“Oh, what a pretty waist; whose is it?” she asked. Their mother’s birthday present, they told her, which would be next day and the mother would never suspect they had walked to and from work every day for two months to save car fare, and had done without fruit or cake for their lunch, just to be able to make it their own present. “For you see we give her all we earn and it is all we three have to live upon, and she makes it spin out someway by earning a little, sewing when she can get it to do, but she does our sewing and washing and takes care of the home, so this is something she will prize, and we are so glad we could get it in time,” they explained.
“Well, girls, you are lucky to have a mother, and your mother is to be congratulated for having two such self-denying daughters. I lost my mother just two years ago and this is my birthday.” One of the girls took her hand and held it lovingly, while both remarked how nice she looked in the waist and hoped their mother would look as well.
Mary Smith, the only support of the family.
This little incident, born of sympathy, the touch of the hand, the kindness to the mother, spoke volumes to Nellie, and she and the sisters became friends. She had felt alone when she first came into the factory. When one spends long, weary hours with people who have different ideas, life is more lonely than if one were in a solitary place.
She had been considered reserved, or “proud,” as some had called her, but her quiet, firm manner had been her main recommendation to the head of the firm. She acquired a great liking for many of the girls, however, as their little difficulties came under her notice. Their hardships with poverty, although never called by that name, were borne so bravely. The insults they endured from girls employed in offices or stores on their way home at night, the sneers and the drawing of their clothes aside for the fear of coming in contact was enough to make them feel inferior, even though they were not. To Nellie this was abominable, for labor is labor, in the banking house, store or factory, in the home, or anywhere, and should be respected.
One day a little cash girl had been hurt by a street car. The newspapers told how this little child of eleven years was the only member of a family of four who was earning anything, and all she got was two dollars a week; how she lived two miles from her work and had to walk each way, then run from eight in the morning until six at night.
When one evening while returning home the accident occurred. It was pitiful to hear her cry after her ankle had been attended to, for the pain was not the worst part of her trouble. Oh! if she should lose her employment, what would they do at home? she cried. Baby Bob couldn’t have his milk. Why, they couldn’t have any food at all. Her anxiety about the money touched the girls’ sympathy who were taking her home. They had carried her to the car and were trying to comfort her.
The girls found an old frame building that had been abandoned as unsafe, propped up to keep it from falling. There were no lights and voices were heard asking what had happened. They got her to bed, still in the dark, and no one offered to help. Through sobs that shook the whole building, the mother explained that she couldn’t move because of rheumatism. The father was also too weak to do anything and the baby cried because Mary and his mother were crying. The girls went home for their mother and a light and when they returned saw the most pitiful sight they had ever seen. Four helpless people, and not enough food in the house to satisfy the hunger of one.
The Healey girls did not forget little Mary Smith, the cash girl, but said nothing at the time in the factory. Every few days they went to see that she was not in need and did all they could for the family. Mrs. Healey soon drew the story of their wretched life from them, and their gratitude to her and her daughters was the opening of a friendship that only those who have gone through such misery can realize its strength.