The Beggar Man.

by Ruby Mildred Ayres.

CHAPTER I

She was small and slight, with timid, brown eyes and soft, fair hair and a certain daintiness of person that singled her out for attention in spite of the shabbiness of her clothes.

The first morning she put in an appearance at the factory the other girls marked her down as being a little different from themselves; a little less rough and capable of looking after her own interests, a little more refined, and ready to shrink from jest and laughter.

They crowded round her to stare with interest, in which there was mingled a faint suspicion. A volley of questions greeted her from all sides.

"What's your name?" "Where do you come from?" "Who took you on?"

She shrank back a little from their good-natured inquisition. She answered their questions at random--nervously.

"My name's Faith Ledley.... I live in Poplar.... I just applied, and the manager said he'd give me a trial."

She could feel the something hostile in the air, and her brown eyes darkened with anxiety. She felt herself so small and alone in this crowd of muscular, cheery young women.

One of them, who seemed a sort of leader amongst the others, took a little step towards her.

"What are you--a machinist?"

"Yes----"

"Oh!" The elder girl's rather bold blue eyes seemed to take stock of the younger one; then she said, with a note of greater friendliness:

"Oh, well, come on. You can sit next to me if you like."

Faith took courage.

"What is your name?" she asked diffidently.

The elder girl laughed. "They call me Peg," she said, and with sudden impulse she held out her work-roughened hand. "Come on," she said again, with an unconscious note of imperiousness in her voice, and Faith obeyed.

That was Faith's initiation into the workings of Heeler's blouse factory. It was the beginning, also, of a lifelong friendship between herself and Peg Fraser.

During the day Peg asked many questions.

"Have you got a father and mother?"

"A mother--she's delicate."

"Oh! Any brothers and sisters?"

"Two little sisters."

"Do you keep them?"

Faith smiled. "Oh, no! I help--we take lodgers."

"Oh." For a moment Peg was silent, treadling away busily at her machine, and Faith stole a timid glance at her.

Peg was handsome in a bold sort of way. She had jet black hair and a high colour, blue eyes, a little hard in expression, and a fine figure.

She was a power to reckon with in the room in which she worked, as Faith was quick to discover. Even the forewoman, who was thin-lipped and shrewish, seemed a little afraid of her. Presently she asked another question:

"What was your father?"

Faith flushed sensitively. "He was a gentleman," she said proudly.

Peg's blue eyes opened wide and for a moment she stopped work. Then:

"My father was a night-watchman," she said dryly. She snapped off a thread with a vicious little gesture. "He was a drunken brute," she added vehemently. "We were all glad when he died. Were you glad when yours died?"

Faith's eyes clouded with tears. "No," she said; "it was like the end of everything."

Peg paused again to regard her with curiosity. She had never met a girl quite like this one before. "What did he die of?" she asked blankly after a moment.

It was Faith's turn now to stop work; she looked up with a sudden flush in her pale face.

"He was ruined," she said. "Someone took all his money, and it killed him."

"Oh," said Peg, thoughtfully. "Like a novelette. I suppose your mother was a lady," she added with a touch of sarcasm.

Faith answered simply enough: "She was in a shop at Clapham when father married her, and his people never forgave him."

"You mean because they were swells?"

"Yes, I suppose so; I've never seen any of them."

"It's like a novelette again," said Peg, and fell upon her machine with renewed energy.

It was some moments before she next spoke.

"It licks me why you've come here. You'll loathe it like poison before you've been here a week. The noise of the machines gets on your nerves and makes you want to scream. Miss Dell gets on your nerves, too." She nodded in the direction of the thin-lipped forewoman. "You'll hate her, and you'll hate the sight of things like these and all the rich, hateful people who buy them."

She caught up a dainty silk blouse from the table beside her and shook it contemptuously.

"Do you know Scammel?"

"Scammel?" Faith echoed the name blankly. "No; who is he?"

"He owns this place," Peg explained. "There's no Heeler in it really--it's just a name. It's Scammel we're all swotting to make money for," she added. "And I hate him----"

"You seem to hate a lot of things and people," Faith said timidly.