MOTHER BAUMERT
[_Speaking in a complaining, tearful voice._] Not a thing c'n I do for
myself. It's far worse than bein' ill. For it's not only a burden to
myself I am, but to every one else. Often and often do I pray to God to
take me. For oh! mine's a weary life. I don't know ... p'r'aps they think
... but I'm one that's been a hard worker all my days. An' I've always
been able to do my turn too; but now, all at once, [_she vainly attempts
to rise_] I can't do nothin'.--I've a good husband an' good children, but
to have to sit here and see them...! Look at the girls! There's hardly
any blood left in them--faces the colour of a sheet. But on they must
work at these weary looms whether they earn enough to keep theirselves or
not. What sort o' life is it they lead? Their feet never off the treadle
from year's end to year's end. An' with it all they can't scrape together
as much as'll buy them clothes that they can let theirselves be seen in;
never a step can they go to church, to hear a word o' comfort. They're
liker scarecrows than young girls of fifteen and twenty.
BERTHA
[_At the stove._] It's beginnin' to smoke again!
OLD BAUMERT
There now; look at that smoke.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224