"'Bony'? It's just as the fit takes him. There's no accounting for his whims, poor unbalanced fellow. In some respects he is clever and remarkably clean-handed. In fixing parts of the machinery, I would rather have his help than that of most professionals, he is so careful about the minutest details. Yet, of course, it would be out of the question to rely upon him. There's another thing. He's a most excellent nurse. For days at a time, when there's been sickness in the mill village, he has devoted himself faithfully to whoever seemed to take his fancy. His big, ungainly hand has a truly wonderful power of soothing. When I had rheumatic fever, he was the only person I could endure to have in the room with me. His step was lighter even than that of my wife, and I really believe I should have died but for his care."

The superintendent was talking, simply to entertain and divert his visitor from the lad's own present annoyance, but he little knew how full of import his casual remarks were to his hearer.

"Do you mean that he is magnetic? that there is something in the claim he makes of being a 'healer'?"

"Quite as much as in the claim of any such person. There are, of course, some human beings so constituted that they can influence for good the physical conditions of other people. I am very sorry that his present whim has seized him. I would like the burro, and you would like the price of him. Well, all in good time. Meanwhile, if I can help you, please tell me."

"There was only one way in which you could, so far as I know. That was by buying my pet. I – I don't suppose," Hallam continued, with hesitancy, "that there is anything such a – a useless fellow as I could do to earn money here?"

"I am not so sure about that. What sort of work would you like?"

"Any sort."

Mr. Metcalf went into another room and presently returned with some oblong pieces of cardboard. These had a checked surface, and upon these checks were painted or stained partial patterns, designs for the carpets woven in the mills.

"Your father is an artist. Have you learned anything about his work, or of coloring?"

"Something, of course, though very little. I would not be an artist."

"Indeed? But there are artisans whose work is simple, mechanical, and reasonably lucrative. Our designers, for instance, make an excellent living. Do you see these numbers at the sides of the patterns?"

"Yes."

"They are for the guidance of the weavers. The threads of the carpets are numbered, and these numbers correspond. Therefore, the weaver can make his carpet from his pattern with mathematical exactness. We require many such copies of the original design. If you would like to try this sort of work, I will give you a temporary job. The boy who usually does it is ailing, and I have allowed him a vacation. The wages are small, no more than Amy earns, but the work isn't difficult, and is the only thing I have now, suitable for you."

Incidentally the gentleman's eyes turned toward Hallam's crutches leaning against the arm of the chair where he sat; but instead of feeling humiliated by the glance, as the sensitive cripple often did, this casual one fired his heart with a new ambition. He recalled the words of the surgeon, and was no longer angry with them.

"I will be a man in spite of it all," flashed through his brain. Aloud he said: —

"I will be very glad to try the work."

"Very well. When can you begin?"

"Now."

Mr. Metcalf smiled.

"All right. A lad so prompt is the lad for me. But I had imagined another sort of fellow, – not so energetic, indeed."

"I've not been worth much. I've been lazy and selfish; but I mean to turn over a new leaf. I'll try to be useful, and if I fail – I fail."

"But you'll not fail. God never sent anybody into this world for whom He did not provide a place, a duty. You will succeed. You may even get to 'the top,' that roomy plane where there are so few competitors. I want you to count me your friend. I, too, am a self-made man. There are few obstacles one cannot conquer, given good health and determination."

Then once more the employer's gaze rested upon the crutches, and his heart misgave him that he had roused ambitions which could not be realized. The poor cripple was handicapped from the start by his infirmity.

Hallam again saw the expression of the other's face, and again it nerved him to a firmer will.

"Even that shall not hinder, sir; and now if you will explain to me the work, I'll make a try at it right away."

Mr. Metcalf placed the designs upon a sloping table, at one side the office, and Hallam took the chair before it, as requested. Then the superintendent went over the system of numbering the designs, and illustrated briefly.

"Now you try. I'll watch. Go on as if I were not here. If I do not speak, consider that you are working correctly."

