Em had stopped in the path. The young fellow stepped behind her, and she went on.
"Why don't you all go over to Briggs's and go to work?" she asked, without turning her head.
"Too far—the foreman'll come to time."
They came up to the noisy group, and Em seated herself on a pile of trays and loosened the strings of her wide hat; she was tired from her walk, and the pallor of her face made her lips seem redder.
Irene Burnham crossed over to the newcomer, shrugging herself with girlish self-consciousness.
"Isn't it just too mean, Em?" she panted; "I know they'll discharge us. That means good-by to my new parasol; I've been dying for one all summer, a red silk one"—
"Let up on the parasol racket, Sis," called one of the Burnham boys; "business is business."
The hum of the young voices went on, mingled with gay, irresponsible laughter. Em got up and began to tie her hat.
"Where are you going?" asked one of the girls.
"I'm going to work."