Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"Seems to me all the mean, hateful troubles are about money. I don't see why it was ever made."

"Well, they had such trouble anyway. Great-grandfather had just built Fairacres, and had spent a great deal to beautify the grounds. He was a pretty rich man, I fancy, and loved to live in a great whirl of society and entertain lots of people and all that. He was especially fond of the view from the front of the house and had cut away some of the trees for 'vistas' and 'outlooks' and 'views.' There were no mills on the Ardsley then. They came in our own grandfather's time. It was just a beautiful, shimmering river – "

"Hal, you're a poet!"

"Never," said the boy, with a blush.

"But you are. You tell things so I can just see them. I can see that shimmering river this instant, in my mind, with my eyes shut. I can see boats full of people sailing on it, and hear music and laughter and everything lovely."

"Who's the poet now?"

"I'm not. But go on."

"It seems that old Mr. Ingraham thought he had been cheated by great-grandfather – "

"Likely enough he had. Else I don't see where he got all that money to do things."

"But, missy, he was our relative. He was a Kaye."

"There might be good Kayes and bad Kayes, mightn't there?"

"Amy, you're too honest for comfort. You may think a spade's a spade, but you needn't always mention it."

"Go on with the story. In a few minutes Cleena will call us to our 'frugal repast,' like the poor children in stories, and I want to hear all about this 'ruined castle' I've come to live in, I mean 'dwell,' for story-book girls – 'maidens' – never do anything so commonplace as just 'live.' Hally, boy, there's a lot of humbug in this world."

"How did you find that out, Miss Experience?"

"I didn't trouble to find it, I just read it. I thought it sounded sort of nice and old, so I said it."

"Humph! Well, do you want to hear, or will you keep interrupting?"

"I do want to hear, and I probably shall interrupt. I am not blind to my own besetting sins."

"Listen. Just as great-grandfather had everything fixed to his taste and was enjoying life to the utmost, old Jacob came here to this knoll that faces Fairacres – Oh, you needn't turn around to see. The trees have grown again, and the view is hidden. On this knoll, if there was anything tall, it would spoil the Fairacres' view. So Jacob built this 'Spite House.' He made it as ugly as he could, and he did everything outrageous to make great-grandfather disgusted. He named this rocky barren 'Bareacre,' and that little gully yonder he called 'Glenpolly,' because his enemy had named the beautiful ravine we know as 'Glenellen.' Polly and Ellen were the wives' names, and I've heard they grieved greatly over the quarrel. Mr. Ingraham painted huge signs with the names on them, and hung up scarecrows on poles, because he wouldn't let a tree grow here, even if it could. There are a few now, though. Look like old plum trees. My, what a home for our mother!"

Amy's face sobered again, as she regarded the ugly stone structure which still looked strong enough to defy all time, but which no lapse of years had done much to beautify. Nothing had ever thrived at Bareacre, which was, in fact, a hill of apparently solid stone, sparsely covered by the poorest of soil. The house was big, for the Ingraham family had been numerous, but it was as square and austere as the builders could make it. The roof ended exactly at the walls, which made it look, as Amy said, "like a girl with her eyelashes cut off." There were no blinds or shutters of any sort, and nothing to break the bleak winds which swept down between the hills of Ardsley, and which nipped the life of any brave green thing that tried to make a hold there. A few mullein stalks were all that flourished, and the stunted fruit trees which Hallam had noticed seemed but a pitiful parody upon the rich verdure of the elsewhere favored region.

"Has nobody ever lived here since that wicked old man?"

"Oh, yes. I think so. But nobody for long, nor could anybody make it a home."

"It looks as if it had been blue, up there by the roof."

"I believe it was. I've heard that every color possible was used in painting it, so as to make it the more annoying to a person of good taste, such as great-grandfather was."

"Heigho! Well, we've got to live here."

"Or die. It's hopeless. I can't see a ray of light in the whole situation."

"You dear old bat, you should wear specs. I can see several rays. I'll count them off. Ray one: the ugly all-sorts-of-paint has been washed away by the weather. Ray two: the air up here is as pure as it's sharp, and there's nothing to obstruct or keep it from blowing your 'hypo' away. Ray three: there are our own darling burros already helping to 'settle' by mowing the weeds with their mouths. What a blessing is hunger, rightly utilized! And, finally, there's that worth-her-weight-in-gold Goodsoul waving her pudding-stick, which in this new, unique life of ours must mean 'breakfast.' Come along. Heigho! Who's that? Our esteemed political friend, 'Rep-Dem-Prob.' I'd forgotten him. Now, by the lofty bearing with which he ascends to our castle of discontent, I believe he's been out 'marching.'"

