“And you’ve walked it a good many times, too; haven’t you?” said the man, quietly. “Let’s see, how long is it that you’ve worked at the mills?”
“Two years, sir.”
A single word came sharply from between the man’s close-shut teeth, and Nellie wondered why the kind young man with the pleasant eyes should suddenly look so very cross and stern. At that moment, too, she remembered something—she had seen this man many times about the mills. Why was he questioning her? Perhaps he was not going to let her work any more, and if he did not let her work, what would her mother say and do?
“Please, sir, I must go, quick,” she cried suddenly, starting forward. “I’m all well now, an’ I ain’t tired a mite. I’ll be back ter-night. Jest remember I’m thirteen, an’ I likes ter work in the mills—I likes ter, sir,” she shouted back at him.
“Humph!” muttered the man, as he watched the frail little figure disappear down the street. “I thought as much!” Then he turned and strode into the mill. “Oh, Mr. Spencer, I’d like to speak to you, please, sir,” he called, hurrying forward, as he caught sight of the younger member of the firm of Spencer & Spencer.
Fifteen minutes later Ned Spencer entered his brother’s office, and dropped into the nearest chair.
“Well,” he began wearily, “McGinnis is on the war-path again.”
“So? What’s up now?”
“Oh, same old thing—children working under age. By his own story the girl herself swears she’s thirteen, but he says she isn’t.”