Chapter Decoration
The Bretton family spent the next week collecting and sorting their cocoons into baskets, grouping together as well as they were able those that were to be kept for breeding; those that were soiled or imperfect; and those that were double. They also separated the cocoons that were of different colors, for among the lot were not only white ones but many that were yellow, and even some of a greenish tint. This varied, Josef explained, with the different species of silkworms. Before the silk was reeled off the cocoons would, of course, go through another and more thorough classification under thehands of the experts at the filature, as the reeling factory was called. But even this first rough grouping was a help to the buyers.
In the meantime some of the caterpillars that worked more slowly were still busy with their spinning, and could not be disturbed. Accordingly much care had to be taken in removing the cocoons that were finished. Those in the lower tiers of arches were first taken out, and afterward the ones higher up on the shelves. The sooner the cocoons could be collected, after their completion, Josef said, the better, for within ten days they depreciated from seven to eight per cent., and if sold in bulk, brought a lower price. In consequence the Brettons, who were to sell their crop to a silk merchant who visited the town each year, promptly set about gathering their harvest as soon as possible.
Many of the cocoons were really beautiful, being of a perfect oval outline and of pale golden color.
Marie and Pierre were delighted.
"It is worth all the endless trays of mulberry leaves, isn't it, Mother?" exclaimed Marie. "Why,even Father could raise no finer or larger cocoons, I am sure."
"We have done well," her mother agreed. "But remember, we have had great good luck. No epidemic or disease came to blight the lives of our caterpillars; nor did annoyances of any sort interrupt their spinning. We did our part, certainly; but favorable conditions had much to do with our success."
"I only hope we have kept the right sort of cocoons for breeding," said Josef. "That is all that is troubling me now. Upon our selection will depend the quality of our next season's crop. There are so many things to think of in choosing cocoons for hatching. Not only must they be as perfect as we can get them, but they must have nicely rounded ends and a fine, strong thread. I tried to search out those with the ring-like band round the centre, for I have heard your father say that if we could get those we would be sure of having vigorous silkworms, since only caterpillars of the most powerful constitution make their houses in that way."
"It seems to me we kept out a lot more than we shall need for breeding, Josef," complained Marie.
"We always have to put aside more than we actually require, Marie, because many will fail to hatch successfully and will be a loss," explained Josef. "Usually growers plan to devote about a sixth of their crop to this purpose."
"A sixth! Why, that would cut down our sales dreadfully!" ejaculated the girl.
"Better sell less now and be assured of a plentiful supply of eggs next year," was the dry answer. "Don't you think so?"
Therefore the cocoons for hatching were gathered into one place and after the floss that clung to the outside of them had been removed so that it should not entangle the moth when it came forth from its house, Madame Bretton took a needle and being extremely careful not to pierce the chrysalis inside by putting it through the centre of the cocoons she strung them on strings from three to four feet long and hung them over some wires stretched across the top of the room.
"There!" she said. "Nothing can reach them now. They will be well up out of the way of both mice and chickens, and in a month or two should hatch out all right."
The weather in the meantime had become very hot. The southern sun beat down on Bellerivre, parching its hillsides, and tanning its people to a dusky brown. But the peasants complained not of the high temperature, for was not this torrid sun that burned so fiercely the very factor they were calculating upon to complete for them the final preparation of their cocoons for the market? This consisted in killing the chrysalis, or sleeping worm inside the cocoon, lest it come out and snap the delicate threads that it had spun. In cooler countries the process was accomplished by putting baskets of cocoons covered with paper and wrapped in cloth into ovens about hot enough for the baking of bread. Here they were left an hour or so until all moisture had exuded from them, proving that the worm had been dried up. Sometimes a blast of steam-heat was the method used for the destruction of the chrysalis. Such methodsrequired greatest care, however, lest in employing a degree of heat sufficient to exterminate the worm the silk also be damaged. But in Bellerivre no such artificial means had to be resorted to. Instead the cocoons were spread out beneath the burning rays of the sun and left to bake, being wrapped each night in heavy black cloth that had also absorbed the heat and would retain during the night the high temperature acquired through the day. For three days this process was continued, the cocoons being spread in the sun from dawn until dusk, and then bundled up inside the hot cloth throughout the night.
On the fourth day Josef said:
"Now it is time that we investigated and found out whether the worms are really dead."
He thereupon took a few cocoons and cutting them open proceeded to examine the chrysalis inside. It was motionless and dry. Again he looked at it, this time touching it with the point of a needle. Still it did not move.
