Katie Robertson

by Margaret E. Winslow

As soon as tea was over, in the long June twilight, Etta put on her hat, and walked down the hill upon which the grand house stood to the valley, in which was the long row of boarding-houses occupied by such of the mill-hands as had no homes in the place. It was stiflingly hot down here, though it had been cool and fresh on the high ground above, and the young lady, who had not often visited the purlieus of the mill, felt as though she could scarcely breathe, and did not wonder that men sat at the open windows in their shirtsleeves, and that tired-looking women seemed gasping for air. The bare wooden buildings, with their long rows of windows and doors all of the same pattern; the smooth, beaten yards, all just alike; the swarms of children making it seem anything but Sunday-like with their noise; the teeming population, which made the tenements resemble ant-hills, and seemed to forbid any idea of privacy, looked very dreadful to her.

On the other side of the street was a long row of brick cottages, each inhabited by two or more families, the distinctive sign of each being the family pig, kept, for greater convenience, in the front yard, from which odors, not the most choice in their nature, were constantly wafted across the way. In the doorways of most of these lounged Irishmen smoking and swearing, in some cases in a state of intoxication; for, although the rules of the mill concerning drinking were very strict, and no habitual drinker was ever knowingly engaged in it, it was impossible to prevent the men from depositing a part of the earnings received every Saturday night in the hands of one or two liquor-dealers whom the law licensed to sell death and ruin to their fellow-men.

How dreadful, thought the young lady, to be compelled to spend one's life in such wretched surroundings. Is it any wonder that the women become hopeless slatterns, and that the children grow up in vice and sin? How thankful I ought to be to the heavenly Father who has surrounded me with such different influences! how I wish I might do something to raise and elevate these, and give them a few of the blessings of which I have so many!

Etta Mountjoy had grown since that early June Sunday when she had visited her pastor in such sorrow and perplexity. She had read and seen and thought more and more of the wonderful love of our heavenly Father in surrounding her with so many blessings and in sending his only Son to be her Saviour and friend. She looked back upon the life of self-pleasing she had so long led with sorrow amounting to disgust. How could she have been so ungrateful? How could she have failed to love One so altogether lovely? She was learning now to find pleasure in prayer, and the Bible, which had been to her such a dull book, began to be more interesting than any story which she had formerly devoured. And she was trying, faintly and with many relapses, it is true, to take up her neglected duties, especially those which had been most distasteful to her, and perform them steadily "as unto the Lord." Out of all this was springing up in her a desire to do something for Christ—something which would be, if not a return for his favors, at least a token of her gratitude to him. To-night just such an opportunity as she had desired came to her hand.

If Etta had only known it, the dwellings of the operatives at Squantown were palatial compared to those into which the working-classes are huddled in cities; for here the many windows opened upon pure fresh air and green fields, the little yards were scrupulously clean, and vines clambered up the sides of the doors and windows, even to the roofs. The fare, plain as it was, was not tainted by exposure in a city market, or by being hawked about the city streets, and the price of living was no higher than the wages received in the mill enabled the people to pay.

The young teacher had the number of the house at which her scholar boarded written down in her class-book, and at that number she at once knocked. No one came for some time, but at last repeated raps brought the woman who kept the house, and who might perhaps be excused for her want of greater promptitude on the ground of having so many dishes to wash after the boarders' tea.

In answer to Miss Etta's inquiries the woman answered civilly enough, for it would not do to offend one of "the family," that Gretchen's room was the back garret; that she believed the girl had been sick for a day or two, but she had not had time to look after her, though she had sent her little boy up with her meals. The child couldn't have eaten much, for the tray came down almost as it went up. She had been trying to find time to go upstairs all day, and was just meaning to do so now that her dishes were done. She would go up now, and let the young lady know how her scholar was.

"Let me go with you," said Etta; but the request was only a form, as the girl usually did just as she pleased without waiting for anybody's permission, and, indeed, the woman of the house knew no reason why, on this occasion, she should not follow her own inclination.

Three flights of stairs were climbed, a long narrow hall, studded with doors on each side, traversed, and Mrs. Doyle opened one in the southwest corner of the house, where, the sun having beaten on the sloping roof all the afternoon, the temperature was something fearful. The room was small, for Mr. Mountjoy had built the boarding-houses, and desired to try the experiment of each inmate having a separate room instead of a great many men or women being herded together in open dormitories. It contained simply a cot, a wooden chair, and a table upon which stood conveniences for washing and the untasted supper. On the cot lay the German girl, blazing with fever and tossing about in the greatest discomfort. At first she did not know her visitors, and seemed a little frightened at seeing the room so full. But presently, recognizing her Sunday-school teacher, she grasped her hand and drew her down to the side of the bed, pointing to her German Bible, in which she had been trying to study her Sunday-school lesson.

Etta was touched, and began to think there might be some interest in even the plain, undemonstrative Gretchen. She bent down to ask her some questions about her sickness, during which Mrs. Doyle hurried to throw the one window wide open, and to make the disordered room fit to be seen.