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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
148
My
grandfather
came
to
see
my
mother
once
at
about
this
time
and
visited
the
mills.
When
he
had
entered
our
room,
and
looked
around
for
a
moment,
he
took
off
his
hat
and
made
a
low
bow
to
the
girls,
first
toward
the
right,
and
then
toward
the
left.
We
were
familiar
with
his
courteous
habits,
partly
due
to
his
French
descent;
but
we
had
never
seen
anybody
bow
to
a
room
full
of
mill
girls
in
that
polite
way,
and
some
one
of
the
family
afterwards
asked
him
why
he
did
so.
He
looked
a
little
surprised
at
the
question,
but
answered
promptly
and
with
dignity,
"I
always
take
off
my
hat
to
ladies."
His
courtesy
was
genuine.
Still,
we
did
not
call
ourselves
ladies.
We
did
not
forget
that
we
were
working-girls,
wearing
coarse
aprons
suitable
to
our
work,
and
that
there
was
some
danger
of
our
becoming
drudges.
I
know
that
sometimes
the
confinement
of
the
mill
became
very
wearisome
to
me.
In
the
sweet
June
weather
I
would
lean
far
out
of
the
window,
and
try
not
to
hear
the
unceasing
clash
of
sound
inside.
Looking
away
to
the
hills,
my
whole
stifled
being
would
cry
out
"Oh,
that
I
had
wings!"
Still
I
was
there
from
choice,
and
"The
prison
unto
which
we
doom
ourselves,
No
prison
is."
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