d and Perrine, like the others, was on her way back
to her truck, when Ninepins called to her:

"Here, you new one, there; come here! Come on, quicker than that."

She came back timidly, wondering why she was more guilty than the others
who had also left their work. But she found that he did not wish to
punish her.

"Take that young fool there to the foreman," he said.

"What do you call me a fool for?" cried Rosalie, raising her voice, for
already the machines were in motion. "It wasn't my fault, was it?"

"Sure, it was your fault, clumsy." Then he added in a softer tone:

"Does it hurt?"

"Not so very much," replied Rosalie bravely.

"Well, go on home; be off now."

Rosalie and Perrine went out together, Rosalie holding her wounded hand,
which was the left, in her right hand.

"Won't you lean on me, Rosalie?" asked little Perrine anxiously. "I am
sure it must be dreadful."

"No, I'm all right; thank you," said Rosalie. "At least I can walk."

"Well, then, it isn't much then, is it?" asked Perrine.

"One can't tell the first day. It's later that one suffers. I slipped,
that's how it happened."

"You must have been getting tired," said Perrine, thinking of her own
feelings.

"Sure, it's always when one is tired that one is caught," said Rosalie.
"We are quick and sharp first thing in the morning. I wonder what Aunt
Zenobie will say!"

"But it wasn't your fault," insisted Perrine.

"I know that," said Rosalie, ruefully. "Grandmother will believe that,
but Aunt Zenobie won't. She'll say it's 'cause I don't want to work."

On their way through the building several men stopped them to ask what was
the matter. Some pitied Rosalie, but most of them listened indifferently,
as though they were used to such accidents. They said that it was always
so: one gets hurt the same as one falls sick; just a matter of chance, each
in his turn, you today, and me tomorrow. But there were some who showed
anger that such an accident could have occurred.

They came to a small outside building which was used for offices. They
had to mount some wide steps which led to a porch. Talouel was standing
on the porch, walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, his hat
on his head. He seemed to be taking a general survey, like a captain on
the bridge.

"What's the matter now?" he cried, angrily, when he saw the two girls.

Rosalie showed him her bleeding hand.

"Wrap your paw up in your handkerchief then," he said, rou