Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp | Page 4

were foreigners. All
bore marks of hard work and poverty. The hands of even the girls in the
group were red and cracked. It was sharp winter weather, but none
wore gloves.
If they wore a head-covering at all, it was a shawl gathered at the throat
by the clutch of frost-bitten fingers. There was snow on the ground; but
few wore overshoes.
They crowded away from the two well-dressed high-school girls,
looking at them askance. Bess Harley scarcely noticed the mill- hands'
wives and daughters. She came of a family who considered these poor
people little better than cattle. Nan Sherwood was so much interested in
the poster that she saw nothing else. It read:
NOTICE: Two weeks from date all departments of these mills will be

closed until further notice. Final payment of wages due will be made on
January 15th. Over-supply of our market and the prohibitive price of
cotton make this action a necessity. ATWATER MILLS COMPANY.
December 28th.
"Why, dear me!" murmured Bess. "I thought it might really be
something terrible. Come on, Nan. It's only a notice of a vacation. I
guess most of them will be glad to rest awhile."
"And who is going to pay for their bread and butter while the poor
creatures are resting?" asked Nan seriously, as the two girls moved
away from the group before the yellow poster.
"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 enORmous 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 hoard 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