. Very
little time ago; but she was a woman now,--and, look here! A chance
ray of sunlight slanted in, falling barely on the dust, the hot heaps
of wool, waking a stronger smell of copperas; the chicken saw it, and
began to chirp a weak, dismal joy, more sorrowful than tears. She went
to the cage, and put her finger in for it to peck at. Standing there,
if the vacant life coming rose up before her in that hard blare of
sunlight, she looked at it with the same still, waiting eyes, that told
nothing.

The door opened at last, and a man came in,--Dr. Knowles, the principal
owner of the factory. He nodded shortly to her, and, going to the
desk, turned over the books, peering suspiciously at her work. An old
man, overgrown, looking like a huge misshapen mass of flesh, as he
stood erect, facing her.

"You can go now," he said, gruffly. "Tomorrow you must wait for the
bell to ring, and go--with the rest of the hands."

A curious smile flickered over her face like a shadow; but she said
nothing. He waited a moment.

"So!" he growled, "the Howth blood does not blush to go down into the
slime of the gutter? is sufficient to itself?"

A cool, attentive motion,--that was all. Then she stooped to tie her
sandals. The old man watched her, irritated. She had been used to the
keen scrutiny of his eyes since she was a baby, so was cool under it
always. The face watching her was one that repelled most men:
dominant, restless, flushing into red gusts of passion, a small,
intolerant eye, half hidden in folds of yellow fat,--the eye of a man
who would give to his master (whether God or Satan) the last drop of
his own blood, and exact the same of other men.

She had tied her bonnet and fastened her shawl, and stood ready to go.

"Is that all you want?" he demanded. "Are you waiting to hear that
your work is well done? Women go through life as babies learn to
walk,--a mouthful of pap every step, only they take it in praise or
love. Pap is better. Which do you want? Praise, I fancy."

"Neither," she said, quietly brushing her shawl. "The work is well
done, I know."

The old man's eye glittered for an instant, satisfied; then he turned
to the books. He thought she had gone, but, hearing a slight clicking
sound, turned round. She was taking the chicken out of the cage.

"Let it alone!" he broke out, sharply. "Where are you going with it?"

"Home," she said, with a queer, quizzical face. "Let it smell the
green