"There is another aspect of the question," continued the teacher. "Your employers pay you a stipulated sum in return for a certain amount of work to be done in a certain amount of time. They have a right to expect you to give your best skill, your closest attention. Do you think it is quite honest either to use a part of that time in reading foolish, useless, or hurtful books, or to come to your work so exhausted and preoccupied by them as to be unfitted for performing your part of the contract?"
"I do not desire to coerce you, or even to bind your consciences by any promise, but I leave you to consider all I have said, and I think if you do so honestly and prayerfully you will come to the conclusion that for you who hope you have found your Saviour,—nay, I will say for all, inasmuch as you all ought to be Christians,—the reading of this kind of books and stories is among those works of the flesh and the devil which you are called to renounce."
Katie had got the answer she had asked for, and besides she was well furnished with arguments to bring to bear upon Tessa the first opportunity she should have of talking with her, and that, she determined, should be very soon.
When the girls and their escorts had gone home that evening, the two sisters lingered to talk a little over the question that had so interested their scholars. It was a new thing for them to have any common interest, and Eunice hailed it as a good omen that her sister should consult with her about anything. Etta had not yet confided to her elder sister her new hopes, purposes, and feelings. She was an independent girl, who had always thought and acted for herself, and there had never been anything like sisterly familiarity between the eldest and youngest of the Mountjoys. The distance between them was too great, and perhaps the elder, in filling the position of a mother to her little sister, had at first assumed a little too much of the authority of one. She had grown wiser now, and did not attempt to force the young girl's confidence; but she could not but be conscious of a change. There was an increased gentleness of manner and sweetness of tone, a thoughtful consideration of others, and deference to her own wishes which she had never seen before. Her continuing to attend the Wednesday meetings, and her serious attention when there, were good signs; so was Etta's voluntary attendance at the Sunday evening service, a thing that had never happened before, and Eunice began to hope that the solemn, earnest realities of life would yet become precious to her light-hearted, wayward sister.
This evening they talked over the novel grievance, and the temptations to which the mill-girls were exposed, and Etta proposed a plan for their benefit, which, when matured and digested, besides being supported by Mr. Mountjoy's purse and his son's executive ability, eventuated in the conversion of an unused loft in the mill into a library and reading-room for the girls and such of their brothers and friends as knew how to appreciate its benefits by behaving like gentlemen.
The books were chosen with great care, and were the best of their kind to be had—popular science, history, and biography, with a large, a very large, proportion of such fiction as had a tendency to elevate and instruct, while it interested, its readers. The books were not to be taken from the building, except upon rare occasions and under peculiar circumstances; but the reading-room, which was nicely carpeted, well warmed, and furnished with long tables and comfortable chairs, was open during the noon intermission and for two hours every evening, and good behavior was the only condition demanded for enjoying both its social and literary privileges. The library soon became a very popular institution, and the sale and consumption of sensational literature decreased proportionally.
Before separating for the night, Etta said: "Did you notice the girl who asked the question about novels?"
"Katie Robertson? Yes; I have had my eye on her for a long time. She seems the most promising subject of your class."
"So I have always thought; but I have had a terrible disappointment in her. No one would suppose it, but I have recently heard that she is a thief, and that to a large amount. The child, innocent as she looks, has actually stolen fifty dollars from our mill."
"That is absolutely impossible! I will not believe it. Who told you so,
Etta?"