“And how many looms are you tending at this time?”

“Four, sir.”

“I see. And your wages? On the average?”

“I make a good wage, sir. Lately it’s been three dollars above my board.”

“Are you satisfied with these wages, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see. And the hours?”

“I’m used to long hours. I manage.”

“I see. And none of this …” He waved a massive hand. “None of this ten-hour business, eh?”

“I never signed a petition.” I meant to, but no need for you to know it.

There was a long pause during which the agent took off his spectacles as though to see her better. “So,” he said finally, “you are not one of these female reform girls?”

“No sir.”

“I see,” he said, replacing his spectacles and looking quite as though he saw much less than he had a few minutes before. “I see.”

She took a tiny step forward. “May I ask, sir, why I’m being called a troublemaker?” She spoke very softly, but the agent heard her.

“Yes, well—”

“Maybe …” Her heart thumped in admiration for her own boldness. “Maybe Mr. Marsden could be called, sir? How is it, exactly, that I have displeased him?” Her voice went up to soften the request into a question.

“Yes, well …” He hesitated. “Open the door.” And when Lyddie obeyed, he called to the clerk to summon Mr. Marsden, then turned again to Lyddie. “You may sit down, Miss Worthen,” he said, and went back to the papers on his desk.

Though the chair he indicated was narrow and straight, she was grateful to sit down at last. The spurt of courage had exhausted her as much as her fear had earlier. She was glad, too, to have time to pull her rioting thoughts together. But the longer she waited, the greater the tumult inside her. So that when the clerk opened the door and Mr. Marsden appeared, she could only just keep from jumping up and crying out. She pressed her back into the spindles of the chair until she could almost feel the print of the wood through to her chest. She kept her eyes on the dizzying oval spiral of the rug.

There was a clearing of the throat and then, “You sent for me, sir?” Lyddie nearly laughed aloud. Her exact words, not ten minutes before.

The superintendent turned in his chair, but again he did not stand or offer the visitor a chair. “Miss Worthen here asks to know the charges against her.”

Mr. Marsden coughed. Lyddie looked up despite herself. At her glance the overseer blinked quickly, then composed himself, his lids hooding his little dark eyes, his rosebud mouth tightening to a slit. “This one is a troublemaker,” he said evenly.

She leapt to her feet. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “A troublemaker? Then what be you, Mr. Marsden? What be you, ey?”