Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. Ellen Wood

her home and her family. Her young children drag themselves up in her absence, for worse or for better; alone they must do it, for she has to be away, toiling for daily bread. There is no home privacy, no home comfort, no home happiness; the factory is their life, and other interests give way to it. But with glove-making the case was different. Whilst the husbands were at the manufactories pursuing their day's work, the wives and elder daughters were earning money easily and pleasantly at home. The work was clean and profitable; all that was necessary for its accomplishment being common skill as a seamstress.

      Not five minutes' walk from Mrs. Halliburton's house, and nearer to Helstonleigh, a turning out of the main road led you to quite a colony of workwomen—gloveresses, as they were termed in the local phraseology. It was a long, wide lane; the houses, some larger, some smaller, built on either side of it. A road quite wide enough for health if the inhabitants had only kept it as it ought to have been kept: but they did not do so. The highway was made a common receptacle for refuse. It was so much easier to open the kitchen door (most of the houses were entered at once by the kitchen), and to "chuck" things out, pêle-mêle, rather than be at the trouble of conveying them to the proper receptacle, the dust-bin at the back. Occasionally a solitary policeman would come, picking his way through the dirt and dust, and order it to be removed; upon which some slight improvement would be visible for a day or two. The name of this charming place was Honey Fair; though, in truth, it was redolent of nothing so pleasant as honey.

      Of the occupants of these houses, the husbands and elder sons were all glove operatives; several of them in the manufactory of Mr. Ashley. The wives sewed the gloves at home. Many a similar colony to Honey Fair was there in Helstonleigh, but in hearing of one you hear of all. The trade was extensively pursued. A very few of the manufactories were of the extent that was Mr. Ashley's; and they gradually descended in size, until some comprised not half a score workmen, all told; but whose masters alike dignified themselves by the title of "manufacturer."

      There flourished a shop in the general line in Honey Fair kept by a Mrs. Buffle, a great gossip. Her husband, a well-meaning, steady little man, mincing in his speech and gait, scrupulously neat and clean in his attire, and thence called "the dandy," was chief workman at one of the smallest of the establishments. He had three men and two boys under him; and so he styled himself the "foreman." No one knew half so much of the affairs of their neighbours as did Mrs. Buffle; no one could tell of the ill-doings and shortcomings of Honey Fair as she could. Many a gloveress girl, running in at dusk for a halfpenny candle, did not receive it until she had first submitted to a lecture from Mrs. Buffle. Not that her custom was all of this ignoble description: some of the gentlemen's houses in the neighbourhood would deal with her in a chance way, when out of articles at home. Her wares were good; her home-cured bacon was particularly good. Amidst other olfactory treats indigenous to Honey Fair was that of pigs and pig-sties, kept by Mrs. Buffle.

      Occasionally Mrs. Halliburton would go to this shop; it was nearer to her house than any other; and, in her small way, had been extensively patronised by her. Of all her customers, Mrs. Halliburton was the one who most puzzled Mrs. Buffle. In the first place, she never gossiped; in the second, though evidently a lady, she would carry her purchases home herself. The very servants from the very large houses, coming flaunting in their smart caps, would loftily order their pound of bacon or shillingsworth of eggs sent home for them. Mrs. Halliburton took hers away in her own hand; and this puzzled Mrs. Buffle. "But her pays ready money," observed that lady, when relating this to another customer, "so 'tain't my place to grumble."

      During the summer weather, whenever Jane had occasion to walk through Honey Fair, on her way to this shop, she would linger to admire the women at their open doors and windows, busy over their nice clean work. Rocking the cradle with one foot, or jogging the baby on their knees, to a tune of their own composing, their hands would be ever active at their employment. Some made the gloves; that is, seamed the fingers together and put in the thumbs, and these were called "makers." Some welted, or hemmed the gloves round at the edge of the wrist; these were called "welters." Some worked the three ornamental lines on the back; and these were called "pointers." Some of the work was done in what was called a patent machine, whereby the stitches were rendered perfectly equal. And some of the stouter gloves were stitched together, instead of being sewn: stitching so beautifully regular and neat, that a stranger would look at it in admiration. In short, there were different branches in the making and sewing of gloves, as there are in most trades.

