"That, at the beginning, would be not more than two dollars a week, and probably less. It would be fatiguing, constant standing in attending to your 'jenny.' I really think that you would better abandon the idea at once. Try to think of something nearer what you have known." Yet he saw the deepening distress in her face and it grieved him. He was bound, in all honesty to her, to set the dark side of things before her, and he waited for her decision with some curiosity. "If you'll let me try, I would like to do so." CHAPTER XVI. AMY BEGINS TO SPIN. "Well, deary, it's time. Oh, me fathers, to think it! Wake up, Amy, me colleen, me own precious lamb." Six o'clock of a gray November morning is not an inspiriting hour to begin any undertaking. Amy turned in her comfortable bed, rubbed her eyes, saw Cleena standing near with a lighted candle in her hand, and inquired, drowsily:-- "Why--what's happened? Why will you get up in the middle of the night? Don't bother me--yet." "Faith, an' I won't. Upon honor it's wrong, it's all wrong. What'll your guardian angel think of old Cleena to be leavin' you do it! Body an' bones, I'll do naught to further the business--not I!" The woman's voice was tremulous with indignation or grief, and all at once Amy remembered. Then she sprang from her cosy nest, wide-awake and full of courage. "Hush, dear old Goodsoul, I forgot. I forgot, entirely. I was dreaming of Fairacres. It was a beautiful dream. The old house was full of little children and young girls. They were singing and laughing and moving about everywhere. I can hardly believe it wasn't real; but, I'm all right now. I'll be down stairs in a few minutes. Don't wake anybody else, for there's no need. Is it six o'clock already? It might be midnight or--any time. Why, what's this?" "A frock I've made for you, child." "_You_ made a frock for me? Why, Cleena!" "Sure, it's not so handy with the needle as the broom me fingers is. But what for no? Them pretty white ones will never do for the nasty old mill. This didn't need so much. The body'll about fit, thinks I, if I sew it fast in the front an' split it behind. The skirt's not so very long. She was a mite of a woman, God rest her. Well, I'll go an' see the milk doesn't boil over, an' be back in a jiffy to fasten it for you. Ah, me lamb! Troth, a spirit's brave like your own will be prospered, I know."