A NEW DEPARTURE.

“But, mother, it isn’t as if I were going away from home, like the Lloyd girls; you might have a right to cry if that were the case.”

“I know, dear; it’s all right, and I ought to be very thankful; but I’m a foolish woman. I can’t bear to think of my little girl, whom I have guarded so tenderly, going among all those girls and men, and fighting her way in life.”

“I don’t think I shall be much of a fighter,” laughed Katie, looking at her diminutive hands; “and why is it any worse to go among the boys and girls in the factory than among the boys and girls in school? You never minded that.”

“That was different you weren’t doing it for money. O me! what would I have thought when I married your father if any one had told me that his child, his girl child, would ever have to earn her bread!”

“Well, mother, I won’t go,” said the girl, her bright looks fading away, “if you don’t want me to; but I don’t know what Mr. Sanderson will think, he tried so hard to get me into the mill, and it was such a favor from Mr. Mountjoy. You said you were very thankful.”

“So I was, so I am; but but you don’t understand, and perhaps it’s better you should not. I’ll try not to grumble.”

This was promising more than Mrs. Robertson was able to perform perhaps, for she was a chronic and inveterate grumbler. But she had some excuse in the present circumstances, for Katie was, as she said, her baby, and the “apple of her eye.” Married when quite young to the handsome and intelligent young village doctor, she certainly had not expected ever to be placed in a position where her children, her girls at least, would need to earn their own bread. But in a few short years the doctor died of a contagious disease he had taken from one of his patients, and as he had not yet begun to accumulate anything, his young widow was left with her three children to struggle along as best she could. How she had done it God and herself only knew. The little house was her own, the sole patrimony left by her own father. The horse and buggy, the medical library and valuable professional instruments, medicines, etc., were sold at a fair valuation; and the money thus secured, deposited in the bank, had served as a last resource whenever the barrel of meal failed or the cruse of oil ran dry. For the rest, Mrs. Robertson was employed by her neighbors to help turn and put down carpets, cover furniture, etc. etc., light jobs requiring judgment and skill rather than strength, for which her friends, who never placed her in a menial capacity, gladly paid double the sum they would to any one else. She was also a capital nurse, and in this position rendered herself very valuable in many households, and for such services she was even more generously remunerated; so that somehow she managed to keep her head above water while her children were small, and feed, clothe, and send them to school as they grew older.

Her children were, of course, the one source of consolation left to the poor widow, and many a long evening’s work was both shortened and lightened by golden dreams of their future prosperity and success.

When her eldest boy Eric was twelve, and when Alfred, the second child, was only ten, a friend made interest with Mr. Sanderson, superintendent of the bookbindery, auxiliary to the Squantown Paper Mills, to give the two boys steady employment, and since that time, four years ago, their earnings, small but certain, had greatly helped in the family expenses. Both were noble, manly fellows, with, as yet, no bad habits. They brought their mother all that they earned, and were quite content to pass their evenings with her and their little sister. Katie, who was now thirteen, had always attended the public school in the village, of course helping her mother with the housework and sewing. She was a delicate little creature, small for her years, but bright and intelligent, a general favorite with the village children as well as with her Sunday-school teacher, Miss Etta Mountjoy, who was not so very many years older than herself.

Katie was a very lady-like looking girl, and did not seem fitted to do very hard work, nor to mix among rough people, but she was an independent little thing who knew very well how poor her mother was and how hard both she and her brothers had to work. She knew that her breakfasts, dinners, and suppers cost something, and that it took money to buy the good shoes and neat, whole dresses in which her mother always kept her dressed, and she resolved in her own wise little head to find some way of contributing to the family stock. It was some time before she saw her way clear to do this, but at last she took counsel of a school-fellow whose sister worked in the folding-room of the Squantown Paper Mills and found that even a young girl might earn considerable in this way. So, without telling any one at home of her plans, she, one evening, presented herself before Mr. Sanderson and requested to be taken into the bindery.

“What can you do, little puss?” said this gentleman, quite surprised. “You look about large enough to play with dolls, like my Nina.”

“I’m almost fourteen,” said Katie, drawing herself up to her full height and trying to look sedate. “I’m two years older than Nina; I’m as old as your Bertie, Mr. Sanderson, and I must make some money.”

“Must you, indeed?” said he, beginning to be more interested. “Don’t I know your face? Let me see. Why, it can’t be yes, it is Katie Robertson! How time flies! It seems to me only yesterday that your father died, and you were a baby; but Bertie was one, too, then, that’s a fact. How time does fly, to be sure! So you want to get into the bindery where your brothers are, I suppose?” Katie nodded. “Well, now,” continued he, “it’s most unfortunate, but there isn’t a vacancy anywhere; we have five or six applicants now waiting for a chance. Why don’t you try the mill?”

“The mill!” said Katie, “the paper-mill? But I don’t know any one there; how could I go and ask strangers?”

“I think you’re brave enough to ask any one,” said Mr. Sanderson. “I suppose you’d find it hard, though, and perhaps no one would believe that you were old enough or strong enough to work. Your looks are against you, little one; and then, Mr. Mountjoy did not know your father as I did; he came here afterward. Let me see. Perhaps I might have some influence. Will you trust your case in my hands?” And, as the girl nodded, he continued: “Come here about this time to-morrow evening, and I will report progress. Perhaps I may have some good news for you, but don’t be too sure. It isn’t so easy to get into the mill either; there are always a great many applicants. You’ll come?”

“Yes, sir,” said Katie, and went away in a state of disappointed uncertainty. It was not quite so easy to earn money as she had supposed.