Hallam's intelligence was of a fine order, and he had always been a keen observer. Before Mr. Metcalf had finished his explanations the lad had grasped the whole idea of the work, and he took up the pen the gentleman laid down with the confidence of one who understood exactly what he had to do.

"'Knowledge is power,' there is no truer saying," remarked the teacher, watching the tyro's eager efforts. "It's as easy as A B C to you, apparently."

"It seems very simple. I think I would enjoy it better, though, if I could see the application."

"How the patterns are used?"

"Yes."

"Come this way."

Which was not by the shorter one of the stairway on the cliff, up which Fayette had once forced the reluctant Pepita, but around by the sloping wagon track and into the lower rooms of the great building. Already the lad knew most of these by the descriptions his sister had given him, but no description could equal the facts. As she had done, so he experienced that thrill of excitement, as he realized the mighty, throbbing life all around him, of which the wonderful machinery and the human hands and brains which controlled it seemed but parts of one vast whole. His eyes kindled, his cheeks flushed, and, as Amy had done, he forgot in his eagerness over the new scene that others might be observing him and his deformity.

At the weavers' looms he was "all eyes and ears," as one remarked. Seeing the woollen threads stretched up and down, perfectly colored and looking like a greatly elongated pattern, gave him a complete insight of the task for which he had been engaged.

"I thought I understood it before. I think I could not make a mistake now. A mistake would mean disaster wouldn't it?"

"It would," answered the superintendent, delighted to find his new helper such a promising aid. "See, here is the pattern. Watch the weaver awhile, then come with me to the 'setting room.' There is where Amy will be if she keeps on as industriously as she has begun. I tell you brains count. You are both gifted with them, and it should make you grateful – helpful, too. I think the least of all a man's possessions that he has a right to keep to himself is his brain."

Hallam looked up in surprise. Amy's acquaintance with the superintendent had begun most auspiciously, and he had desired to be considered her "friend," even as now her brother's. Yet since her coming to work in the mill, Mr. Metcalf had not exchanged a dozen sentences with her. She saw him daily, almost hourly. He was everywhere present about the great buildings. In no department was anybody sure of the time of his appearance, yet not one was overlooked. This kept the operators keyed to an expectancy which brought out from them their best, for the approbation of this observant 'boss' meant much to each. Yet he rarely spoke in a harsh tone to any, nor had any ever heard him utter an oath. This, in itself, gave him a distinction from all other mill superintendents under which most of these operatives had served, and added, it may be, a greater awe to their respect of him.

"I've been color mixer in a carpet mill these forty years, and Metcalf's the only 'Supe' I ever knew could run one without swearing," often remarked the master of the dyeing room. "He does; and a fellow may count himself lucky to work under such a man."

The color mixer, being a most important personage in the institution, had influence among his confrères, with good reason. His trade was an art and a secret. Like all trade secrets it commanded its own price. He was said to enjoy a salary "among the thousands," and to have rejected even richer offers for the sake of the peaceful discipline at Ardsley.

Then the two visited the "setting room," where the mill girls reached the highest promotion possible in their business. The "setting" is the arrangement upon frames of the threads of the carpet, perfectly adjusted. A girl sits upon each side the frame, which holds from two hundred threads to slightly an advance upon that number. It is clean and dainty work, and the operator is fortunate who can secure the position. It is the same "thread" which, drawn over wires, in the weaver's hands, makes the looplike surface of Brussels carpeting, which was the only sort manufactured at Ardsley.

"You find it fascinating, don't you? So did Amy. Well, if you work here, in any department, you will have opportunity to study the whole science, from beginning to end. But I'm to meet Mr. Wingate in ten minutes in his private office. Let us go back."

Amy, away up on the fourth floor where she worked, knew nothing of this visit, and was a little dismayed when she received a summons to go down "to the 'Supe's' room for her nooning."

She was now alone with Mary at her "jenny," and had already become so expert that those who understood such matters prophesied she would soon be promoted to the "twisting and doubling." That very morning the "boss" of their room had said to her: —

"We never had a girl come here who got on so fast. It mostly takes months to learn a half-machine. After another three she can mind both sides. That means about four dollars and a half a week. Well, you've been quick and faithful, and nobody could envy your good luck."

