“And why aren’t you mending stockings?” asked Audrey, with a delicious quizzical smile that crept gradually through the wonder and admiration in her face.
“You pal!” cried Jane Foley impulsively. “I must hug you!” And she did. “I’ll tell you why I’m not mending stockings, and why Susan has had to leave off mending stockings in order to look after me. Susan and I worked in a mill when she was ten and I was eleven. We were ‘tenters.’ We used to get up at four or five in the morning and help with the housework, and then put on our clogs and shawls and be at the mill at six. We worked till twelve, and then in the afternoon we went to school. The next day we went to school in the morning and to the mill in the afternoon. When we were thirteen we left school altogether, and worked twelve hours a day in the mill. In the evenings we had to do housework. In fact, all our housework was done before half-past five in the morning and after half-past six in the evening. We had to work just as hard as the men and boys in the mill. We got a great deal less money and a great deal less decent treatment; but to make up we had to slave in the early morning and late at night, while the men either snored or smoked. I was all right. But Susan wasn’t. And a lot of women weren’t, especially young mothers with babies. So I learnt typewriting on the quiet, and left it all to try and find out whether something couldn’t be done. I soon found out—after I’d heard Rosamund speak. That’s the reason I’m not mending stockings. I’m not blaming anybody. It’s no one’s fault, really. It certainly isn’t men’s fault. Only something has to be altered, and most people detest alterations. Still, they do get done somehow in the end. And so there you are!”
“I should love to help,” said Audrey. “I expect I’m not much good, but I should love to.”
She dared not refer to her wealth, of which, in fact, she was rather ashamed.
“Well, you can help, all right,” said Jane Foley, rising. “Are you a member?”
“No. But I will be to-morrow.”
“They’ll give you something to do,” said Jane Foley.
“Oh yes!” remarked Miss Ingate. “They’ll keep you busy enough—and charge you for it.”
Susan Foley began to clear the table.
“Supper at nine,” said she curtly.