Sybil, or The Two Nations. Benjamin Disraeli

Madam Carey, what has Dandy Mick done to thee?" said a good-humoured voice, it came from one of two factory girls who were passing her stall and stopped. They were gaily dressed, a light handkerchief tied under the chin, their hair scrupulously arranged; they wore coral neck-laces and earrings of gold.

      "Ah! is it you, my child," said the widow, who was a good-hearted creature. "The dandy has been giving me some of his imperence."

      "But I meant nothing, dame," said Mick. "It was a joke—only a joke."

      "Well, let it pass," said Mrs. Carey. "And where have you been this long time, my child; and who's your friend?" she added in a lower tone.

      "Well, I have left Mr. Trafford's mill," said the girl.

      "That's a bad job," said Mrs. Carey; "for those Traffords are kind to their people. It's a great thing for a young person to be in their mill."

      "So it is," said the girl, "but then it was so dull. I can't stand a country life, Mrs. Carey. I must have company."

      "Well, I do love a bit of gossip myself," said Mrs. Carey, with great frankness.

      "And then I'm no scholar," said the girl, "and never could take to learning. And those Traffords had so many schools."

      "Learning is better than house and land," said Mrs. Carey; "though I'm no scholar myself; but then, in my time, things was different. But young persons—"

      "Yes," said Mick; "I don't think I could get through the day, if it wurno' for our Institute."

      "And what's that?" asked Mrs. Carey with a sneer.

      "The Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific, to be sure," said Mick; "we have got fifty members, and take in three London papers; one 'Northern Star' and two 'Moral Worlds.'"

      "And where are you now, child?" continued the widow to the girl.

      "I am at Wiggins and Webster's," said the girl; "and this is my partner. We keep house together; we have a very nice room in Arbour Court, No. 7, high up; it's very airy. If you will take a dish of tea with us to-morrow, we expect some friends."

      "I take it kindly," said Mrs. Carey; "and so you keep house together! All the children keep house in these days. Times is changed indeed!"

      "And we shall be happy to see you, Mick; and Julia, if you are not engaged;" continued the girl; and she looked at her friend, a pretty demure girl, who immediately said, but in a somewhat faultering tone, "Oh! that we shall."

      "And what are you going to do now, Caroline?" said Mick.

      "Well, we had no thoughts; but I said to Harriet, as it is a fine night, let us walk about as long as we can and then to-morrow we will lie in bed till afternoon."

      "That's all well eno' in winter time with plenty of baccy," said Mick, "but at this season of the year I must have life. The moment I came out I bathed in the river, and then went home and dressed," he added in a satisfied tone; "and now I am going to the Temple. I'll tell you what, Julia has been pricked to-day with a shuttle, 'tis not much, but she can't go out; I'll stand treat, and take you and your friend to the Temple."

      "Well, that's delight," said Caroline. "There's no one does the handsome thing like you, Dandy Mick, and I always say so. Oh! I love the Temple! 'Tis so genteel! I was speaking of it to Harriet last night; she never was there. I proposed to go with her—but two girls alone—you understand me. One does not like to be seen in these places, as if one kept no company."

      "Very true," said Mick; "and now we'll be off. Good night, widow."

      "You'll remember us to-morrow evening," said Caroline. "To-morrow evening! The Temple!" murmured Mrs. Carey to herself. "I think the world is turned upside downwards in these parts. A brat like Mick Radley to live in a two pair, with a wife and family, or as good as he says; and this girl asks me to take a dish of tea with her and keeps house! Fathers and mothers goes for nothing," continued Mrs. Carey, as she took a very long pinch of snuff and deeply mused. "'tis the children gets the wages," she added after a profound pause, "and there it is."