As she picked up her lunch basket and descended toward the office, more than one called after her a good wish.

"Don't you be scared of the 'Supe.' If he scolds and you aren't to blame, just tell him so, and he'll like you the better."

"Maybe he's going to promote you a'ready, though I don't see how he could. I won't be jealous if he does, though," cried another; and Gwendolyn, the inquisitive, resolved to keep up Amy's spirits by accompanying her to the interview.

"But, Gwen, did he send for you?"

"No; course not. If he did, I shouldn't feel so chipper. There ain't no love lost 'twixt the 'Supe' and me."

"Then maybe – "

"Trash! I'm going. Ain't I the one that fetched you here in the first place? Hadn't I ought to stand by you, thick or thin?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Amy, more frightened by Gwendolyn's suggestive manner than by any consciousness of blunders made. Nor did she remind her neighbor that for a time, at first, while Amy's popularity had not been determined, the other had shrewdly held aloof, waiting the turn of the tide. Fortunately, this had been in the "new hand's" direction, and since then Gwendolyn's attentions had been almost overpowering.

But, indeed, Amy did not even think this. "Simplicity, sincerity, sympathy" – she was faithfully striving to make this the rule of her own life, and therefore she could not imagine anything lower in the lives of others. But she still kept her frank tongue, and she gave it rein, as the pair hurried officeward.

"Dear Gwen, if you only wouldn't chew that gum! It makes you look so queer, and spoils all the pretty outline of your cheek. Besides, I'm sure Mr. Metcalf doesn't like it. He always frowns when a gum-chewer has to speak with him about her work."

"Pshaw, what a fuss you are! There, then, though that's the first bit off a new stick, I've thrown it out the window. Is my cheek pretty? How do you manage to see things without looking? I never see you take your eyes off your frame, yet not a thing goes on in that room you don't seem to hear or know."

"I'm sure I don't know, unless it's because having lived all alone, without other girls, I love to hear the voices and see the bright faces. Oh, I do love folks! And it seems to me that every single girl in that mill is far more interesting than the best story book I ever read."

"Well, if you don't beat! But, say, Amy!"

"Well?"

"I don't believe there's another girl there would tell me I was pretty without saying something else would spoil it."

"Oh, indeed, there must be. If it's the truth, why shouldn't one say it? But if it's the truth, again, you have no right to deface the beauty. Do give up the gum."

"Why haven't I a right?"

"I don't know why. I simply know you haven't, any more than I have to be untidy or disagreeable. I never realized until I came to be always among so many people how each one could pain or please her neighbor. And it seems to me each of us should be the sweetest, the best natured, the truest, it is possible. Heigho! I'm turning a preacher, and it's a good thing that there's the office, and I must stop. Brace your courage, Amy, and knock at the door."

She did so and was promptly admitted; but did not see the superintendent, who thus served her, for he purposely stepped behind the door, so that her first glance fell upon Hallam seated at the sloping table and busily at work. She caught her breath, regained it, and rushed forward with a little shriek.

"Hallam! Hallam Kaye! You here! you – working?"

"Yes; I'm here. My first day at wage-earning. Didn't provide any lunch. Can you spare some for me? Ah, Gwendolyn, good day."

Then another person appeared in the doorway – one whom nobody present cared to see just then, though the superintendent stepped from his hiding-place, the mirth dying out of his genial face as he bowed respectfully to his superior, Mr. Archibald Wingate, the owner of Ardsley Mill and of most of the surrounding property.

"Good day, Metcalf. Eh? What? Amy? Hallam? You here?"

"Yes, cousin Archibald. We are both here and working for you," answered Amy, quietly. Then she surprised even herself by extending her hand in greeting.

CHAPTER XIX.
MOTIVES AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS

For an instant it seemed as if the old man would respond to the proffered civility; but his hand dropped again to his side, and Amy had the mortification of one who is repulsed. However, she had little time for thought. The master of the mill passed onward into his "den" and closed its door with a snap. On the ground glass which admitted light through the upper half the door, yet effectually screened from observation any who were within, was printed in large letters: —

"Private. No Admittance."

