Marion Marlowe's Christmas Eve, or, The Treachery of a Factory Inspector — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 MY QUEEN. opened a door unceremoniously, and Marion stepped inside of a large room, which occu- pied the entire floor. This room was full of sewing machines ar- ranged close together, and over each bent a girl or woman, whose eyes were intently fixed ad upon her work. Marion noticed that not one of them looked up as they entered, nor showed an interest in anything but the garment she was stitch- ing. “It is from this sort of place that the dry goods stores get their stuff for their ‘special sales,” ”’ said Miss French, sarcastically. “I don’t believe they would buy them Vif they knew what flesh and blood was being worked into.them with every stitch,” replied the young girl, sadly. 3 “Oh, I doubt if it would make any differ- ence!” was the answer. “Who cares how _they are made, so long as they get them?” The proprietor came forward just then, and asked their business. | Miss French showed her badge, and the man shrugged his broad shoulders contemp- . tuously. He was a short, stout German, with a beer- tainted breath, and was clad in the dirtiest garments that Marion had ever seen. “How old is that operator?” asked Miss French, pointing to a pale-faced girl, who looked scarcely older than a child of seven. “ltlow der teufel do | know dot?” asked the man, surlily; “she olt enough to vork! Vat more | ask? She turn out more as eight tozen a day for me!” ° Marion glided rapidly across the room and stood beside the child for a minute. “Vou are a clever operator,” she said, soft- ly. “I see you know how to handle a ma- fine Do you like the work, dearie?”’ The girl looked up in surprise at such gen tle words, and then, without a second’s pause, bent over her work again. “No, miss, I don’t like it,’’ she said, with a sigh; “but it’s all I. know how to do, and ‘ beggars can’t be choosers.” | The tears sprang to Marion’s. eyes at the bitter words. This child had already learned the world’s lesson of “misery. | “Pm sorry you have to work,” she said, very tenderly. “You should be out in the country somewhere, or else at school: then you would have some time to yourself, and could get strong and rosy.” _ The girl sighed again, and a dull look spread over her weazened face. “I did want to stay to school till I was ten,’* she said, shortly; “but I couldn’t—I’d a starved! It was work-or nothin’.” | “Then you are not thirteen yet?” asked Marion, quickly. ; | The child gave her a quick look, but Mar- ion’s smile disarmed her suspicions. P ’ ‘“Nowheres near it! I’m eleven,’ was the - stolid answer. “Never mind, perhaps you'll not a@#ways have to work so hard,” said Marion, quickly; then she stepped back to where Miss French and the man were still standing. “She is not yet twelve,” she said, in a whis- per. | She waited a moment, expecting to hear the inspector give an order, but, much to her surprise, the woman merely shrugged her shoulders. “Shouldn't she be: taken off?” she asked, timidly, after waiting a few minutes. “Mein Gott! Nein! nein!” cried the man, throwing up both of his dirty hands. “Der best vork womans | hab in der blace!” Miss French turned toward him and mut- tered some words in German. Marion did not catch them, but she saw a cunning look creep into the man’s eyes. There was just a glance between them, and then Miss French spoke; “She will be laid off to-night, Miss Mar- GEomichbooks,. com f |