"It is quite dead," he remarked. "And the others must be so too. What wonder, when theyhave been so steadily exposed to this broiling sun? I should be dead if I were to lie in it day after day without protection, and so would you. We can now safely gather the lot into baskets and put them away until Monsieur Leclerq, the buyer, comes for them at the end of the week."
So once again the cocoons were collected to await their purchaser, and the silk-raisers sat down with sighs of content to anticipate the payment of the money they had so faithfully earned, and speculate as to what they should do with it.
"I don't believe you are any more glad to rest than your silkworms are!" reflected Josef. "When you consider that each one of them spins between three and four hundred yards of thread you can't blame it for wanting to sleep when its work is done."
"Do they spin as much as that?" gasped Marie.
"Indeed they do—some of them more. Certain of the finest varieties will even turn out as many as six hundred and twenty-five yards. But that is a high figure. They usually average less."
"It is all wonderful, isn't it?" replied MadameBretton. "And to think these tiny creatures are responsible for the silk the whole world uses!"
"I know it," agreed Josef. "Of course there are other spinners in the universe, however. The spider, for example, is a most industrious spinner, and I have read that in the past scientists tried to see if some of the larger spiders could not be utilized for silk-making. The velvety pouch, or bag, was removed and by some skilful process the greyish thread inside it was carded off. But the experiment was unsuccessful, for the silk thus made was far less firm and strong than that which came from the silkworm. After this failure another set of men tried to make silk by using the filament of the pinna."
"What is a pinna, Josef?" questioned Marie.
"The pinna is a variety of shell-fish not unlike the mussel; it fastens itself to the rocks and from between its shells gives out threads something like those of the spider or silkworm. By means of them it spins a tough fibre by which it joins itself to any object to which it wishes to cling."
"And did they succeed in making pinna silk, Josef?" demanded Marie eagerly.
"They certainly did!" nodded Josef. "Along the Mediterranean were several places where they manufactured pinna thread. They even spun some fine, silky fabrics from it. But they never could get enough of the filament to make the industry practical, although in 1754 they did send to Pope Benedict XIV some stockings made from pinna silk. They were spun from very fine thread, and were so closely woven and so hot that I doubt if he cared to wear them unless in cool weather. Since then the weaving of pinna silk has been abandoned, although now and then one sees bits of it in some old fabric, or on exhibition somewhere. It is chiefly regarded as a curiosity."
"What a lot you know, Josef!" murmured Marie, astonished.
Josef laughed.
"I just happened to see that in a book your father gave me," he said. "It interested me because it told of something I wanted to learn about. I don't care for reading as a rule. Most books areabout things I never heard of and are no use to me."
"But don't you like to learn about new things?" inquired Marie.
"Why, no, I don't think I do. What good is it?" interrogated the old servant. "I'm not ever going out of this valley. Why, I'm 'most seventy years old already! It is well enough for you to learn things—you're young. As for me, the learning I have has stood by me up to now, and I guess it will do me the rest of my days."
With a smile on his simple face the venerable man turned away.
Chapter Decoration
The buyer who came to Bellerivre from the Gaspard silk mills was a lively little Frenchman whom Pierre had often seen before.
"So it is you, my young friend, who this year raises the cocoons!" cried the merchant cordially. "Who would have thought it possible? But yesterday you were a baby in your father's arms. And now——" the little man shrugged his shoulders. "Eh bien, le bon chien chasse de race! N'est pas, Madame?"
Madame Bretton smiled.
"The lad is but doing his best to fill his father's place," she answered quietly.
"That is as it should be with all good French boys, too," the merchant assented. "And have you ever visited our silk mills at Pont-de-Saint-Michel? No? Ah, but you should do so. It is only an hour's journey, and if you are to raise silk you must learn all you can about it. If I should give you a letter to our foreman would not Madame, your mother, be willing you should go?"
Pierre glanced up eagerly.
His eyes sparkled.
"Would you, Mother? It would not cost very much, would it?" He turned apologetically to the silk buyer. "You see," he explained, "in these war days we must be very saving, for every franc that we can spare goes to my father and my uncle, who are in the army."
