The startled change in her face amazed Bess.
“Oh dear!” the latter cried. “What is it? Surely, there's nobody hurt in the mills? Your father——-”
“I'm afraid, Bess dear, that it means there are a great many hurt in the mills.”
“Oh, Nan! How horridly you talk,” cried Bess. “That is impossible.”
“Not hurt in the machinery, not mangled by the looms,” Nan went on to say, gravely. “But dreadfully hurt nevertheless, Bess. Father has been expecting it, I believe. Let's go and read the poster.”
“Why it is a poster, isn't it?” cried Bess. “What does it say?”
The two school girls, both neatly dressed and carrying their bags of text books, pushed into the group before the yellow quarter-sheet poster pasted on the fence.
The appearance of Nan and Bess was distinctly to their advantage when compared with that of the women and girls who made up the most of the crowd interested in the black print upon the poster.
The majority of these whispering, staring people were foreigners. All bore marks of hard work and poverty. The hands of even the girls in the group were red and cracked. It was sharp winter weather, but none wore gloves.
If they wore a head-covering at all, it was a shawl gathered at the throat by the clutch of frost-bitten fingers. There was snow on the ground; but few wore overshoes.