“But it makes me unhappy afterwards. It makes me want things. And I get restless—and when I go back to the factory it's so much harder.”
“What do you do in the factory?” asked Samuel.
“I'm what they call a bobbin-girl—I tie the threads on the bobbins when they are empty.”
“Is it very hard work?”
“No, you mightn't think so. But you have to stand up all day; and it's doing the same thing all the time—the same thing the whole day long. You get dull—you never think about anything. And then the air is full of dust and the machinery roars. You get used to it, but I'm sure its bad for you.”
They walked for a while in silence. “Do you like to imagine things?” asked Sophie suddenly.
“Yes,” said he.
“I used to,” said she—“when I was younger.” It was so strange to Samuel to notice that this slip of a child always spoke of herself as old.
“Why don't you do it now?” he asked.
“I'm too tired, I think. But I've a lot of pictures up in my room—that I cut out of magazines that people gave me. Pictures of beautiful things—birds and flowers, and old castles, and fine ladies and gentlemen. And I used to make up stories about them, and imagine that I was there, and that all sorts of nice things were happening to me. Would you like to see my pictures?”