gladly have done extra work in
order to make extra money, she knew so well how much it was needed, but
her mother was inexorable, and she was forced to submit.

As to Bertie, she never finished her day's work at all. Her time was
largely spent in looking out of window, studying the dresses and ribbons
of the other girls, making signs to her companions, and whispering to
her neighbor whenever Miss Peters's back was turned. She hated her work
and would have given it up long ago, at least as soon as the silk dress
had been procured, and her mother would have very injudiciously
purchased it long before the money had been earned, but that her father
was resolute. The mill would have dispensed with her society as soon as
her idleness and inefficiency were seen, except that Mr. Sanderson was
her father, and it was thought best to show due consideration to him.

"Dear me! how hateful it all is," said Bertie, with a yawn, one day
during the half-hour when talking was permitted. "Are you not heartily
sick of it, Katie?"

"It's a little monotonous, I own," said the girl addressed, "but then,
no work is play, I suppose. Maybe we'll get promoted to the folding-room
soon, and it will be much nicer there."

"It isn't a bit nicer. It's work anywhere, and I hate work. I never mean
to do a bit of it that I can help. Ma says pa'll have money enough to
make us all rich, and I want to be a lady." "Ma" had been a factory-girl
herself, which was perhaps one reason why Bertie despised the business.
She had married the foreman of the mill, who had now risen to be
overseer of the bindery, and yearly laid up a large portion of his
salary, while her sister had married a city grocer, who was spending all
he made as he made it, and his children were growing up to be useless,
fine ladies, and a positive injury to their country cousins.

"But while you do work you might do it faithfully, not spend time for
which you are paid in idleness, and crowd in rags with the buttons all
on, which will be sure to spoil the machinery when they come to be
ground."

"Bah! what difference does it make? I'm paid for my time. Provided I
stay here all day, they haven't a right to claim anything more."

"But, Bertie, they have. Don't you remember the text which is painted on
the wall at the foot of the corridor?

"'Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.'"

"It seems to me just like stealing to waste time that we're paid for, or
not to