"I don't know how to thank you, Clay," she said, as he swung down from his saddle and threw his leathern bag on the gra.s.s.

"Now, you look more like yourself," he smiled admiringly, as he looked down on her white dress and auburn hair, drooping low over her neck and shoulders.

"Tell me about yourself and how you like it at the mill," he went on as he sat down.

"Oh, you will not be willing to speak to me now--now that I am a mill-girl," she added. "Do you know? Clay--"

"I know that, aside from being beautiful, you have just begun to be truly womanly in my sight."

"Oh, Clay, do you really think that? It is the first good word that has been spoken to me since--since my--disgrace."

He turned quickly: "Your disgrace! Do you call it disgrace to work--to make an honest living--to be independent and self-reliant?"

He picked up his bag of samples and she saw that his hands had become hard and sunburnt from the plow handles.

"Helen," he went on earnestly, "that is one of the hide-bound tyrannies that must be banished from our Southland--banished as that other tyranny, slavery, has been banished--a sin, which, with no fault of our own, we inherited from the centuries. We shall never be truly great--as G.o.d intended we should be great--until we learn to work. We have the n.o.blest and sunniest of lands, with more resources than man now dreams of, a greater future than we know of if we will only work--work and develop them. You have set an example for every girl in the South who has been thrown upon her own resources. Never before in my life have I cared--so--much--for you."

And he blushed as he said it, and fumbled his samples.

"Then you do care some for me?" she asked pleadingly. She was heart-sick for sympathy and did not know just what she said.

He flushed and started to speak. He looked at her, and his big gla.s.ses quivered with the suppressed emotions which lay behind them in his eyes.

But he saw that she did not love him, that she was begging for sympathy and not for love. Besides, what right had he to plan to bring another to share his poverty?

He mounted his horse as one afraid to trust himself to stay longer.

But he touched her hair in his awkward, funny way, before he swung himself into the saddle, and Helen, as she went into the desolate home, felt uplifted as never before.

Never before had she seen work in that light--nor love.

CHAPTER IV

MAGGIE

It was Maggie's last day at the mill, and she had been unusually thoughtful. Her face was more pinched, Helen thought, and the sadness in her eyes had increased.

Helen had proved to be an apt pupil, and Maggie declared that thereafter she would be able to run her machine without a.s.sistance.

It was Sat.u.r.day noon and Maggie was ready to go, though the mill did not shut down until six that day. And so she found herself standing and looking with tearful eyes at the machine she had learned to love, at the little room in which she had worked so long, supporting her invalid father and her little ones--as she motherly called the children. It had been hard--so hard, and the years had been long and she was so weak now, compared to what she had been. How happy she had thought the moment of her leaving would be; and yet now that it had come--now--she was weeping.

"I didn't think," she said to Helen--"I didn't think I'd--I'd care so to leave it--when--when--the time--came."

She turned and brushed away her tears in time to see Travis come smiling up.

"Why, Maggie," he said playfully flipping the tip of her ear as he pa.s.sed her. "I thought you left us yesterday afternoon. You'll not be forgetting us now that you will not see us again, will you?"

She flushed and Helen heard her say: "Forget you--ever? Oh, please, Mr. Travis--" and her voice trembled.

"Oh, tut," he said, frowning quickly--"nothing like that here. Of course, you will hate to leave the old mill and the old machine.

Come, Maggie, you needn't wait--you're a good girl--we all know that."

He turned to Helen and watched her as she drew in the threads. Her head was bent over, and her great coil of hair sat upon it like a queen on a throne.

What a neck and throat she had--what a beautiful queenly manner!

Travis smiled an amused smile when he thought of it--an ironical sneering smile; but he felt, as he stood there, that the girl had fascinated him in a strange way, and now that she was in his power, "now that Fate, or G.o.d has combined to throw her into my arms--almost unasked for--is it possible that I am beginning to fall in love with her?"

He had forgotten Maggie and stood looking at Helen. And in that look Maggie saw it all. He heard her sit down suddenly.

"I would go if I were you, Maggie--you are a good girl and we shall not forget you."

"May I stay a little while longer?" she asked. "I won't ever come back any more, you know."

Travis turned quickly and walked off. He came back and spoke to Helen.

"Remember, I am to take you home to-night. But it will be later than usual, on account of the pay-roll."

As he shut the door Maggie turned, and her heart being too full to speak, she came forward and dropped on her knees, burying her face in Helen's lap. "You must not notice me," she said--"don't--don't--oh, don't look at me."

Helen stroked her cheek and finally she was quiet.

Then she looked into Helen's face. "Do you know--oh, will you mind if I speak to you--or perhaps I shouldn't--but--but--don't you see that he loves you?"

Helen reddened to her ears.

"I am foolish--sick--nervous--I know I am silly an' yet I don't see how he could help it--you are so queenly--beautiful--so different from any that are here. He--he--has forgotten me--"

Helen looked at her quickly.

"Why, I don't understand," she said.

"I mean," she stammered, "he used to notice us common girls--me and the others--"

"I don't understand you," said Helen, half indignantly.

"Oh, don't pay no 'tention to me," she said. "I, I fear I am sick, you know--sicker than I thought," and she coughed violently.

She lay with her head in Helen's lap. "Please," she said timidly, looking up into Helen's face at last--"please let me stay this way a while. I never knew a mother--n.o.body has ever let me do this befo', an' I am so happy for it."

Helen stroked her face and hair anew, and Maggie kneeled looking up at her eagerly, earnestly, hungrily, scanning every feature of the prettier girl with worshipping eyes.

"How could he he'p it--how could he he'p it," she said softly--"yes--yes--you are his equal and so beautiful."

"I don't understand you, Maggie--indeed I do not."