Soon there was little time to wonder and daydream. She had done so well on her two, then three, machines that Mr. Marsden gave her a fourth loom to tend. Now she hardly noticed people anymore. At mealtimes the noise and complaints and banter of the other girls were like the commotion of a distant parade. She paid no attention that the food was not as bountiful as it had once been. There was still more than she could eat. Nor did she notice that the taste of the meat was a bit off or the potatoes moldy. She ate the food set before her steadily, with no attempt to bolt as much as possible in the short time allotted. When the bell rang, it didn’t matter what was left untasted, she simply pushed back from the table and went back to her bears.

She was too tired now at night to copy out a page of Oliver to paste to her loom. It hardly mattered. When would she have had time to study it? After supper she stumbled upstairs, hardly taking time to wash, changed to her shift, and fell into bed.

Though Amelia cajoled and Mrs. Bedlow made announcements at mealtime, Lyddie did not attempt to go to church. Her body wouldn’t have cooperated even if she’d had the desire to go. She slept out Sunday mornings and forced herself up for dinner, which she ate, as she ate all her meals now, automatically and without conversation. She was as likely to nap again in the afternoon as not.

“It’s like being a racehorse,” Betsy was saying. “The harder we work, the bigger prize they get.”

Amelia murmured something in reply, which Lyddie was too near sleep to make out.

“I’ve made up my mind to sign the next petition.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I just?” Betsy laughed. “The golden lad finishes Harvard this spring. His fees are paid up, and I’ve got nearly the money I need now. My Latin is done. So as soon as I complete my botany course, I’ll be ready to leave this insane asylum.”

Even Lyddie’s sleep-drugged mind could feel a twinge. She did not want Betsy to go.

“It would be grand—going out with the bang of a dishonorable dismissal.”

“But where would you go? You’ve always said you could never settle in Maine.”

“Not to Maine, Amelia. To Ohio. I’m aiming to go to college.”

“To college?”

“Do I surprise you, Amelia? Betsy, in public the devourer of novels, in secret a woman of great ambition?”

“College. I wouldn’t have imagined—”

“If they dismiss me, I’d have to stop stalling and blathering and get myself to Oberlin College and a new life.” By now, Lyddie was propped up on her elbow listening, torn between pride for Betsy and horror at what she was proposing. “So, you’re awake after all, our sleeping beauty.”