Then she knelt beside her bed, prayed simply and in full faith for success in her efforts to provide for her beloved ones, and went below, smiling and gay.
"Think of it, Cleena Keegan. This is Monday morning. On seventh day I expect to bring back two splendid dollars and put into your hands. I, just I, your own little Amy. Think of the oatmeal it will buy."
It was not in Cleena's heart to dampen this ardor by remarking how small a sum two dollars really was, considered in the light of a family support; and, after all, oatmeal was cheap. Fortunately, it also formed the principal diet of this plainly nurtured household, and even that very breakfast to which the young breadwinner now sat down.
But the meal was exquisitely cooked, and the hot milk was rich and sweet. Also, there lay, neatly wrapped in a spotless napkin, the mid-day luncheon, which Cleena had been told to prepare, and which Mrs. Jones suggested should be of something "hearty and strong" for "working in the mill beats all for appetite."
Then Amy took the big gingham pinafore, that Cleena had also prepared, and with her little parcels under her arm, skipped away down the slope to the Joneses' cottage, where Gwendolyn was to meet and escort her to her first day's work.
"Pshaw! I thought you wasn't coming. We'll be late if we don't hurry. Hmm. Wore your white cloak, didn't you? Well, I guess the girls won't laugh at you much. A dark one would have been better."
"But I have no dark one, so it was this or nothing. How fast you walk, almost as if you were running!"
"We'll be late, I tell you. I don't want to get docked, if you do."
"What is 'docked'?"