      It now struck Jane that she might find employment at this work until better times should come round. True, she had never worked at it; but she was expert with her needle, and it was easily acquired. She possessed a dry, cool hand, too; a great thing where sewing-silk, sometimes floss silk, has to be used. What cared she for lowering herself to the employment only dealt out to the poor? Was she not poor herself? And who knew her in Helstonleigh?

      The day that Mr. Ashley removed the dreaded visitor from her house, Jane had occasion to speak to Elizabeth Carter, her young servant's mother. At dusk, putting aside the frock she was making for Anna, Jane proceeded to Honey Fair, in which perfumed locality Mrs. Carter lived. An agreement had been entered into that Betsy should still go to Mrs. Halliburton's to do the washing (after her own fashion, but Jane could not afford to be fastidious now), and also what was wanted in the way of scouring—Betsy being paid a trifle in return, and instructed in the mysteries of reading and writing.

      "'Taint no profit," observed Mrs. Carter to a crony, "but 'taint no loss. Her won't do nothing at home, let me cry after her as I will. Out her goes, gampusing to this house, gampusing to that; but not a bit of work'll her stick to at home. If these new folks can keep her to work a bit, so much the better; it'll be getting her hand in; and better still, if they teaches her to read and write. Her wouldn't learn nothing from the school-missis."

      Not a very favourable description of Miss Betsy. But, what the girl chiefly wanted was a firm hand over her. Her temper and disposition were good; but she was an only child, and her mother, though possessing a firm hand, and a firm tongue, too, in general—none more so in Honey Fair—had spoilt and indulged Miss Betsy until her authority was gone.

      After her business was over this evening with Mrs. Carter, Jane, who wanted some darning cotton, turned into Mrs. Buffle's shop. That priestess was in her accustomed place behind the counter. She curtseyed twice, and spoke in a low, subdued tone, in deference to the widow's cap and bonnet—to the deep mourning altogether, which Mrs. Buffle's curiosity had not had the gratification of beholding before.

      "Would you like it fine or coarse, mum? Here's both. 'Taint a great assortment, but it's the best quality. I don't have much call for darning cotton, mum; the folks round about is always at their gloving work."

      "But they must mend their stockings," observed Jane.

      "Not they," returned Mrs. Buffle. "They'd go in naked heels, mum, afore they'd take a needle and darn 'em up. They have took to wear them untidy boots to cover the holes, and away they go with 'em unlaced; tongue hanging, and tag trailing half a mile behind 'em. Great big slatterns, they be!"

      "They seem always at work," remarked Jane.

      "Always at work!" repeated Mrs. Buffle. "You don't know much of 'em, mum, or you'd not say it. They'll play one day, and work the next; that's their work. It's only a few of the steady ones that'll work regular, all the week through."

      "What could a good, steady workwoman earn a week at the glove-making?"

      "That depends, mum, upon how close she stuck to it," responded Mrs. Buffle.

      "I mean, sitting closely."

      "Oh, well," debated Mrs. Buffle carelessly, "she might earn ten shillings a week, and do it comfortable."

      Ten shillings a week! Jane's heart beat hopefully. Upon ten shillings a week she might manage to exist, to keep her children from starvation, until better days arose. She, impelled by necessity, could sit longer and closer, too, than perhaps those women did. Mrs. Buffle continued, full of inward gratulation that her silent customer had come round to gossip at last.

      "They be the improvidentest things in the world, mum, these gloveress girls. Sundays they be dressed up as grand as queens, flowers inside their bonnets, and ribbuns out, a-setting the churches and chapels