IT was drawing towards evening, when a woman, carrying a large bundle of work, entered a room on the ground floor of a ready-made clothes warehouse. She was bringing back a pile of finished shirts made by machine at her own home.
There were a number of girls and women at work in the room as she entered, some employed in fixing for the machinists, or finishing off their garments by making button-holes or putting on buttons. Others were cutting out, or making up parcels of garments to give to the out-door workers. All looked tired, for the day had been hot and close, and many glances were cast towards the clock, for this last working hour seemed longest of all to the weary women.
The new-comer, however, entered with a smiling face, though any one might tell that she, too, was tired, by the great drops of perspiration which she wiped from her hot face, and the look of relief with which she placed her heavy bundle on the counter, that its contents might be examined by the forewoman.
"Eh, Mrs. Duncan," said the latter, "here you come again with a heap of work! How do you get through so much this hot weather? I'm sure it seems to take all the strength out of me. It doesn't do to give in when I have to keep the whole room going," she added, dropping her voice; "but I've been as bad for looking at the clock this afternoon as the youngest learner amongst them. I never felt time go so slowly in my life, I think."
"And there's just the difference between you and me, Miss Evans. I've been looking at the clock, too, but it was because the time was going all too fast for me, and I was sadly afraid I should not finish before closing time; but I have managed it, I am thankful to say. You wonder how it is I get through so much; but you see I have seven little drivers and a big one to keep me going!"
The girls glanced at each other as they heard Mrs. Duncan's words, and many a kindly look was turned towards her. They knew that her husband, a skilled mechanic, had recently met with a serious accident, which had quite unfitted him for work. A painful operation had been necessary, and though he was recovering, it would most likely be months before he would be strong enough to earn anything.
There was a small weekly allowance from a club, the eldest of the eight children, a boy, was just earning enough to repay the cost of his food, and, for the rest, nothing but what the hard-working mother could earn by her constant labours with the sewing machine.
And yet the toil-worn mother never came into the warehouse to receive her hard-earned wages without bringing, as it seemed, a ray of sunshine along with her. No cross looks, no murmuring words; no railing at the rich because they were rich, or grumbling because her own lot was one of almost incessant labour, and her pay small at the very best.
"I must look over your work for form's sake, Mrs. Duncan," said the forewoman; "but it is always right, and amongst the best done of all that comes into this place. I wish everybody gave me as little trouble as you do." And the forewoman, having glanced at the work, put it aside, and wrote out an order for the money, which Mrs. Duncan must receive at the pay-desk on her way out.
"How is your husband getting on?" she asked, as she handed the ticket to Mrs. Duncan.