It is the old widow machinist that talks to us, but she keeps on working. Her machine whirrs and creaks and rattles, for it is an old one, and its vital parts are none too good; and the old woman speaks to it sometimes as if it were a sentient thing, and reproves it when a difficulty arises. In her conversation with us frequent interjections are interposed that sometimes appeared uncomplimentary to us: "Now, stupid!" "Ah! there you are at it again!" But when she explained that she was referring to her machine and not to us, we forgave her.
"I have had this machine for twenty-one years, and it has been a good one. I bought it out of my husband's club and insurance money." "How much did you have altogether?" "Twenty pounds, and I paid for his funeral and bought my mourning and this machine, and it's been a friend to me ever since, so I can't help talking to it; but it wants a new shuttle." "How much will that cost?" "Five shillings!" "Let me buy one for you." "I don't want to part with the old one yet. It will perhaps last my time, for I want a new shuttle, too. We are both nearly worn out;" and the machinist kept on with her work, and the other widow with her finishing, and the aged spinster with her pressing.
Oh, brave old women! We are lost in wonder and veneration. Utilitarians and the apostles of thrift tell us that the poor are demoralized by "charity," and of a surety indiscriminate giving without knowledge and personal service is often ill bestowed. But in the presence of three old women possessed of heroic souls, living as they lived, working as they worked, who cares for utilitarianism or political economy either? A fig for the pair of them!
"But," say our teachers, "you are in reality subsidizing their employers, who exploit them and pay them insufficiently." Another self-appointed teacher says: "Ah! but you are only helping them to pay exorbitant rents; the landlord will profit." Who cares? Others, in very comfortable circumstances, who themselves are by no means averse to receiving gifts, say: "Don't destroy the independence of the poor." Wisdom, prudence, political economy, go, hang yourselves! we cry. Our love is appealed to, our hearts are touched, our veneration is kindled, and we must needs do something, though the landlord may profit, though the employer may be subsidized--nay, though we run the terrible risk of tarnishing the glorious privilege and record of these independent old women--a record nearly completed. Help them we must, and we bid defiance to consequences. So we find the "trolly-man," and three separate bags of good coal are borne into three separate rooms. A whole hundredweight for each woman! Where could they put it all? What an orgie of fire they would have! Would the methodical thrift of the old women give way in the face of such a temptation?