this that she
gave him the grateful glance--but he did not see it. His head was turned
away.
"And what shall I show you?" asked McGinnis, as the office door closed
behind them.
"Everything you can," returned Margaret; "everything! But particularly
the children."
From the first deafening click-clack of the rattling machines she drew
back in consternation.
"They don't work there--the children!" she cried.
For answer he pointed to a little girl not far away. She was standing on
a stool, that she might reach her work. Her face was thin and drawn
looking, with deep shadows under her eyes, and little hollows where the
roses should have been in her cheeks. Her hair was braided and wound
tightly about her small head, though at the temples and behind her ears
it kinked into rebellious curls that showed what it would like to do if
it had a chance. Her ragged little skirts were bound round and round
with a stout cord so that the hungry jaws of the machine might not snap
at any flying fold or tatter. She did not look up as Margaret paused
beside her. She dared not. Her eyes were glued to the whizzing,
whirring, clattering thing before her, watching for broken threads or
loose ends, the neglect of which might bring down upon her head a
snarling reprimand from "de boss" of her department.
Margaret learned many things during the next two hours. Conversation was
not easy in the clattering din, but some few things her guide explained,
and a word or two spoke volumes sometimes.
She saw what it meant to be a "doffer," a "reeler," a "silk-twister."
She saw what it might mean if the tiny hand that thrust the empty bobbin
over the buzzing spindle-point should slip or lose its skill. She saw a
little maid of twelve who earned two whole dollars a week, and she saw a
smaller girl of ten who, McGinnis said, was with her sister the only
support of an invalid mother at home. She saw more, much more, until her
mind refused to grasp details and the whole scene became one blurred
vision of horror.
Later, after a brief rest--she had insisted upon staying--she saw the
"day-shift" swarm out into the chill December night, and the
"night-shift" come shivering in to take their places; and she grew faint
and sick when she saw among them the scores of puny little forms with
tired-looking faces and dragging feet.
"And they're only beginning!" she moaned, as McGinnis hurried her away.
"And they've got to work all night--all night!"