sleep. She drew a shawl about her shoulders, and on her head put a dingy
hat, shapeless and ancient.

"We've got to run," she said, turning the wick of the lamp and blowing down
the chimney.

They groped their way out and down the stairs. It was clear and cold, and
Johnny shivered at the first contact with the outside air. The stars had
not yet begun to pale in the sky, and the city lay in blackness. Both
Johnny and his mother shuffled their feet as they walked. There was no
ambition in the leg muscles to swing the feet clear of the ground.

After fifteen silent minutes, his mother turned off to the right.

"Don't be late," was her final warning from out of the dark that was
swallowing her up.

He made no response, steadily keeping on his way. In the factory quarter,
doors were opening everywhere, and he was soon one of a multitude that
pressed onward through the dark. As he entered the factory gate the
whistle blew again. He glanced at the east. Across a ragged sky-line of
housetops a pale light was beginning to creep. This much he saw of the day
as he turned his back upon it and joined his work gang.

He took his place in one of many long rows of machines. Before him, above
a bin filled with small bobbins, were large bobbins revolving rapidly.
Upon these he wound the jute-twine of the small bobbins. The work was
simple. All that was required was celerity. The small bobbins were
emptied so rapidly, and there were so many large bobbins that did the
emptying, that there were no idle moments.