Then the girl turned an inquiring face toward the superintendent, who took her hand and shook it warmly.

"Allow me to congratulate you, Miss Amy. You have done well, – famously, even. There's not been a girl in the mill, since I've had charge, who has learned so swiftly and thoroughly. What's the secret of it? Can you guess?"

She had not been summoned for a reprimand, then. In her relief at this, the young operative scarcely heard the question put to her, and the gentleman replied to it himself.

"I can tell you. It's your untiring perseverance, your persistent effort to do your best, without regard to anything or anybody about you. If all our girls would take example by you, promotions would be more frequent."

Gwendolyn resented the glance with which the superintendent now favored her, and Amy would have preferred not to be so openly praised. She drew a chair to the table where Hallam sat, and hastily spread her luncheon upon it.

"Come, Gwendolyn, bring yours. While we're eating, Hal shall tell us what this all means."

He did so, rapidly, and between mouthfuls, for the half-hour's nooning had already been cut short by the unexpected meetings; and when the whistle sounded and the girls hurried back to their room, Amy carried a very thoughtful face.

"Why, what a funny girl you are! You look as if you'd been scolded, after all, 'stead of praised and promised promotion. What's wrong?"

"Fayette. To think he could run away with Balaam, after all we – or Cleena has done for him. Of course, he's done things for us, too; but I thought if we were kind to him, and made him feel that he was dear to somebody, he would improve and grow a splendid man."

"'Can't make a purse out of a pig's ear,'" quoted Gwendolyn, seriously. "But don't you fret. He'll be back again, as humble as a lamb. You couldn't dog him away from 'Charity House,' I believe. He's been just wild over you all ever since he first saw you and your white burro. Say, Amy, I'm going to try and not chew any more. Your brother don't like it, does he, either?"

"No; he detests it. He doesn't like anything that is unwomanly or coarse."

Then they separated, but in the heart of each was a fresh determination: in Gwendolyn's that she would make herself into a "real lady," according to the standard of this brother and sister whom she admired, or saw admired of others; and in Amy's, to better deserve the encouragement of her employers, and to support Hallam to the utmost in his new ambition.

But as she resumed her work she reflected, with much perplexity: "I don't understand yet why Mr. Metcalf is so delightful out of mill and so different here; nor why cousin Archibald still persists in being unfriendly, since he has gotten everything he wants."

But she was still too ignorant of life to know that it is commonly the inflicter of an injury who shows ill feeling, and not the recipient of it.

The afternoon passed swiftly, as all her days did now, and at the signal for leaving labor, both the girls hurried to don their outer things and join Hallam. But Amy had still a word for Mary.

"To-morrow is half-holiday, you know, dear, and I've talked with Cleena. She wishes you to come and spend the night at 'Charity House,' and we'll fix things about that club all right."

"What's that about a club?" asked another girl, noticing how the hunchback's face brightened. "Are you two going to join ours?"

"Maybe; maybe not. Maybe we'll compromise and have but one. Though we can do little until after Christmas, it's so near now."

"Oh, don't get up another. We have just lovely times in ours. All the boys come and – but I'll not tell. I'll leave you to see. They wanted I should ask you, and your brother, too. He's real nice looking, 'Jack doffer' says, even if he is lame."

Amy's cheek burned, and her quick temper got her into trouble.

"My brother Hallam is a very, very handsome boy. Even with his lameness he's a thousand times better looking than any boy in this mill, and what's more, he's a gentleman!"

Then this champion of the aristocracy, which she thought she disdained but now discovered she was proud to call her own class, walked off with her nose in the air and her dark eyes glittering with an angry light.

"There, now you've done it!" cried Gwendolyn, in amazement. "But ma said it wouldn't last. She says that's the way with all the heroines in her novels that lose their money and pretend to be just plain folks afterward. They never are. They're always 'ristocratics an' they can't help it."

"Oh, well, they shouldn't try," remarked this young "heroine," fiercely. "I don't care at all what they say about me, but they'd best let my Hal alone."

