We then called on the woman in question and obtained her tearful consent, for while the promise of a home for her boy was a bright gleam, she said:
"He is the oldest. Oh! I shall miss him when we are sick."
"He shall come to you any time," said Louis, "and you shall visit him."
And in a few moments we were at the mill. Entering the office, Louis was cordially greeted by one of the three gentlemen who had called on us. He evidently anticipated his errand, for he said:
"So, you are come for Willie Moore and Burton Brown?"
"Yes, sir," Louis replied. "Can I go to the room for them?"
"As you please, Mr. Desmonde, I can call them down. Their room is not a very desirable place for a lady to visit."
Louis looked at him as if to remind him of something, while I said:
"My place is beside my husband."
"Yes," added Louis, "we work together. Come, Emily," and he led the way to the fourth floor, where, under the flat roof in a long, low room, were the little wool pickers. I thought at first I could not breathe, the air was so close and sickening. And here were twenty boys, not one of them more than twelve or thirteen years old, working through long hours. The heat was stifling, and the fuzz from the wool made it worse. They wore no stockings or shoes, nothing but a shirt and overalls, and these were drenched as with rain.