life had crept into her face, and her breath came quick and fast, and
now and then she furtively brushed away a tear.

Afterwards, as they walked home, she said to Samuel, "I don't know if
it's good for me to listen to music like that."

"Why not?" he asked--"if it makes you happy."

"But it makes me unhappy afterwards. It makes me want things. And I
get restless--and when I go back to the factory it's so much harder."

"What do you do in the factory?" asked Samuel.

"I'm what they call a bobbin-girl--I tie the threads on the bobbins
when they are empty."

"Is it very hard work?"

"No, you mightn't think so. But you have to stand up all day; and it's
doing the same thing all the time--the same thing the whole day long.
You get dull--you never think about anything. And then the air is full of
dust and the machinery roars. You get used to it, but I'm sure its bad
for you."

They walked for a while in silence. "Do you like to imagine things?"
asked Sophie suddenly.

"Yes," said he.

"I used to," said she--"when I was younger." It was so strange to