It was, indeed, Fayette whom they saw climbing over the rocks. He wore his oilcloth blouse and his gay helmet, and soon they could hear his rude voice singing and see the waving of his broom.

"He? Coming back again? Why, we can't keep him. We can't even 'keep' ourselves."

"Yet never a doubt I doubt he means to tarry," quoted Amy, laughing at her brother's rueful countenance.

CHAPTER VIII.

NEEDS AND HELPERS

"Sure, I thought ye had lost yourself or been ate by the rats!" cried Cleena, as Fayette rather timidly peered in at the open kitchen door. "But all rogues is fond o' good atin', so I suppose you've come for your breakfast, eh?"

"No. I've et."

"Must ha' been up with the lark then. No, hold on. Don't go in there. They're master Hallam an' Miss Amy still, an' always will be. They eats by themselves, as the gentry should. If there's ought left when they're done, time enough for you an' me."

"I've had my breakfast, I told you."

"Didn't seem to set well on your stummick either, by the way your temper troubles ye. Are ye as ready to work as ye was yesterday?"

"Yes. What I come back for."

Cleena paused and studied the ill-shaped, vacant, though not vicious, face of the unfortunate waif. Something drew her sympathy toward him, and she pitied him for the mother whom he had never known. In the adjoining room she could hear the voices of her own "childer," with their cultured inflection and language, which was theirs by inheritance and as unconsciously as were "Bony's" harsh tones and rude speech his own.

"Arrah musha! but it's a queer world, I d'know. There's them an' there's him, an' the Lord made 'em both. Hear me, me gineral. Take a hold o' that broom o' yours, an' show me what it's made for. If you're as clean as you're homebly, I might stand your good friend. What for no?"

Fayette had returned Cleena's cool stare with another as steady. He liked her far better and more promptly than she liked him, yet in that moment of scrutiny each had measured the other and formed a tacit partnership. "For the family," was Cleena's watchword, and it had already become the half-wit's.

Cleena went to the well, tied her clothesline to the leaky old bucket and lowered it. On the night before she had obtained a pail of spring water from the cottage at the foot of the knoll, from the same friendly neighbor who had sold her the milk. But their own well must be fixed. To her dismay she found that it was very deep, and that the bit of water which remained in the bucket when it was drawn up was quite unfit even for cleaning purposes.

This worried her. A scarcity of water was one of the few trials which she had been spared, and she could hardly have met a heavier. As she turned toward the house she saw that Fayette had carefully set out of doors the old chairs and the other movable furniture which the kitchen had contained, and that, before sweeping, he was using his broom to brush the cobwebs from the ceiling. The sight filled her with joy and amazement.

"Saints bless us! That's the first man body I ever met that had sense like that!" and she lifted up her voice in a glad summons: —

"You, Napoleon Gineral Bonyparty, come by!"

"Before I finish here?"

"Before the wag o' dog's tail. Hurry up!"

"The wind'll blow it all over again."

"Leave it blow. Come by. Here's more trouble even nor cobwebs, avick! First need is first served."

This summoned Hallam and Amy out to see what was going on, and after learning the difficulty and peering into the depths of the old pit they offered their suggestions. Said Amy: —

"We might draw it up, bucket by bucket, and throw it away. Then I suppose it would fill with clean water, wouldn't it?"

"If we did, 'twould break all our backs an' there's more to do than empty old wells. Master Hal, what's your say?"

"Hmm, we might rig up some sort of machinery and stir it all up, and with chemicals we could clear it and – "

"Troth we could, if we'd a month o' Sundays to do it in an' slathers o' time an' money spoilin' to be spent."

Hallam was disgusted. Already he had blamed himself for his haughty refusal of Mr. Wingate's offer, on the previous day, to send a practical man to look over the premises and "set them going," as any landlord would.

But the lad had replied, as one in authority to decide for his absent parents: "We won't trouble you, sir. What happens to us, after we leave Fairacres, is our own affair. If you get your rent, that should be sufficient for you."

After that the offer was not renewed; for Mr. Wingate was not the man to waste either money or service, and the lad's tone angered him.

