t when my brothers moved away to
other parts of the world to find work, the romance was rubbed off.

"Maybe we can get a machine?" Jamie said.

"Aye, but shure ye'd have to get a factory to put it in!"

"Is that so?"

"Aye, an' we find it hard enough t' pay fur what we're in now!"

Barney McQuillan was the master-shoe-maker in our town who was best
able to readjust himself to changed conditions. He became a
master-cobbler and doled out what he took in to men like Jamie. He kept
a dozen men at work, making a little off each, just as the owner of the
machine did in the factory. In each case the need of skill vanished and
the power of capital advanced. Jamie dumbly took what was left--cobbling
for Barney. To Anna the whole thing meant merely the death of a few more
hopes. For over twenty years she had fought a good fight, a fight in
which she played a losing part, though she was never wholly defeated.

Her first fight was against slang and slovenly speech. She started early
in their married life to correct Jamie. He tried hard and often, but he
found it difficult to speak one language to his wife and another to his
customers. From the lips of Anna, it sounded all right, but the same
pronunciation by Jamie seemed affected and his customers gaped at him.

Then she directed her efforts anew to the children. One after another
she corrected their grammar and pronunciation, corrected them every day
and every hour of the day that they were in her presence. Here again she
was doomed to failure. The children lived on the street and spoke its
language. It seemed a hopeless task. She never whined over it. She was
too busy cleaning, cooking, sewing and at odd times helping Jamie, but
night after night for nearly a generation she took stock of a life's
effort and each milestone on the way spelt failure. She could see no
light--not a glimmer. Not only had she failed to impress her language
upon others, but she found herself gradually succumbing to her
environment and actually lapsing into vulgar forms herself. There was a
larger and more vital conflict than the one she had lost. It was the
fight against dirt. In such small quarters, with so many children and
such activity in work she fought against great odds. Bathing facilities
were almost impossible: water had to be brought from the town well,
except what fell on the roof, and that was saved for washing clothes.
Whatever bathing there was, was done in the tub in which Jamie stee