"I know," sighed the agent. "Wherever I go it is the same. All the men are at the front. But the cost of the trip I suggested is very little, and I myself should be glad to——"
"No, Monsieur Leclerq," interrupted Madame Bretton. "I know what you would say, and I thank you; but we are well able to pay Pierre'sexpenses to Saint Michel, since you are so kind as to invite him. I am sure the excursion would more than repay us. It would not be like taking the money for a mere pleasure tour. Pierre shall go. It will be another step toward making a silk merchant of him."
"I wish I could go, too," whispered Marie.
"You are not to be a silk merchant, chérie," answered her mother gently. "We women are the stay-at-homes, who do all we can to help our men forward in their careers; that is our work."
And so the next day Pierre, very happy and important, and with a large box of luncheon under his arm, set out upon the train for the Pont-de-Saint-Michel silk mills. To be going on such a long journey all alone was a novel undertaking for the lad, who seldom left his own green valley. It was almost as wonderful as if he were starting for Marseilles, or indeed Paris itself. The place where he was going did not, however, possess the glamour of either of these great cities. On the contrary it was merely a sort of depot or centre to which all the cocoons bought up in the vicinity were sent tohave the silk reeled from them; there were also at this plant some extensive throwing mills, but no weaving was done there. Instead the thrown silk was sold to the great weaving factories at Lyons, Tours, or other silk-making cities of France; and the raw product was sent to Marseilles, from which market it was either distributed to French mills or shipped to England or the United States for manufacture.
The day was a beautiful one. Massive white clouds hung low over the distant mountains; but the valley was flooded with golden sunshine that illumined it like some vast search-light. The vineyards never looked greener, the hillsides more velvety and cool, or the river more sparkling. Now the train skirted the banks of the stream, now shot past meadows of fertile farming land; or of a sudden it crossed a noisy mountain torrent and crept up the hillside until the vegetation became low and stunted, and the rocky peaks of the Pyrenees seemed but an arm's length away. Then slowly down over a trestle of airily poised bridge-work it descended to the valley again. Was evera journey such a marvel? To the French boy who had seen little of the outside world it was an Arabian Night's dream.
All too soon Saint Michel was reached, and Pierre set out for the silk mills, where he presented the card that Monsieur Leclerq had given him. Then for a few minutes he waited in a small office where the jar of machinery and the whirr of wheels caused a monotonous and unceasing vibration.
Presently a giant foreman with sleeves rolled to the elbow came hurrying out.
He regarded Pierre with surprise.
"They told me that one of our silk-growers wanted to see me," faltered he uncertainly. "There has doubtless been some mistake. You are but a boy."
"I am nevertheless a silk-grower," smiled Pierre modestly. "It is because the men of our household are in the trenches that I——"
Impulsively the foreman thrust out his hand.
"I too have relatives in the battle line," he said. "My brother and cousins are there, and I should be with them now were it not for an ugly woundI got at the Marne. They will not take me back to fight, even though I have begged to go. And so here I am—restless and half angry that I must remain boxed up at Saint Michel and make silk instead of being where the firing is going on. Yet some must stay behind and carry on the country's industries. Perhaps I can still do my bit here. I have tried to be philosophical about it and work as hard as I can, for I feel that those who cannot help in one way can, maybe, help in another."
He glanced at the card Pierre had brought.
"Bretton is your name?"
"Pierre Bretton."
"Monsieur Leclerq says your shipment of cocoons was a good contribution to the prosperity of France."
Pierre flushed.
"I am glad if it seemed so. We must support ourselves—my mother, sister, and I—and not be a burden to the country while my father is away."
"That's the right spirit," answered the foreman heartily. "And so you want to see your silk reeled off—yours, or somebody's else? Well, youshall. I am busy myself and so cannot go with you; but Henri, one of our boys, shall take you with him and tell you all you wish to know. Do not fear to ask questions if you do not understand, for Henri is well able to answer them. He knows everything that anybody can about silk reeling."
As he beckoned to a tall, slender boy who sat at a desk opposite the foreman smiled kindly down at Pierre.
"Henri," he continued when the employee approached, "I want you to show this young silk-raising friend of ours, Monsieur Bretton, how we sort cocoons and reel them off. Tell him everything you can, for he is a grower and has the right to know."
"Mais, oui, avec beaucoup de plaisir," answered the boy. "I will do my best." He bowed to the foreman, who, after shaking Pierre by the hand, turned away. "Now Monsieur Bretton——"
"My name is Pierre. No one ever called me Monsieur Bretton before, and I do not like it," protested Pierre smiling. "I am but a boy likeyourself. Please call me by my first name—if you do not mind."
Henri beamed on him.
