d.

"You see he's not the last one to come," said Rosalie, as the phaeton
passed through the gates, "but his nephews likely will be late."

The clock struck, then a few late comers came running up. A young man
came hurrying along, arranging his tie as he ran.

"Good morning, Talouel," he said; "is uncle here yet?"

"Yes, Monsieur Theodore," said the foreman, "he got here a good five
minutes ago."

"Oh!"

"You're not the last, though. Monsieur Casimir is late also. I can see
him coming now."

As Theodore went towards the offices his cousin Casimir came up
hurriedly.

The two cousins were not at all alike, either in their looks or ways.
Casimir gave the foreman a short nod, but did not say a word.

"What can your friend do?" asked Talouel, turning to Rosalie, his hands
still in his pockets.

Perrine herself replied to this question.

"I have not worked in a factory before," she said in a voice that she
tried to control.

Talouel gave her a sharp look, then turned again to Rosalie.

"Tell Oneux to put her with the trucks. Now be off. Hurry up!"

Thus dismissed, Rosalie hurried Perrine away.

"What are the trucks?" asked little Perrine as she followed her friend
through the big courtyard. She wondered, poor child, if she had the
strength and the intelligence to do what was required of her.

"Oh, it's easy enough," replied Rosalie, lightly. "Don't be afraid;
you've only got to load the trucks."

"Oh!..."

"And when it's full," continued Rosalie, "you push it along to the place
where they empty it. You give a good shove to begin with, then it'll go
all alone."

As they passed down the corridors they could scarcely hear each other
speak for the noise of the machinery. Rosalie pushed open the door of
one of the workshops and took Perrine into a long room. There was a
deafening roar from the thousand tiny machines, yet above the noise they
could hear a man calling out: "Ah, there you are, you loafer!"

"Who's a loafer, pray?" retorted Rosalie. "That ain't me, just
understand that, Father Ninepins."

"What have you been doin'?"

"Skinny told me to bring my friend to you to work on the trucks."

The one whom she had addressed in this amiable manner was an old man with a
wooden leg. He had lost his leg in the factory twelve years previous, hence
his nickname, "Ninepins." He now had charge of a number of girls whom he
treated rudely, shouting and swearing at them. The working of these
machines needed a