"Hoity-toity, I don't see as he's any better than anybody else."

Amy stopped short on the path from the mill to the ladder upon the bluff. Suddenly she reflected how her mother would have regarded her present mood. "He that ruleth his own spirit."

The words seemed whispered in her ear. A moment later she turned and spoke again, but her voice was now gentle and appealing.

"Yes, he is better, though I'm not. He is better because he is just what he seems. There is no pretence about him. He doesn't think that plastering his hair with stuff, and wearing ugly, showy clothes, and a hat on the back of his head, or swaggering, or smoking nasty cigarettes, or being insolent to women, are marks of a gentleman. He's the real thing. That's what Hal is, and that's why I'm so proud of him, so – so touchy about him."

"Amy, what does make a gentleman, anyway, if it isn't dressing in style and knowing things?"

"It's the simplest thing in the world; it's just being kind out of one's heart instead of one's head. It's being just as pure-minded and honest as one can be, and – believing that everybody else is as good or a little better than one's self. So it seems to me."

"We are different, then. I never should know how to say such things. I don't know how to think them. It isn't any use. You are you, and I am me, and that ends it."

Amy did not even smile at the crooked grammar. This was the old cry of Mary, too, and it hurt her.

"Oh, Gwen, I am so sorry. It is of use. There isn't any difference, really. We are both girls who have to earn our living. Our training has been different, that is all. I want to know all you know; I want you to know all I do. I want to be friends; oh, I want to be friends with every girl in the world!"

"Pshaw! do you? Well, I don't. I don't want but a few, and I want them to be stylish and nice. You'd have a lot of style if you could dress different."

Poor Amy. This was like a dash of cold water over her enthusiasm. Just when she fancied that Gwendolyn was aspiring to all that was noble and uplifting, down she had dropped again into that idea of "style" and fashion and good times. But she remembered Mary. In the soul of that afflicted little mill girl was, indeed, a true ambition, and she felt glad again, from thoughts of her.

"Hallam, how can you climb all the way to 'Charity House'? You will drop by the way. It's hard, even for me."

"I can do it. I must. There is nothing else to be done."

So they set out together, through the darkness. The days were at the shortest, and Christmas would come the following week. Hallam and Amy looked forward with dread to the festival, remembering their mother had striven, even under disadvantages, to keep the holiday a bright one for her children. There had never been either many or costly gifts at Fairacres, but there had been something for each and all; and the home-made trifles were all the dearer because Salome's gentle fingers had fashioned them.

Now Gwendolyn was full of anticipation, and from her talk about it her neighbors judged she meant to expend a really large sum of money in presents for her friends.

"But, Gwendolyn, how can you buy all these things? You told me you earned about five dollars a week, and you've bought so many clothes; and – I guess I'm not good at figures. My poor little two dollars and a half, that I get now, wouldn't buy a quarter of all you say."

"Oh, that's all right. Mis' Hackett, she charges it. I always run an account with her."

"You? a girl like you? What is your mother thinking about? I thought to buy a wheel that way was queer; but how dare you?"

"Why, I'm working all the time, ain't I? Anybody that has regular work can get anything they want at Mis' Hackett's, or other places, too. Ma and pa do the same way."

"But – that's debt. It must be horrible. It seems like going out of one debt into another as fast as you can. Oh, Gwen, don't do it."

"Pshaw! that isn't anything. Why, look here, that's the very way your own folks did. If they hadn't been in debt, they wouldn't have had to move from Fairacres, and all that. Would they?"

Both Hallam and Amy were silent. The keen common sense of the mill girl had struck home, and again Amy realized that her vocation was not that of "preaching." Finally, the cripple spoke: —

"It's like it, yet it isn't. We had something left to pay our debts. It wasn't money, but it was money's worth. We paid them. We are left poor indeed, but we haven't mortgaged our future. That's all. But we are too young to talk so wisely. If your parents approve, they probably know best. Hark! there is a wagon coming."

