“You did not know it, of course,” she went on feverishly. “But you do now. And surely now, now you can do something.”
Still he was silent. Then he turned sharply.
“Margaret, I beg of you to believe me when I say that you do not understand the matter at all. Those people are poor. They need the money. You would deprive some of the families of two-thirds of their means of support if you took away what the children earn. Help them, pity them, be as charitable as you like. That is well and good; but, Margaret, don’t, for heaven’s sake, let your heart run away with your head when it comes to the business part of it!”
“Business!—with babies nine years old!”
The man sprang to his feet and walked twice the length of the room; then he turned about and faced the scornful eyes of the girl by the desk.
“Margaret, don’t look at me as if you thought I was a fiend incarnate. I regret this sort of thing as much as you do. Indeed I do. But my hands are tied. I am simply a part of a great machine—a gigantic system, and I must run my mills as other men do. Surely you must see that. Just think it over, and give me the credit at least for knowing a little more of the business than you do, when I and my father before me, have been here as many years as you have days. Come, please don’t let us talk of this thing any more to-night. You are tired and overwrought, and I don’t think you realize yourself what you are asking.”
“Very well, I will go,” sighed Margaret, rising wearily to her feet. “But I can’t forget it. There must be some way out of it. There must be some way out of it—somehow—some time.”
CHAPTER XXVI
There came a day when there seemed to be nothing left to do for Patty. Maggie was well, and at play again in the tiny yard. The yard itself was no longer strewn with tin cans and bits of paper, nor did the gate hang half-hinged in slovenly decrepitude. The house rejoiced in new paper, paint, and window-glass, and the roof showed a spotted surface that would defy the heaviest shower. Within, before a cheery fire, Patty sewed industriously on garments which Miss Kendall no wise needed, but for which Miss Kendall would pay much money.
Patty did not work in the mills now; Margaret had refused to let her go back, saying that she wanted lots of sewing done, and Patty could do that instead. Patty’s own wardrobe, as well as that of the child, Maggie, was supplied for a year ahead; and the pantry and the storeroom of the little house fairly groaned with good things to eat. Even Sam, true to Margaret’s promise, was not “left out,” as was shown by his appearance. Sam, stirred by the girl’s cheery encouragement and tactful confidence, held up his head sometimes now with a trace of his old manliness, and had even been known to keep sober for two whole days at a time.