the knell that is ringing in her heart, she says to me, always staring:

"My husband was killed on the railroad last week. He lived three hours.
They took him to the hospital--a boy come running down and told me. I
went up as fast as I could, but it was too late; he never spoke again. I
guess he didn't know what struck him; his head was all smashed. He was
awful good to me--so easy-going. I ain't got my mind down to work yet.
If you don't like this here room," she goes on listlessly, "maybe you
could get suited across the way."

Thompson Seton tells us in his book on wild animals that not one among
them ever dies a natural death. As the opposite extreme of vital
persistence we have the man whose life, in spite of acute disease, is
prolonged against reason by science; and midway comes the labourer, who
takes his chances unarmed by any understanding of physical law, whose
only safeguards are his wits and his presence of mind. The violent
death, the accidents, the illnesses to which he falls victim might be
often warded off by proper knowledge. Nature is a zealous enemy;
ignorance and inexperience keep a whole class defenseless.

The next day is Saturday. I feel a fresh excitement at going back to my
job; the factory draws me toward it magnetically. I long to be in the
hum and whir of the busy workroom. Two days of leisure without resources
or amusement make clear to me how the sociability of factory life, the
freedom from personal demands, the escape from self can prove a
distraction to those who have no mental occupation, no money to spend on
diversion. It is easier to submit to factory government which commands
five hundred girls with one law valid for all, than to undergo the
arbitrary discipline of parental authority. I speed across the
snow-covered courtyard. In a moment my cap and apron are on and I am