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THE SPINNER WHO WAS LOST: A STORY:
BY CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
r--HE factory bells of the city were rin n.  the nin ht in
as the girl left the street and climbe4d -te five tights
of dusky, dirty tenement stairs, and then stopped at
the last landing. Up from below came the brawl
of the highway and from a lower tenement rose the
sound of a woman screaming, but the girl stood, un-
             heeding, and hesitating a moment. Then she opened
the door and crossed the threshold.
   The pile of mattresses had been removed from its p lace in the
corner where through the day its heights were covered iy a scarlet
Tuscan blanket. Now the mattresses were spread upon the floor,
and each bore a small tangle-haired head. Here was Maddalena
of four, tightly clutching Carmellita, the cat. Her heavy curls lay
in sweet disorder on the dingy coat of Carmellita whose fight for a
living under the push carts of Halstead Street was a weary one, and
allowed no time for ablutions on her return in the evening. But
Carmellita was purring with all the ardor of Sicily, and Maddalena's
deep breathing kept time to the tune. Here also was Tomasso, one
bare, brown leg stretching its fat length from under the sheet. Here
lay little Francesca whose brown eyes had opened their deeps in
the city so many leagues away from the old country. While from the
other room came the labored snoring of the boarder who had a night
job in the "yards" and who must soon be wakened to have his supper
and fare forth.
   There was a Carlo Dolce print hung over the mantel. It was one
of his madonnas, but it stared stupidly from its background of red-
flowered American wall-paper at the corner where a woman stood
solemnly stirring a pot of spaghetti, and slicing in garlic, thickly,
as she stirred.
   The Irl moved toward the stove, and then turned with the least
flush on Ter olive cheeks, as if the smell of the cooking sickened her.
   The woman had seen her. She, too, turned and a smile lighted
her stolid brown face.
   "Ecco!" she cried as she held up a dripping length of spaghetti
on the end of a fork.
   "So late home, Angelica, carissima ? The supper is nearly
cooked. Will you eat?"
   "I don't care; I ain't very hungry." The girl looked singularly
slight and little as she dropped into a chair and pulled at the long
brown braids which crowned her head and fell in thick lengths below
her waist. Then she jumped up nervously, and began fumbling
in her dress.
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