The Factory Girl.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 915, 13 September 1889, Page 4

The Factory Girl.

Time. Her name is Kate O Connor. She is sixteen, but she looks twenty. She is stout and of thick build,abut she is almost covered by an enormous white apron - of unbleached calico, below which hang forlornly the rags of a bright purple merino patched with brown. She wears a drab shawl pinned across her chest by a huge brass brooch in the shape of an anchor, which was presented to her by her last sweetheart, a sailor from the docks, who has also tattooed a blue heart upon her arm ; it ia visible above her sleeve, which ia turned up for work. It is true that her left shoulder has grown out terribly, but that is only because she is obliged to st' op so much iu the factory over her sweet-making, and there seems no reason why it should not go on growing worse, as she cannot leave off her trade. She wears a long, oily, brown fringe (completely co vering her forehead and reaching down to her nose), and, at the back of her head, a monstrous black velvet hat, frayed at tha edges, and trimmed with a draggled arsenic feather and gilt beetles with pink glass eyes. From beneath her fringe peer forth two large gray eyes, usually heavy and dulled by grinding routine, but ready to twinkle, all alive for fun, on the slightest provocation. Strong even teeth, full lips, square, short hands, and arms akimbo, complete the outer woman. * Bless yer, mi pet,’ her effusive mamma is wont to exclaim to the casual observer, ‘its huge she is of her age, a’n’i she ? and a strong gal as you’d take Katie for ; but she a’n’t, by a long way, ml darlint; it’s that sugar as does it; it a’n’t over fustrate, and the bits of it gets into their lungs quite orful; Katie’s own mother (I’m only her stepmother, but acts as if her own), she died of the Consumptives, and I'm always expectin’ Katie to go off into a decline ; it’s the big as allays goes fust,’ she concludes cheerfully. Perhaps she is right, and you would not think Kate weak unless you looked very close at her face ; then you would see that her cheeks were gray-white, and that there were deep black marks round her eyes. But how can that be helped if pink and green and yellow sweets must be had at a penny the ounce ? Katie does not see how ; it is all in the day’s work. Oh yes ! she has plenty of nourishment; bread and tea in the morniDg, and . the same at supper, and when father’s in work and don’t want no tin, a snack of something nice, fried shad or sausage, in the dinner-hour. ‘No, usual she don’t want no dinner; she don’t ’ave much reg’lar appytite, so at other times she often goes without anythink or takes a piece of bread and drippin’.’ How long does she work ? ‘ Oh, ten hours as a rule, and over hours if she wants a extra copper or so. One bob a day is regulation pay.’ In the winter she was in the * ’Ospital ’ with her heart, but that was because she danced too much on Boxing Day. It is quite a mistake to imagine that because Bhe lives amidst misery, disease, starvation, and unceasing toil, she leads a gloomy or envious existence. Not she ! She takes pleasure in the smallest, commonest things, such as would be plagues or nothings to more refined folk, A barrel-

organ in the street upsets her completely with delight, and sets her off waltzing at once on the pavement easily and gracefully, by hereelf or with her companion ; a bright flower for her buttonhole entrances her, and the slightest joke produces incessant fits of the giggles. In fact, if there is one thing she loves it is fun, and as she can’t often got it nicely; she takes it as she finds it, often hideoualy : have it she must at any price, and her laugh rings true, even though it is loud and coarse. Her bouudless spirits upholds her and her family (with whom she is always quarreliiug) through countless crises of debt, distress, brokers in the house, and consequent secret * flittings and if they sometimes lead her into mischief, they also prevent her from despair ; still less does she suffer from the morbid whims and broodings of her more educated contemporaries. She has a new sweetheart every mouth, and they walk arm-iu-arm down the Mile End Road, which is the fashionable pro. menade, every Sunday, when she appears in an ultra-modish costume, with a dress improver like an exaggerated promontory, a magenta velveteen dress, bought socoiid or third-hand; and any amount of lockets, chains, earrings, and gewgaws hanging about her person. At the end of the month she breaks iff with her Edwiu, who is usually coo nee ed with the ocean, chooses another; each, in turn, presents her with the expected gifts—the brooch and earrings, which are de rigueur, and the glass case from Brazil, with ‘For my darling’ find a heart underneath, wrought in many-coloured shells. Her Sabbath apparel, together with the heavy bad scent set apart by her for that day, absorb three-quarters of her mouey, which she likes to spend en sweetmeats and finery ; and the fraction of her earniisgs exacted by her parents, though willingly given in times of distress or on occasions of her own choosing, is grumbled at when demanded in more prosperous days. However, she likes being generous, and * standing treats ’ or making presents, and she is proud of making free of her money. Whatever she has, she spends at once, and her passion for bright things makes her an ardent devotee of shops and booths. Every year she goes hopping, and comes back looking, if possible, rowdier than ever, but also bronzed and stronger ; however, the factory soon marks her as its own again. She decidedly prefers town, and is wont to remark that ‘ Tha country’s all very well in company, but take it all in all it’s a deadly-cum-lively place.’ She feels the same about service, and having once been sent to a situation by philanthropic ladies, ran away on the third day, and walked all the way from Richmond to Wapping, because she * could not live without the stalls in the streets and the blokes wot sell there,’ and didn’t ‘ nowise like settling ; and besides she wanted her evenings she did, and wasn’t again’ to be lorded over by. no mistresses, not she,’ with a toss of her head. Her affeo. tions are strong and huffy, but to anyone who has shown her kindness, she gives a faithful, if quarrelsome, devotion so long as she is not preached at. She is a Roman Catholic by creed, and always has been, as she triumphantly remarks, but Freedom is Kate O’Connor’s Religion, and will be to the end of the chapter.