"Twenty," I hazard as a safe medium.

"Fourteen," she laughs. "I don't like it at home, the kids bother me so.
Mamma's people are well-to-do. I'm working for my own pleasure."

"Indeed, I wish I was," says a new girl with a red waist. "We three
girls supports mamma and runs the house. We have $13 rent to pay and a
load of coal every month and groceries. It's no joke, I can tell you."

The whistle blows; I go back to my monotonous task. The old aches begin
again, first gently, then more and more sharply. The work itself is
growing more mechanical. I can watch the girls around me. What is it
that determines superiority in this class? Why was the girl filling
pickle jars put on piece-work after three weeks, when others older than
she are doing day-work at fifty and sixty cents after a year in the
factory? What quality decides that four shall direct four hundred?
Intelligence I put first; intelligence of any kind, from the natural
penetration that needs no teaching to the common sense that every one
relies upon. Judgment is not far behind in the list, and it is soon
matured by experience. A strong will and a moral steadiness stand
guardians over the other two. The little pickle girl is winning in the
race by her intelligence. The forewomen have all four qualities,
sometimes one, sometimes another predominating. Pretty Clara is smarter
than Lottie. Lottie is more steady. Old Mrs. Minns' will has kept her at
it until her judgment has become infallible and can command a good
price. Annie is an evenly balanced mixture of all, and the five hundred
who are working under the five lack these qualities somewhat, totally,
or have them in useless proportions.

Monday is a hard day. There is more complaining, more shirking, more