CHAPTER XVI.

The matron entered presently, and Ida May showed her the advertisement that had attracted her attention.

"It might be as well to try that," said the matron, encouragingly.

She looked after the girl as she went slowly down the steps, and shook her head sadly.

As usual, Ida May's lovely face attracted the envy[72] of all the girls in the mill. The foreman, as well as the clerks in the office, admired her, and that was enough to make the girls detest her.

Ida had secured lodgings in a boarding-house where a score of the girls stopped. She shared her room with Emily Downs, a very quiet little thing, who had been a general favorite with the girls up to this time.

Matters were going from bad to worse in the mill. The girls gathered together in little groups here and there, and looked darkly at Ida May. Even those who were wont to say "good-night" or "good-morning" passed her by without a word.

The comments of the jealous girls became louder and deeper as another fortnight dragged its slow lengths by. Whether Ida May heard or heeded them, they did not care to know. The beautiful face grew whiter still, and the large dark eyes became more pitiful in their pathetic terror.

The girls gathered together one noon hour, and held a long and excited conversation.

Ida and Emily Downs were eating their luncheon at the further end of the room, quite apart by themselves. Emily could see that something of an unusual order was transpiring, by the girl's fierce gesticulations and the angry glances that were cast upon her companion, who seemed oblivious to it all.

At length one of them called Emily to them. There was a whispered conversation, and looking mechanically across the table at that moment, Ida May saw Emily start back with a cry of horror.

"They are talking about me," thought Ida, crushing back a sob. "They want to turn the only friend I have from me."

[73]

She finished her simple luncheon in silence. It was scarcely concluded ere she noticed with wonder that the girls had formed a group and were marching over in her direction in a body. There were fully fifty of them, and Ida noticed with wonder that the face of every one of them was white, set, and stern.

"Ida May," said the ringleader, harshly, "we have something to say to you!"

"Yes," she answered, thinking that they had reconsidered the matter, and were going to ask her to join them.

For a moment the girl seemed at a loss to know what to say, but the angry murmurs of her companions in the rear nerved her to her task.

"After consultation, we have concluded that, as respectable girls, we can not remain in the mills another day if you are allowed to work here. You must leave at once, or we shall do so."

For an instant Ida May was fairly dazed. She scarcely believed that she had heard aright—surely her senses were playing her false. She sprung to her feet, and confronted the girls, who stood, with angered faces, looking at her.

"Surely you can not mean what you say!" she gasped. "What have I done that you should say this to me?"

The ringleader looked at her with withering scorn.

"We do not consider you a proper companion to mingle among us," returned the girl, stolidly. "We all work for our living in this cotton-mill, but if we are poor we are honest. Is that plain enough for you to understand? If not, I will add this"—and stepping up to the trembling girl's side, she whispered a few[74] sharp words in her ear—words that made Ida May recoil as though they had been thrusts of a knife that cut to her heart.

With a piteous cry she sunk on her knees, covering her death-white face with her trembling hands.

"It remains with you to deny or affirm our accusation," went on the girl, harshly "What have you to say to our charge, Ida May; is it true or false?"

There was no answer, save the heartrending sobs of the girl cowering before them in such abject misery—surely the most pitiful a human heart ever knew.

"You see she can not deny it," cried the ringleader, turning triumphantly to her companions. "I assured you all that I was certain before I advised this step. We may well look upon her with scorn; she is not worthy to breathe the same air with us!"

Ida May rose slowly to her feet.