"I should like it much better," he replied cordially. "And I am Henri St. Amant. Now it is all understood, is it not? Shall we begin then our journey through the filature? We will go into the sorting rooms first, where the cocoons that are sent to us are classified. Most of them have already been cured, or baked, for the majority of our customers do that for us. When they do not we have to expose the cocoons in our own ovens."
"Don't most of your cocoons come to you sorted?" questioned Pierre.
"Most of them are roughly classified," nodded Henri. "But the grading must be much more finely done. Only experts can sort cocoons thoroughly."
HE LED THE WAY INTO A LONG ROOM
HE LED THE WAY INTO A LONG ROOM
As he spoke he led the way into a long room, where on every hand girls were moving in and out among heaps of cocoons that were either piled high on tables or massed upon squares ofcanvas on the floor. The room and everything in it was spotless.
"We try to keep the cocoons from getting soiled, you see," explained Henri.
"Is the sorting done by girls?" questioned Pierre, astonished.
"Since the war, yes. We have had to train them to take the places of those who have gone to be soldiers. It is not, of course, heavy work, but it requires skill and judgment since the many varieties of cocoons need different treatment. Here, for example, are dupions, or double cocoons, which as you doubtless already know have more floss on the outside than do others, and must be well cleaned before any attempt at reeling can be made. Often they cannot be run off at all because the two caterpillars that worked together to make the single cocoon have intertwined the threads until they break all to bits when we try to separate them. Here is another species of cocoon." Henri pointed to a pile on the next table. "These are of beautiful texture, smooth and satiny. But they must be treated with tepid, not hot, water, as are agood proportion of the others, and the accumulation of gum mixed with the filament must be soaked out with soap-suds. This will give you an idea how many things there are to think of in reeling. Some cocoons give off their silk too easily, and unless put into cool water will snarl; others fail to give off the thread at all and instead must be treated with hot water, which aids in loosening it. Another difficulty we sometimes encounter is that the reelers cannot catch the end of the thread to begin their work; this usually indicates that the water into which the cocoons have been put is too cool. On the other hand if the silk ruffs up and comes off in snarls upon the brush, the matted masses indicate that the water is too hot. All this the reelers must learn by experience, and they must learn it, too, without wasting our silk. Two general laws underlie this feature of silk-reeling: hot water makes the silk run faster, and cold water retards its progress. Your problem is to see which treatment your cocoons require."
"Of course those who sort the cocoons can tell nothing of that," ventured Pierre.
"Oh, no. The sorters simply put into one place those cocoons that are of the same kind. The way the cocoons behave in the water is the business of the reeler. We have tanks or basins of a graduated temperature, and the operators soon learn into which one to put a cocoon of a certain type."
"I did not dream one had to know so much just to reel off the silk," murmured Pierre. "I had always supposed it would be an easy matter; but now I see it isn't."
Henri laughed.
"But I have not told you half our troubles yet," he answered mischievously. "Thus far I have spoken only of the cocoons. In addition there is the water to consider. That must be the right sort, too. It must be as pure as we can get it, both chemically and in color. And even then the high temperature necessary to bring the silk off the cocoons will cause any sandy sediment there may be in it to rise to the surface and cut the filament as we reel it off. We have to be prepared for that emergency as well as the others.And now to return to the sorting of the cocoons. Do you see that pile over there? Those are what we call perfect ones. The thread from them will go into the finest quality silks and satins, as the filament has neither spots nor flaws."
"But those cocoons are very small," objected Pierre.
"Yes. The best cocoons are not always the largest, by any means. It is quality, not size, that counts." Henri passed on. "Here now," he continued as he paused before another lot, "are some more pointed at one end than at the other. We know from bitter experience that they will reel badly, because the silk which runs smoothly at the beginning will prove to be weak in some places and break. We toss them aside and reel them separately. Thesecocalons, as we call this other kind, are also thrown out because they are hard to wind."
"They are much larger," observed Pierre.
"You are right. Nevertheless they have no more silk on them. The reason they look bigger is because the worm spun them less compactly;unless they are put into cold water they will tangle and mat when reeled."
"And that next lot?"
"Soufflons? They are the most imperfect cocoon made. The silk is so loosely spun that it cannot be wound at all, and is good only for floss."
Pierre shook his head despairingly.
"I thought I knew quite a lot about cocoons," he said. "But by the time I go home I shall feel I don't know anything. Why, I never could learn to sort all those kinds if I kept trying for years."