The little girl looked very mysterious all teatime, and threw out several hints that quite mystified her brothers about Mr. Sanderson and the bindery. But no one guessed her secret, and the next afternoon, just as she was beginning to think of putting on her hat and running down to get her answer, who should come into the gate but Mr. Sanderson himself.

Mrs. Robertson was greatly frightened when she saw him. She was one of those persons who always look on the dark side of things, and she feared her boys had got into trouble and would perhaps lose their situations. She trembled so that she could hardly put on the widow’s cap, in which she always appeared before strangers (although it was now six years since the doctor had left her and gone home to heaven), and said to her daughter:

“That’s always our luck! Just as soon as things seem to be going straight with us, some terrible misfortune is sure to happen; we’re the most unfortunate family in the world.”

The poor lady forgot that, with the one exception of her husband’s death, her life had been one of unmingled, as well as undeserved, happiness; and even in that loss her three children had been spared to her, friends had been raised up to help her, and there had never been a day when she and her children had not had enough plain food to eat and plain clothes to wear. It is thus that we are all apt to dishonor God by dwelling upon the one thing which in his providence he has seen fit to take away, and forgetting to thank him for all the many other blessings he has given us.

But Katie was full of expectation and suppressed delight. She was the opposite of her mother, and always expected good news, and she felt sure that Mr. Sanderson would not have taken the trouble to come himself, except to tell her that he had secured a place for her. Her eyes danced as she let him in, and she looked inquiringly in his face. But he said nothing, except:

“Good-evening, Katie. I would like to see your mother a few moments.” So she ushered him into the “front room,” so seldom used, and went to summon her mother, waiting outside the door till she should herself be called in to the consultation.

When Mr. Sanderson told Mrs. Robertson that he had called to say that he had been successful in his application to Mr. Mountjoy, who had agreed to take Katie into the “rag-room” of the paper-mill, in consideration of his interest in her mother, she was completely taken by surprise and inclined to be offended with both gentlemen for their interference, as she thought it, with her business; but when she heard that the application came from the child herself, while greatly surprised, she could not but feel grateful to them for their trouble, and expressed herself so, while she nevertheless decidedly declined to allow Katie to accept the position, saying she was altogether too young and too delicate, and that she would not have her daughter disgraced by working for her living.

“For the matter of that,” said Mr. Sanderson, “I shall be glad to have my Bertie take the place if you don’t want it for Katie. I have a large family to bring up, and I want 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 just now a sort of enchanted palace, any one of whose rooms was delightful to contemplate.

“It’s such a low, dirty place, I’m told, and there’s so many common women and girls there.”

“Well, I needn’t talk to them, I suppose. I needn’t be common, at any rate, and I can’t get dirty in those great long-sleeved aprons and these nice little caps. You don’t know how smart I’m going to be, and won’t you be proud of your big girl when she brings home her first three-dollar bill, all earned in one week? Eric will see that a girl’s worth something, after all, and Alfred sha’n’t make fun of me any more.”

Mrs. Robertson did not say anything else just now; she did not like to be always checking the exuberance of her child’s spirits with the dull forebodings of her own, but she could not see the paper-mill through the same halo that invested it in Katie’s eyes. She knew there were snares and temptations, besides disagreeable and hard work to be met and encountered there, and she feared that the child’s future disappointment would be proportioned to the brightness of her present hopes. Still, as the matter was determined upon, she knew it was right to make the best of it, and she tried to talk pleasantly and at least seem to sympathize with her daughter’s enthusiasm.

So passed the day, and at night when the boys came home they were called upon to listen for the hundredth time to all the rose-colored plans, and were pressed to declare that there could be nothing in the world more delightful than working in a factory.

But the boys could not see it in that light any more than their mother. They were as content to work as are most men and boys who seem to take it for granted that it is in the course of nature for them to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, but they had been at it long enough to have lost the sense of novelty and to understand that it was work and not play which their sister was undertaking.

“Won’t you be sick of it!” said Alfred, in answer to one of Katie’s outbursts, “and long, when Saturday comes, to go out nutting with the girls, or off on a hay-ride, or something! You’ll wish you were free before you’ve been a slave many months, or I’m no prophet.”

“Well, she shall be free if she wants to,” said Eric, kindly. “Our only little sister sha’n’t work if she don’t want to; we can take care of her, Alfred, can’t we?”

“But I do want to work,” said Katie; “I know I sha’n’t get tired, or if I do get tired of the work, I sha’n’t of getting the money; for, boys, I mean to be a rich, independent woman, and help take care of mother. You needn’t suppose that I’m going to be dependent upon you.”

“All right, young lady,” said Alfred, “only I think you’ll sing a different tune before many months are over.”

“The tune you ought to sing just now, children,” said Mrs. Robertson, “is ‘Good-night.’ You all have to go to work very early, and Katie is not used to it. Good-night, darling, and don’t forget to ask God to bless you and shield you in your new undertaking.”

“I asked him that night to make Mr. Mountjoy listen to Mr. Sanderson and give me the place,” said Katie, with a rising color; “don’t you think he heard me and answered my prayer? It seems as though he had just made it all straight and plain. I feel just like thanking him to-night; and, mother, don’t you worry so much. Don’t you think Jesus is strong enough to take care of me anywhere if I ask him to?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the mother, almost ashamed of her forebodings, and rebuked, as she had many a time been, by the bright, hopeful faith of her child. Surely when she looked at the bright, happy, healthy faces of her children, she too had ample cause for thankfulness, and for continued trust in the divine love which had carried her safely through so many emergencies and had promised never to leave or forsake her or hers.