Regrets were now, as always, useless, and Cleena's open disdain of Hallam's suggestion sent him limping angrily away; though Amy laughed over her own "valuable contribution to the solution of the dilemma," and by her intentional use of the longest words at hand caused Fayette to regard her with a wonderment that was ludicrous in itself.

"Well, Goodsoul, we've helped a lot. Ask our 'Rep-Dem-Prob' what his 'boys' would do."

"What for no? Sure, he's more sense nor the whole of us. Say, me gineral, what's the way out?"

Fayette colored with pride. He had an inordinate vanity, and, like most of his sort, he possessed an almost startling keenness of intelligence in some respects, as contrasted with his foolishness in others. Moreover, he had been disciplined by poverty, and had always lived among working people and, for a long time, about the carpet mills.

"Well, the 'Supe's' force-pump."

"Hmm, I know, I know. But what's the 'Supe' an' his pump? Is he fish, flesh, or fowl, eh?"

"He's the 'Supe' to the mill. Ain't ye any sense?"

"No. None left after botherin' with you. What's it, Miss Amy?"

"I know. You mean Mr. Metcalf, don't you?"

"Yes."

"What would he do? How could he help us?"

"Lend me the donkey. I'll ride and tell him. All them houses – see them mill cottages, down yonder?"

"Certainly. They look very pretty from here, with all the trees about them."

"They've got wells. Once in six months the wells has to be cleared out. That's orders. Me an' another fellow goes down 'em, after the pump's drawed out all it can. We bail 'em out. I clean cisterns, too. Ain't another fellow in the village as good at a cistern as me. See, I'm slim. I can get down a man-hole 't nobody else can. Shall I go?"

"I'll ask Hallam."

Who, upon consultation, replied: —

"I suppose it's the only thing we can do, but it does go against my inclination to ask favors of anybody."

"Hal, that's silly. We must send Fayette to Mr. Metcalf, and will you write the note, or shall I?"

"You, since you've seen him, personally."

"Which is the only way I could see him," laughed the girl, and ran into the house to find a sheet of paper. Then the mill boy was given his choice of the burros, to ride as messenger; and having selected Balaam, departed down the slope in high glee. When he reached the mill, and Mr. Metcalf was at liberty to see him, he began a voluble description of all that had occurred since his chance meeting with Amy in the wood; but the superintendent cut the story short.

"Now, see here, 'Bony.' This is the chance of your life. Understand? They are, I should think, the very nicest folks you ever saw. Well, treat them square. None of your monkey shines nor nonsense. Do everything you can to help them. Of course you can have the pump, though you can't carry it up to 'Hardscrabble' donkey-back. That fellow is as black as his brother, or sister, is white. They're the prettiest donkeys I ever saw. How my youngsters would like such. Well, go round to John. There's no teaming to be done this morning, and he shall take the pump there in the wagon. He'll help you too, no doubt, for a small payment."

"Say, 'Supe.'"

"Well?"

"I don't believe they've got any money. Don't look so they had a cent. Ain't it queer? With all them purty things an' the way they act an' talk. Ain't like nobody I ever saw before. Ain't never saw anybody liked each other so much. I'm goin' to stay."

"Have they asked you?"

"No."

"Well, run along and get hold of John before he goes home for a nap, as he might, with nothing needed here."

Then, when Fayette had left him, Mr. Metcalf took up Amy's note and reread it.

The second perusal pleased the gentleman even more than the first. He thought that the little letter was very characteristic of the girl he had met, and he specially liked her statement that his former kindness presupposed a later one. So he stopped John, the teamster, as he was driving out of the mill yard, with the request: —

"You stay up there all day, if you can be of any use. Got your dinner with you? and the horses'? Good enough. I've heard about that family being turned out from their old home, and whether it was justly done or not doesn't alter the fact of its hardness. Lend them a hand, as if it were for me, John, and I'll make it all right with you."

"It's all right already, sir. I saw that girl, when she was down here that day; saw her take her fine little handkerchief out of her pocket and wipe that idiot's, or next door to idiot, wipe his lips as nice as if he was her own brother. Ain't one of the mill girls'd do that. They'd be too dainty. She wasn't, because she was quality. It always tells. Pity though that such folks have so little common sense. Now – "

But Mr. Metcalf warded off any further talk of the good John, who had lived at Ardsley all his life and knew the history of the Kaye household almost better than they knew it themselves.

