Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman

Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman

Summary

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Portion of Labor

Andrew shuddered, thinking that he detected in her cries a resemblance to her sister's ravings. “Don't, don't, Fanny,” he pleaded. “Don't, poor girl.” He put his arm around her, and she wept on his shoulder, but with less abandon. “After all, we've got each other, and we've got Ellen, haven't we, Andrew?” she sobbed.
“Yes, thank God,” said Andrew. “Don't, Fanny.”
“That—that's more than money, more than all the wages for all the labor in the world, and that we've got, haven't we, Andrew? We've got what comes to us direct from God, haven't we? Don't think I'm silly, Andrew—haven't we?”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Portion of Labor

Had she nursed one child like Ellen to womanhood, and tasted the bitter in the cup, she would not have been capable of that look, and would have been as old as her years. She threw off her cloak and took off her bonnet, and the light struck her hair and made it look like silver. A brooch in the laces at her throat shone with a thousand hues, and as Ellen gazed at it she felt curiously dull and dizzy. She did not resist at all when the lady removed her little white shawl, but stared at her with the look of some small and helpless thing in too large a grasp of destiny to admit of a struggle.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Portion of Labor

Men seemed to come to Andrew Brewster's for the sake of bolstering themselves up in their hard position of defiance against tremendous odds, though he sat by and seldom said a word. As for Ellen, she and her mother on these occasions sat out in the kitchen, sewing on the endless seams of the endless wrappers. Sometimes it seemed to the girl as if wrappers enough were being made to clothe not only the present, but future generations of poor women. She seemed to see whole armies of hopeless, overburdened women, all arrayed in these slouching garments, crowding the foreground of the world.
Source: Gutenberg

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