i! ye thought I didn't see ye sneaking the spoiled truck into the
green box; but old Miriam's got sharp eyes, she has, and she likes to
watch you young uns when you comes in first. You're not the only one.
They all spoil lots before they learn to make a living out of it.
There's lots like ye!" and stooping over, she drew a handful of my
botched work out of the box and began to rip the stitching.

"That's all right; I'm glad to help ye!" she protested. "And sure, if we
don't help each other, who's a-going to help us poor devils, I'd like to
know?"

I, too, busied myself with the task of ripping, which I saw Bessie and
Eunice were also doing; in fact, all the new-comers of the morning could
be thus singled out. The practised hands availed themselves of the
enforced rest by yawning and stretching their arms, and by comparing the
earnings of the morning; for we all worked on piece-work. Rachel
Goldberg had finished four dozen of extra-fine garments, which meant
seventy-five cents, and it was not yet eleven o'clock. She would make at
least one dollar and sixty cents before the day was over, provided we
did not have any serious breakdowns. She watched the clock
impatiently,--every minute she was idle meant a certain fraction of a
penny lost,--and crouched sullenly over her machine for the signal.

"What are you thinking about, Miriam?" a frowsy-headed girl asked,
giving the wink to the crowd.

The generous-hearted old lady looked up from the task she was helping
me to do, and raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the
gaslight, peered down the long line of girls until she placed the
speaker.

"Yi, yi! Ye want to know what I'm thinking about? Well, mebbe, Beckie
Frankenstein, I'm thinking what a beautiful world this is, and what a
fine time you and me has," and the strange creature broke into a laugh
that was more terrible than a sob.

"Ah, there you go again, Miriam! What's eatin' you to-day?" cried the
foreman, as he came along to inspect the work; and seeing Miriam undoing
my blunders, asked, "Who did that?"

Before I could put in a half-frightened acknowledgment, my intercessor
had spoken up:

"And whose 'u'd them be but mine, Abe Isaacs?"--scowling at me to keep
silence when I opened my mouth to contradict her.

The foreman looked incredulous. "You, Miriam! Do you mean to tell me it
was you spoiled all that work? What's the matter with you to-day,
anyway? If you don't do better, I'll have to fire