Ch. 6 - Seamstress - Page 2

other young women sat sewing busily on gay garments, with as much
lively gossip to beguile the time as Miss Cotton, the forewoman,
would allow.

For a while it diverted Christie, as she had a feminine love for
pretty things, and enjoyed seeing delicate silks, costly lace, and
all the indescribable fantasies of fashion. But as spring came on,
the old desire for something fresh and free began to haunt her, and
she had both waking and sleeping dreams of a home in the country
somewhere, with cows and flowers, clothes bleaching on green grass,
bob-o'-links making rapturous music by the river, and the smell of
new-mown hay, all lending their charms to the picture she painted
for herself.

Most assuredly she would have gone to find these things, led by the
instincts of a healthful nature, had not one slender tie held her
till it grew into a bond so strong she could not break it.

Among her companions was one, and one only, who attracted her. The
others were well-meaning girls, but full of the frivolous purposes
and pleasures which their tastes prompted and their dull life
fostered. Dress, gossip, and wages were the three topics which
absorbed them. Christie soon tired of the innumerable changes rung
upon these themes, and took refuge in her own thoughts, soon
learning to enjoy them undisturbed by the clack of many tongues
about her. Her evenings at home were devoted to books, for she had
the true New England woman's desire for education, and read or
studied for the love of it. Thus she had much to think of as her
needle flew, and was rapidly becoming a sort of sewing-machine when
life was brightened for her by the finding of a friend.

Among the girls was one quiet, skilful creature, whose black dress,
peculiar face, and silent ways attracted Christie. Her evident
desire to be let alone amused the new comer at first, and she made
no effort to know her. But presently she became aware that Rachel
watched her with covert interest, stealing quick, shy glances at her
as she sat musing over her work. Christie smiled at her when she
caught these glances, as if to reassure the looker of her good-will.
But Rachel only colored, kept her eyes fixed on her work, and was
more reserved than ever.

This interested Christie, and she fell to studying this young woman
with some curiosity, for she was different from the others. Though
evidently younger than she looked, Rachel's face was that of one who
had known some great sorrow, some deep experience; for there were
lines on the forehead that contrasted strongly with the bright,
abundant hair above it; in repose, the youthfully red, soft lips had
a mournful droop, and the eyes were old with that indescribable
expression which comes to those