my girls and boys both to be independent.
I hadn't thought of it for Bertie quite yet, but your Katie reminded me
last night of how old she is; and I see she is none too young to begin."

This put a little different face on the matter, for Mrs. Sanderson and
Mrs. Robertson had been intimate friends when girls, in precisely the
same rank in life, although one had married a doctor and the other the
overseer of the bookbindery. Moreover, Mr. Sanderson was known to be
very well off and quite able--had he judged it best--to bring up his
girls in idleness, as useless fine ladies. Perhaps it would not be such
a disgrace, after all, and they did sorely need the money. Katie was not
dressed as her father's child should be, and toil as she might, even
with the boys' wages the widow could not make more than sufficed to keep
up the little home. Then, too, her child would have to do something for
herself when she grew up; she would have no one to look to but herself,
and though teaching would be perhaps a more genteel way of support, it
was a very laborious one, and would make it necessary to go away from
home, as the Lloyd girls were going to do, and to remain away for
several years, first at some higher institution of learning and then at
the Normal School, and where would the money come from to pay the
tuition fees, traveling expenses, and board bills?

All this passed through Mrs. Robertson's mind as Mr. Sanderson reasoned
with her and showed her the foolishness of her objections, and finally
the impatient Katie was called in, and informed that she might "try it
for a while"; and then the visitor was thanked for his trouble, and
took his leave.

This all happened a week ago. The intervening time had been spent in
putting Katie's simple wardrobe in order and in making home arrangements
by which Mrs. Robertson would not miss her daughter more than she could
help, in those various little services which she had been wont to
render. The last day had now come; to-morrow the new life was to begin,
and Katie was clearing up the breakfast things for the last time when
the conversation with which our story commences took place.

"I wish it was not in the rag-room," said Mrs. Robertson, by-and-by,
when Katie, having finished her dishes and swept up the room, drew her
seat to her mother's side and took up her work--the ruffle of the last
of the six mob-caps she was to wear at her work.

"Why?" said her daughter, to whom the factory was