ssing the door, and ran to her,
heedless of consequences.

"Mandy," she pleaded, taking hold of the woman's skirts and throwing
back her reeling head to stare up into the face above her, "Mandy, Sis'
Johnnie said she'd come; but it's a awful long time, and I'm scared I'll
fall into some of these here old machines, I feel that bad. Won't you go
tell Sis' Johnnie I'm waitin' for her?"

Mandy glanced forward through the weaving-room toward her own silent
looms, then down at the little, flushed face at her knee. If she dared
to do things, as Johnnie dared, she would pick up the baby and leave.
The very thought of it terrified her. No, she must get Johnnie herself.
Johnnie would make it right. She bent down and kissed the little thing,
whispering:

"Never you mind, honey. Mandy's going straight and find Sis' Johnnie,
and bring her here to Deanie. Jest wait a minute."

Then she turned and, swiftly, lest her courage evaporate, hurried down
the stair and to the time keeper.

"Ef you've got a substitute, you can put 'em on my looms," she said
brusquely. "I've got to go down in town."

"Sick?" inquired Reardon laconically, as he made some entry on a card
and dropped it in a drawer beside him.

"No, I ain't sick--but Deanie Consadine is, and I'm goin' over in town
to find her sister. That child ain't fitten to be in no mill--let alone
workin' night turn. You men ort to be ashamed--that baby ort to be in
her bed this very minute."

Her voice had faltered a bit at the conclusion. Yet she made an end of
it, and hurried away with a choke in her throat. The man stared after
her angrily.

"Well!" he ejaculated finally. "She's got her nerve with her. Old Himes
is that gal's stepdaddy. I reckon he knows whether she's fit to work in
the mills or not--he hired her here. Bob, ain't Himes down in the
basement right now settin' up new machines? You go down there and name
this business to him. See what he's got to say."

A party of young fellows was tramping down the village street singing.
One of them carried a guitar and struck, now and again, a random chord
upon its strings. The street was dark, but as the singers, stepping
rythmically, passed the open door of the store, Mandy recognized a
shape she knew.

"Shade--Shade Buckheath! Wait thar!" she called to him.

The others lingered, too, a moment, till they saw it was a girl
following; then they turned and sauntered slowly on, still singing:

"Ef I was a little bird, I'd n