"You might just as
well come off them high stilts an' stop puttin' on airs, Dan Lewis has
been up to Clarke's goin' on four years now. I hear they're pushin' him
right along."
Nance stopped drumming on the window-pane and became suddenly interested.
The one thing that had reconciled her to leaving Miss Stanley and the
girls at the home was the possibility of seeing Dan again. She wondered
what he looked like after these four years, whether he would recognize
her, whether he had a sweetheart? She had been home three days now and
had caught no glimpse of him.
"We never see nothin' of him," her stepmother told her. "He's took up
with the Methodists, an' runs around to meetin's an' things with that
there Mis' Purdy."
"Don't he live over Slap Jack's?" asked Nance.
"Yes; he's got his room there still. I hear his ma died las' spring.
Flirtin' with the angels by now, I reckon."
The prospect of seeing Dan cheered Nance amazingly. She spent the morning
washing and ironing her best shirt-waist and turning the ribbon on her
tam-o'-shanter. Every detail of her toilet received scrupulous attention.
It was raining dismally when she and Mrs. Snawdor picked their way across
the factory yard that afternoon. The conglomerate mass of buildings known
as "Clarke's" loomed somberly against the dull sky. Beside the low
central building a huge gas-pipe towered, and the water, trickling down
it, made a puddle through which they had to wade to reach the door of the
furnace room.
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