University of Virginia Library

Weeks passed: and cheerful mornings dawned on Ruth
Out of her girl-friends' eyes. To hearts like hers,
Sick for a little kindness, just the sound
Of sympathetic voices brings relief.

Some strangers came one day into the mills,—
Among them English travellers,—led on
Through the great labyrinth of dust and noise
By the good Superintendent,—a grave man,
Kindly and manly, and esteemed of all.

They paused awhile among the balsam-flowers
And pinks and marigolds about the gate;
Then peered with curious eyes through every door
Along the winding stair. The carding-room
They gave one glance, with its great groaning wheels,
Its earthquake rumblings, and its mingled smells
Of oily suffocation; and passed on
Into another room's cool spaciousness
Of long clean alleys, where the spinners paced
Silently up and down, and pieced their threads,
The spindles buzzing like ten thousand bees.

Two bright-faced little girls looked up and smiled,
Swinging a bobbin-box between them. These
Were Ann and Alice, who, in April, played
Beside Pawtucket Falls. One stranger said,—

“Now, sir, this should not be! You 're copying
Our British faults too closely, when a child
Toils in close air, like this.” But carelessly
The children laughed, still turning work to play,
As children will, nor hardship's meaning guessed.

The next great door swung in upon a room
Where the long threads were wound from beam to beam,
And glazed, and then fanned dry in breathless heat.
Here lithe forms reached across wide webs, or stooped
To disentangle broken threads, or climbed
To where their countenances glistened pale
Among swift belts and pulleys, which appeared
To glow with eyes, like the mysterious wheels
Seen of Ezekiel once, by Chebar's brook.
Ruth Woodburn's earnest, too unsmiling face
Was one of these, arresting soon the gaze
Of those who entered.
“That 's a striking brow;
An intellectual girl, you may be sure,”
One to another said. “Who is she, sir?”

“I knew her father well,—a man of gifts,
But not of faculty; dead now. She 's here
To save the homestead, and help educate
Brothers and sisters. She will do it, too.
She is continually anxious for more work,
More than her strength will bear, I fear. But then
These young girls every day astonish me
By some such aim's accomplishment.”
“I wish
She had an easier life: she looks too sad
And grave and worn-out,—homesick, I am sure;
And this room's heat must undermine her strength.”

The good man's brow grew serious. “If, being here,
I needs must solve all problems of these lives,—
A hopeless task,—perplexed I must withdraw
And seek a wiser man to fill my place.
But work 's a blessed curse, and some of these
Would wonder at our pity; smile, perhaps.”
And so he led them to the weaving-room.

The door, swung in on iron hinges, showed
A hundred girls who hurried to and fro,
With hands and eyes following the shuttle's flight,
Threading it, watching for the scarlet mark
That came up in the web, to show how fast
Their work was speeding. Clatter went the looms,
Click-clack the shuttles. Gossamery motes
Thickened the sunbeams into golden bars,
And in a misty maze those girlish forms,
Arms, hands, and heads, moved with the moving looms,
That closed them in as if all were one shape,
One motion. For the most part tidy they,
And comely; wholesome-looking country girls.
But now and then a stolid face, an eye
That held a covetous glint, a close, cold mouth,
Made emphasis for itself. And now and then
A countenance eloquent with quiet thought
And noble aspiration, shone out clear,
A sun amid the cloud-like nebulæ.
Here Esther, Eleanor, and Isabel
Worked in a sunlit corner, side by side,
That looked down towards the river.
Eleanor's plants,—
Roses, and one great oleander-tree,—
Blooming against the panes, intensified
The whiteness of her face. Across to her
Leaned Isabel with a startled look.
“My looms,—
Tend them five minutes, will you?” And she slipped
Behind some piled-up webs, and, crouching there,
With bowed head, seemed intent upon a heap
Of untrimmed cloth; there lingering, until
The strangers disappeared. Then she returned,
Resuming work in silence; not unmissed.

The Superintendent had drawn near, and said
Aside, to one guest, “I will show you now
A maiden worthy of Murillo's brush.
But no! she is not here. That pale-faced girl
Does double work for her. However, there
Is Esther Hale; a soul more generous
I know not among women. She will work
All day, and watch beside the sick all night,
If need be, and she covers the mistakes
Of clumsy learners, till they mend. Indeed,
Her virtues lean toward faults sometimes, for she
Is quite too careless of her own health, goes
To meeting in all weathers, has a class
Of children at the Sunday school, and finds,
Somehow or other, time to visit them,
And know them well. I own that I have felt
Like scolding her, when I have seen her give
Her bank-notes to build churches, or perhaps
Fill up the missionary-box. She well
Deserves to wed a Prince—or President.”

“Or choose a better portion, with Saint Paul,
And be a woman-saint.” The lady spoke,
Scarce knowing that she did; whereat all laughed,
And so went out.
A sunbeam at the door
Fixed one man's face an instant: Eleanor knew
That face; it was the stranger's at the bridge!
Was it from his eyes Isabel hid herself?
Who was he? And what meant this mystery
Of conscious looks and blushes? Isabel
She could not question; Esther was forbidden.
But into Eleanor's soul there came a sense
Of anxious guardianship.
“I shall be shown
The way to help her, if she needs my help,”
She told herself, yet resolutely set
Her thoughts to seeking clews; for much she feared
Some snare was near the footsteps of her friend.

The shuttles clattered on. The red rose leaned
Out toward the wonder of the open sky;
And Eleanor leaned out too, and longed for light
That souls might see by. Bending then again
Over her work, she spread a little book
Open, beneath a warp-fringe from her loom,—
A book of hymns she loved; and as she toiled,
Her voice made music, hid within the noise,—
A bird's note in a thicket; and her heart
Rose, with her voice, in singing that was prayer.