Part 1 (2/2)

”Dear me, Nan!” her chum cried. ”You do always think of the most dreadful things. It troubles me to know anything about poverty and poor people. I can't help them, and I don't want to know anything about them.”

”If I didn't know that you are better than your talk, Bess,” said Nan, still gravely, ”I'd think you a most callous person. You just don't understand. These poor people have been fearing this shut-down for months. And all the time they have been expecting it they have been helpless to avert it and unable to prepare for it.”

”They might have saved some of their wages, I suppose,” said Bess. ”I heard father say the other night how much money the mills paid out in a year to the hands, some perfectly en_or_mous sum.”

”But just think how many people that has to be divided among,” urged Nan. ”Lots of the men earn only eight or nine dollars a week, and have families to support.”

”Well, of course, they don't have to be supported as we are,” objected the easy-minded Bess. ”Anyway my father says frugality should be taught to the poor just the same as reading and writing. They ought to learn how to save.”

”When you earn only just enough to supply your needs, and no more, how can you divide your income so as to h.o.a.rd up any part of it?”

”Dear me! Don't ask questions in political economy out of school, Nan!”

cried Bess, forgetting that she had started the discussion herself. ”I just HATE that study, and wish we didn't have to take it! I can't answer that question, anyway.”

”I'll answer it then,” declared Nan. ”If you are a mill-hand your stomach won't let you save money. There probably won't be a dozen families affected by this shut-down who have more than ten dollars saved.”

”Goodness! You don't mean that that's true? Why, dad gives me that much to spend on myself each month,” Bess cried. ”The poor things! Even if they are frowsy and low, I am sorry for them. But, of course, the shut-down doesn't trouble you, Nan. Not personally, I mean. Your father has had a good position for so many years-----”

”I'm not at all sure that it won't trouble us,” Nan interposed gravely.

”But of course we are not in danger of starvation.”

She felt some delicacy about entirely confiding in Bess on the subject.

Nan had heard the pros and cons of the expected closing of the mills discussed at home almost every day for weeks past; but family secrets should never be mentioned outside the family circle, as Nan very well knew.

”Well,” signed Bess, whose whole universe revolved around a central sun called Self, as is the case with many girls brought up by indulgent parents. ”I hope, dear, that this trouble won't keep you from entering Lakeview with me next fall.”

Nan laughed. ”There never was a chance of my going with you, Bess, and I've told you so often enough-----”

”Now, don't you say that, Nan Sherwood!” cried her chum. ”I've just made up my mind that you shall go, and that's all there is to it! You've just got to go!”

”You mean to kidnap me and bear me off to that ogre's castle, whether or not?”

”It's the very nicest school that ever was,” cried Bess. ”And such a romantic place.”

”Romantic?” repeated Nan curiously.

”Yes, indeed! A great big stone castle overlooking Lake Michigan, a regular fortress, they say. It was built years ago by Colonel Gilpatrick French, when he came over from Europe with some adventurous Irishmen who thought all they had to do was to sail over to Canada and the whole country would be theirs for the taking.”

”Goodness me! I've read something about that,” said Nan, interested.

”Well, Lakeview Hall, as the school is called, was built by that rich Colonel French. And they say there are dungeons under it.”

”Where they keep their jams and preserves, now, I suppose?” laughed Nan.

”And secret pa.s.sages down to the sh.o.r.e of the lake. And the great hall where the brave Irishmen used to drill is now the a.s.sembly hall of the school.”

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