"I'll ask you to tell me about them another time. Just now I guess you'd better hurry to get them a decent drink of water. Hold on, 'Bony.' Ride over to the office door. I'll send a note back to Miss Kaye, and want you to carry her a little basket."

So this was the note which answered Amy's, and that proved its writer to be a gentleman, even though he had begun life a humble ash-boy in just such a mill as he now managed so ably: —

"My dear Miss Amy: The kindness is wholly on your side in allowing me to serve you, and I hope you will command me in any further matter wherein I can be of use.

"I am sending the pump by John Young, our teamster, with instructions to remain under your orders for the rest of the day. You will find that 'Bony' thoroughly understands the business of well-cleaning, but you will have to restrain him from venturing into any great hazard, because, poor lad, he has not the caution to balance his daring.

"I am offering, also, a little basket of fruit which came my way this morning, and which looks, I fancy, as if it wanted to be eaten by just such a girl as you.

"Faithfully yours,"William Metcalf."

When Amy read this note aloud to Hallam and Cleena, she did so in a proud and happy voice.

"Well, I've written letters for mother, and father, too, sometimes, but I've not had many of my own. This is. I'm going to keep it always. The very first one that has come here. Isn't he just the dearest man? Oh! I am so happy I must just sing. It's such a beautiful world, after all, and maybe we've had all our old things taken away just to teach us that folks are better than things. I feel as if I'd come out of a musty room into the open air."

"Amy Kaye! You should be ashamed of yourself. Have you no heart at all? As for musty rooms, if you can find any to beat these at 'Spite House,' you'll do well."

"I know. I'm 'bad,' of course, but come on. I'll fetch you all father's tubes and brushes that are in such a muddle, and you can sort them right near the well, and watch John fix it, and take care of Fayette; I'm going in and help Cleena, in any way I can."

Amy's cheerfulness was certainly infectious. It was also helpful to Hallam's gloomy mood that just then there should be the well and cistern cleaning, Mr. Young having discovered a cistern beneath a pile of decayed boards, at a little distance from the house. But the water in both being unfit for use, Amy bravely picked up a couple of pails and started down hill to their new neighbor's cottage.

"Wait, Amy, I'll rig up something," called the cripple; and by the aid of a rope, a barrel stave, and some wire he managed to hang the pails on either side Pepita's saddle. "So all you'll have to do will be walk up and down and make her behave," referring to Pepita's uncertain temper.

"If I had a barrel I'd better that job," said John the teamster. "I'd drive down once and get all you needed for the day."

"But there isn't any barrel that will hold water," answered the girl. "So I'll play 'Jack and Jill' with Pepita, as long as Cleena wishes. Besides, the cottage children think she's beautiful, and they are so kind they help me fill the pails each trip, as well as give us the water in them."

John wiped his brow and looked admiringly upon her. "Keep that spirit, lass, and it'll make small difference to you whether your purse is empty or full. But 'give' you the water? I should say yes. The Lord gave it to them in the first place, free as the air of heaven. Well, there'll be water to spare up here, too, soon, for we've got the pump about ready for work."

It was a long time, though, before any impression was made upon the accumulation of water in the deep well. After a while, however, less came with each draft, and it was thicker and fouler. Finally, the pump ceased to be of any use, and was drawn up and laid beside the broken curb. Then came the interesting part of the task, as well as the perilous.

Keeping an eye upon all of Fayette's movements, John had allowed him "to boss the job," partly because the lad did fully understand his business, and partly to give him pleasure. But now was need for utmost caution.

"Will you fetch me a candle?" the teamster asked Cleena; and when she had done so he fastened it to the end of the clothesline and slowly lowered it into the shaft. The flame was instantly extinguished.

"Hmm, have to wait a spell, I reckon. Might as well tackle the cistern."

"What made the candle go out? Was there a wind?" asked Amy.

"Carbonic acid gas," answered her brother.

"Huh," said Fayette, contemptuously, "'twa'n't neither. Just choke damp an' fixed air. Soon's the candle'll stay lighted, I'll go down. Cistern's the same, only wider. Got a powder here'll fix it, if it don't clear soon."

After the cistern was cleaned, and this was a much easier task than the well, Fayette returned to the curb, again lighted the candle, and lowered it. The foul and poisonous gases had mostly passed away, and the flame continued to burn as far down as the clothesline would reach.

"That's all right; I'll tackle it now."

"No, you'll not. None o' your foolhardiness here."

"Who made you boss o' me, John Young?"

