“Yes, I will,” replied Ellen.  She looked at her mother pitifully, and yet with that firmness which had seemed to suddenly develop in her.  “You know it is the best thing for me to do, mother?” she said, and although she put it in the form of a question, the statement was commanding in its assertiveness.

“When are you—­goin’ to work?” asked Fanny.

“Next Monday,” replied Ellen.

Chapter XXXV

When Ellen had gone to the factory to apply for work neither of the Lloyds were in the office, only a girl at the desk, whom she knew slightly.  Ellen had hesitated a little as she approached the girl, who looked around with a friendly smile.

“I want to see—­” Ellen began, then she stopped, for she did not exactly know for whom she should ask.  The girl, who was blond and trim, clad coquettishly in a blue shirt-waist and a duck skirt, with a large, cheap rhinestone pin confining the loop of her yellow braids, looked at her in some bewilderment.  She had heard of Ellen’s good-fortune, and knew she was to be sent to Vassar by Cynthia Lennox.  She did not dream that she had come to ask for employment.

“You want to see Mr. Lloyd?” she asked.

“Oh no!” replied Ellen.

“Mr. Robert Lloyd?” The girl, whose name was Nellie Stone, laughed a little meaningly as she said that.

Ellen blushed.  “No,” she said.  “I think I want to see the foreman.”

“Which foreman?”

“I don’t know,” replied Ellen.  “I want to get work if I can.  I don’t know which foreman I ought to see.”

“To get work?” repeated the girl, with a subtle change in her manner.

“Yes,” said Ellen.  She could hear her heart beat, but she looked at the other girl’s pretty, common face with the most perfect calmness.

“Mr. Flynn is the one you want to see, then,” said the girl.  “You know Ed Flynn, don’t you?”

“A little,” replied Ellen.  He had been a big boy when she entered the high-school, and had left the next spring.

“Well, he’s the one you want,” said Nellie Stone.  Then she raised her voice to a shrill peal as a boy passed the office door.

“Here, you, Jack,” said she, “ask Mr. Flynn to come here a minute, will you?”

“He don’t want to see you,” replied the boy, who was small and spare, laden heavily with a great roll of wrapping paper borne bayonet fashion over his shoulder.  His round, impish face grinned back at the girl at the desk.

“Quit your impudence,” she returned, half laughing herself.  “I don’t want to see him; it is this young lady here; hurry up.”

The boy gave a comprehensive glance at Ellen.  “Guess he’ll come,” he called back.