“On the contrary you have not said half enough,” declared the girl, rising too; “and I mean to go over the mills at once, if you’ll be so good as to take me. I’ll let you know when. And come to see me again, please—without being sent for,” she suggested merrily, adding with a pretty touch of earnestness: “We are a committee of two; and to do good work the committee must meet!”
McGinnis never knew exactly how he got home that night. The earth was beneath him, but he did not seem to touch it. The sky was above him—he was nearer that. But, in spite of this nearness, the stars seemed dim—he was thinking of the light in a pair of glorious blue eyes.
McGinnis told himself that it was because of his mill people—this elation that possessed him. He was grateful that they had found a friend. He did not ask himself later whether it was also because of his mill people that he sat up until far into the morning, with his eyes dreamily fixed on the note in his hand signed, “Margaret Kendall.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
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.