"I did. I'll prevent you, if I have to hold on to you. Best leave it open till to-morrow, or longer even," said John. "I'm going to eat my dinner now. Come and have some."

"Bime-by. I'm goin' to take off my shoes. Work best when I'm barefoot."

The answer gave John no concern, for he knew this peculiarity of Fayette's; so he walked quietly away toward the old shed where he had tied his horses, to give them their food and secure his own. Before he reached them, however, he heard a loud shout, and, turning, saw the foolish boy capering about on the beam which had been laid across the top of the well, and from which the rope and bucket were still suspended.

"'Bony,' you fool, get off that! A misstep and you're gone!"

"All right, I'll get off!"

There was a wild waving of arms, a burst of derisive laughter, and "Bony" had disappeared.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WATERLOO OF BONAPARTE LAFAYETTE

The teamster's cry of horror brought everybody to the scene. Cleena was the first to reach it and to find John standing by the mouth of the well, whitefaced and trembling.

"What's it? What's down there? What mean ye yellin' that gait? Speak, man, if ye can."

He could only point downward, while he strained his ears to catch any sound that might come from below.

Then Cleena shook him fiercely. "Speak, I tell ye! Where's the boy?"

The other still pointed down into the shaft, but he made out to say: —

"I heard him laugh, then shout, and he must have gone stark crazy."

"He down there? That poor, senseless gossoon? Where was you that you'd leave him do it?"

"I was walking – wait! I hear something."

Four white, terror-stricken faces now bent above the old well, while Cleena's arms clasped her "childer" tightly, fearing they, too, might be snatched away from her.

"Saints save us, it's bewitched! Oh, the day, the day!"

"Shut up, woman! Keep still. I hear something."

Again they stooped and listened, and Amy's keen ears reported, joyfully: —

"It's Fayette! It is, it is! It sounds as if he were speaking from the far end of a long, long tube. But he's alive, he's alive!"

"He might as well be dead. His bones must be broken, and he can't live long in such an air as that," said Hallam.

"I don't know. That he's alive at all proves that the air isn't as bad as I thought. Besides, he may not have broken any bones. He's had fearful falls, before this, and he always came out about sound. But the rope doesn't reach much more than two-thirds down. I've heard they dug this well a hundred and fifty feet deep. They had to, to reach water from top this rock."

"A hundred and fifty feet! How can we possibly reach him?"

"Not by standin' talkin'. Whisk to the cottage, Amy, an' beg the length of all the rope they have. To save a lad's life – be nimble!"

The girl was away long before Cleena finished speaking, while the latter herself darted into the house, caught off the sheets and blankets from the beds, and tore them into strips. Never wasting one motion of her strong hands, and praying ceaselessly, she tied each fresh length and tested it with all her force.

Meanwhile Amy almost flew over the space between "Spite House" and the cottage, arriving there nigh breathless; but gasping out her errand, she rushed straight to the line in the drying yard and began to tear it from its fastenings on the poles.

"You're wanting my rope, miss? Somebody in the well? Heaven help him! But wait! If it's cleaning the well he is, why of course he'd be down there. Who is it?"

"Fayette. Maybe you know him as 'Bony.'"

"The half-wit? Pshaw, Miss. Don't look that frightened. He's all safe, never fear. Nothing hurts him. The Lord looks after him. I'm afraid this rope won't hold, it's so old. Wait, I'll go, too. Never mind the children, they'll have to take care of themselves."

All the while she was talking the kindly woman had been rolling the line, retying it where their haste broke its worn strands, and following Amy up over the slope. Now she paused for one second to remonstrate: —

"You, Victoria, go back! There's William Gladstone trying to creep after us. Beatrice, Belinda, go home. You mustn't follow mother every time she turns her back! Go home, I tell you. Go – right – straight – back – home. My! but this is steep!"

A shriek, shrill and piercing as only infant lungs could utter, made even Amy stop, eager though she was to reach the well where poor "Bony" might already have breathed his last. The one backward glance she cast showed the numerous children of the house of Jones toiling industriously skyward, in their mother's footsteps. Victoria, who was "eight and should have known better," had left William Gladstone to take care of himself, with the result that, being less than two years old and rather unsteady on his legs, he had toddled up to the biggest stone in the path, tried to step over it, lost his balance, and fallen. The hill was so steep that once the fat little fellow began to roll downwards he could not stop, and the terrified outcry first showed the mother his danger.