"Why, there are very few manual trades don't leave their mark," she answered, "and a woman's lucky to get nothing worse than a scarred hand."
"Would it come right," he ventured to ask, "if you gave up spinning?"
"Yes, in no time. There are worse things happen to you in the mills than that—and more painful. Sometimes the wind from the reels numbs your fingers till you can't feel 'em and they go red, and then blue. And there's always grumbling about the temperature, because what suits hemp and flax don't suit humans. If some clever man could solve these difficulties, it would be more comfortable for us. Not that I'm grumbling. Our mill is about as perfect as any mill can be, and we've got the blessing of living in the country, too—that's worth a lot."
"You're fond of the country."
"Couldn't live out of it," she said. "Thanks to Mr. Churchouse, I know more about things than some girls."
"I should think you did."
"He's very wise and kind and lends me books."
"A very nice old bird. I nearly went to live with him when I came to
Bridetown. Sorry I didn't, now."
She smiled and did not pretend to miss the compliment.
"As to the Mill," he went on; "don't think I'm the sort of chap that just drifts and is contented to let things be as they were in the time of his father and grandfather."