The tip of her nose was very cold, but the rest of her was
surprisingly warm, and the fresh air tasted good in her mouth. It was
appallingly still and strange, and she lay down and listened for the
sounds that did not come.
There were no factory whistles, no clanging of car bells, no lumbering of
heavy wagons. Instead of the blank wall of a warehouse upon which she was
used to opening her eyes, there were miles and miles of dim white fields.
Presently a wonderful thing happened. Something was on fire out there at
the edge of the world--something big and round and red. Nance held her
breath and for the first time in her eleven years saw the sun rise.
When getting-up time came, she went with eighteen other girls into a big,
warm dressing-room.
"This is your locker," said the girl in charge.
"My whut?" asked Nance.
"Your locker, where you put your clothes."
Nance had no clothes except the ones she was about to put on, but the
prospect of being the sole possessor of one of those little closets
brought her the first gleam of consolation.
The next followed swiftly. The owner of the adjoining locker proved to be
no other than Birdie Smelts. Whatever fear Nance had of Birdie's
resenting the part she had played in landing Mr. Smelts in the city
hospital was promptly banished.
"You can't tell me nothing about paw," Birdie said at the end of Nance's
recital. "I only wish it was his neck instead of his leg that was broke."
"But we never aimed to hurt him," explained Nance, to whom the accident
still loomed as a frightful nightmare.
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