They all paused, and drew aside out of the road to let the vehicle pass. It was so dark that they could distinguish nothing clearly, and the lantern fastened to the dashboard of the buggy seemed but to throw into greater shadow the face of the occupant. To their surprise, the traveller drew rein and saluted them: —

"Hello. Just getting home, eh?"

All recognized the voice. It belonged to Mr. Wingate.

"Yes, just getting home," answered Amy, cheerily.

"Growing pretty dark, isn't it? Hmm, yes. Heard you lost your donkey, Hallam."

"For the time, I have, sir," responded the lad, rather stiffly. He hated this man "on sight," or out of it, and it was difficult for him to conquer his aversion. All the kindness he had felt toward him, on the night of Mr. Wingate's first unwelcome visit to Fairacres, had been forgotten since; because in his heart he believed that his mother's death was due to her removal from her home. Yet he wished to be just, and he would try to feel differently by and by. Meanwhile, his unused strength was fast waning. He had met with a great disappointment that day, for he was going home empty-handed. He had lost his beloved Balaam, and he had nothing to show for it. In all his life he had never walked so far as from the mill to the Bareacre knoll, and even his crutches seemed to wobble and twist with fatigue. Amy had noticed this, and made him pause to rest more than once; but the night was cold, and he felt it most unwise to risk taking cold by standing in the wind. Poverty was teaching Hallam prudence, among many other excellent things.

"None of us can afford to be sick now," he reflected.

"Hmm. That half-witted fellow ought not to be allowed to go free. He's done me a lot of mischief, and I guess he injures everybody who befriends him. The last thing he ought to be trusted with is horse-flesh, or mule-flesh either. Well, I'm going your way, and it's a tough pull on a pair of crutches. If you'll get in, I'll give you a lift as far as the bars."

Everybody was astonished, and everybody waited for Hallam's reply in some anxiety. Amy knew his mind, and she knew, also, that he was very weary. She hoped that he would say: —

"Thank you; I'll be glad to accept," but his answer was a curt: "Thank you; I would rather walk."

"Very well. Suit yourself."

The horse was touched sharply, and bounded up the hill road at an unusual pace.

"Oh, Hal, why didn't you ride? You are so tired."

"Well – because."

"You'd better. Old man don't like to have his favors lost," remarked Gwendolyn. "I've heard lots say that, even though he hasn't been at Ardsley so very long."

Now, in the lad's heart, besides his unwillingness to "accept favors from an enemy," there had been another motive. Until that evening he had not realized how lonely and dark was the homeward walk for his sister, after her long day of toil, and even with the company of Gwendolyn. In this his first experience it had come upon him with a shock, that it was neither pleasant nor safe for Amy, and he resolved she should never again be left without his escort, if he were possibly able to be with her.

But he could not, or felt that he could not, tell this to the girls; much less to Mr. Wingate, finding it easier to be misjudged than to explain. Yet had the mill owner known the fact, it would have gone far toward propitiating him, and toward rousing his admiration for his young kinsman.

So with the best intentions all around, the breach between Fairacres and "Charity House" was duly widened.

The trio of mill workers trudged wearily upward, and the mill master hurried recklessly through the gloom toward a home he had coveted, but found a lonely, "ghost-haunted" solitude. For though there are no real spectres to frighten the eye, there are memories which are sadder to face than any "haunt" would be.

"Stir up the fire, man. Don't you know it's a bitter night outside?" he cried, as he entered it.

The master's tone boded ill for the servant if obedience were not prompt. So though a great blaze roared upon the wide hearth in the old room where we first met this gentleman he was not content, nor was the good dinner which followed appreciated. Nothing was right that night for Archibald Wingate.

Nothing? Yes, one thing gave him great satisfaction, so that, late in the evening, sitting before the blaze he had complained of, he rubbed his hands with a quiet glee.

"If you please, sir, there's a black donkey wandered into the place to-night. It went straight to the stable and to one of the box stalls on the west. It seemed to know the way. The stable boy says it's one of them belonged to the – the folks was here before we came. I thought you'd like to know, sir; and, if you please, is it to remain?"

"Yes, Marshall, it is to remain."

And again the old gentleman smiled into the dancing flames and rubbed his smooth palms.