can't lie down. I guess she'd die if she lay down, and she gets so tired
sittin' up all night. She used to be a tailoress, but I guess her job
didn't agree with her."

"How many checks have we got," I ask toward the close of the day.

"Thirteen," Ella answers.

"An unlucky number," I venture, hoping to arouse an opinion.

"Are you superstitious?" she asks, continuing to twist tin caps on the
pickle jars. "I am. If anything's going to happen I can't help having
presentiments, and they come true, too."

Here is a mystic, I thought; so I continued:

"And what about dreams?"

"Oh!" she cried. "Dreams! I have the queerest of anybody!"

I was all attention.

"Why, last night," she drew near to me, and spoke slowly, "I dreamed
that mamma was drunk, and that she was stealing chickens!"

Such is the imagination of this weary worker.

The whole problem in mechanical labour rests upon economy of force. The
purpose of each, I learned by experience, was to accomplish as much as
possible with one single stroke. In this respect the machine is superior