of the talk was rather vague to Perrine, not knowing the persons to
whom it applied, but she soon gathered that "Skinny", "Judas", and
"Sneak" were all one and the same man, and that man was Talouel, the
foreman. The factory hands evidently considered him a bully; they all
hated him, yet feared him.

"Let's go to sleep," at last said one.

"Yes, why not?"

"La Noyelle hasn't come in yet."

"I saw her outside when I came in."

"How was she?"

"Full. She couldn't stand up."

"Ugh! d'ye think she can get upstairs?"

"Not sure about that."

"Suppose we lock the door?"

"Yes, and what a row she'd make!"

"Like last Sunday; maybe worse."

They groaned. At this moment the sound of heavy shambling footsteps was
heard on the stairs.

"Here she is."

The steps stopped, then there was a fall, followed by a moan.

"She's fallen down!"

"Suppose she can't get up?"

"She'd sleep as well on the stairs as here."

"And we'd sleep better."

The moaning continued, interrupted by calls for help.

"Come, Laide," called out a thick voice; "give us a hand, my child."

But Laide did not move. After a time the calls ceased.

"She's gone to sleep. That's luck."

But the drunken girl had not gone to sleep at all; on the contrary, she
was using every effort to get up the stairs again.

"Laide, come and give me a hand, child. Laide, Laide," she cried.

She evidently made no progress, for the calls still came from the bottom
of the stairs, and became more and more persistent. Finally she began to
cry.

"Little Laide, little Laide, come to me," she wailed. "Oh! oh! the
stairs are slipping; where am I?"

A burst of laughter came from each bed.

"It's cause yer ain't come in yet, Laide; that's why yer don't come.
I'll go and find yer."

"Now she's gone and we'll have some peace," said one.

"No, she'll go to look for Laide and won't find her, and it'll all
begin over again. Well never get to sleep."

"Go and give her a hand, Laide," advised one.

"Go yerself," retorted Laide.

"But she wants you."

Laide decided to go, and slipping on her skirt, she went down the
stairs.

"Oh, my child, my child," cried La Noyelle, brokenly, when she caught
sight of her.

The joy of seeing Laide drove all thoughts of getting upstairs safely
away.

"Come with me, little one, and I'll treat you to a glass; come on,"
urged the drunken creature.

But Laide would not be tempted.

"No, come on to bed," she said.

The