"Only those who have handled thousands of cocoons can," returned his guide consolingly. "I couldn't begin to do it. Here is a pile now! They have a hole in the end and cannot be reeled because every time the thread comes to the perforation it is broken. Probably the moth was allowed to escape and injured the filament. They must be used for floss, too, for they are good for nothing else."
The boys wandered on down the room.
"In this pile you will see what we callgood choquettes," resumed Henri. "I must tell you about them, for the species is peculiar. The worm inside them died before finishing its work and stuck onto the inside of the cocoon." He took one from the heap and shook it. "It does not rattle, you see. Nevertheless the filament on it is of excellent quality—not very strong, perhaps, but of fine texture. In contrast to these good choquettes is this tableful ofbad choquettes. Like the others the silkworm died during his spinning, but this time he rotted away inside, leaving the cocoon black and mottled."
"Healthy worms make the best cocoons, of course," Pierre rejoined.
"Not at all," contradicted Henri. "Here is what is known as a calcined cocoon made by a worm which had a peculiar disease that turned it to powder. You would not think that such a creature could spin the best quality of silk there is, would you? Yet it is so. Listen to the queer rattle the cocoon has."
Holding it to Pierre's ear he shook it gently.
"These cocoons not only have excellent silk on them, but they have more of it than if they had been spun by a healthy worm. As a result they command the highest price and buyers are eager to find them."
"I guess I don't know anything about silkworms or cocoons either," announced Pierre in dismay.
Both boys laughed.
"It is amazing how much there is to know about almost anything when you once start to learn about it from top to bottom," declared Henri. "I came into this filature when quite young, and it has taken me years to find out even the little I know now."
"I think you know a lot," Pierre returned admiringly. "I'd be happy if I knew even half as much."
"Oh, no you wouldn't," was the prompt retort. "You'd want to know a great deal more, just as I do—that is, if you were any good. There are a thousand things I want to find out. The silk business, you see, is to be my trade. I have anuncle in the weaving mills at Lyons, and some day when I know more he is to find a place for me there. So I am learning all I can about the classifying and reeling of cocoons; and I have also raised a few silkworms so as to be familiar with the very beginnings of the industry. Soon I am to go into the filature to help with the reeling; and after that they have promised to send me on into the throwing mills, where the filament is twisted into thread preparatory to weaving. Then I shall be ready to go to Lyons and see how silks, satins, and velvets are made. Lyons, you know, is a famous silk-making city. It was there that Philippe de la Salle, the great silk designer, lived. Because he did such beautiful work he was decorated by Louis XVI with the Order of Saint Michel and was given a pension of six mille livres. Think of that! Alas, such things do not happen now. That was long ago—between 1723 and 1803. His good fortune did not, however, last long, for the Revolution came, and the court which gave him his money went out of power. Still the people of Lyons were proud of him and despite the fact that he had beena court favorite they provided for him lodgings in the Palais Saint Pierre, where he lived for the rest of his life."
"I am afraid I do not know much about what he did," said Pierre with engaging frankness.
"Why, it was Philippe de la Salle who designed the silk hangings for the chamber of Marie Antoinette, and who originated the Empire motif of the wreath of laurel; he also designed silks gorgeous with garlands intertwined with ribbon; or decorated with baskets of fruit and flowers; and sometimes he made use of great birds. He has done some of the finest silk designs ever woven. My uncle told me, however, that years and years before that wonderful silks were made; and that fragments showing beautiful designs are in the museums of Berlin and Nuremberg, as well as in our own Cluny Museum, and the great museums of London. He said there were also marvelous church vestments of even earlier date and also some very ancient Byzantine silks splendid with griffins, eagles, and lions. Some day, perhaps, I shall go to see them, and maybe I myself may learn toweave such fabrics. Who knows? And what are you going to do, Pierre?"
"I suppose I shall just go on raising silkworms," was the quiet reply. "It is hard work, but I see nothing else ahead for me. However, when my father and uncle return from the war there will be time enough for me to think what I will do."
"Ah, but you have a plan already; I can see that!" Henri cried.
Pierre nodded gravely.
"Yes, I have a plan—or perhaps I better call it a dream. I should like to go to America. One can earn more money there. My mother's brother is at Paterson, New Jersey, which is in America, and I have some young cousins there also."
"Yes, yes, I know," exclaimed Henri eagerly. "There are great silk mills at Paterson where they make fine silks and ribbons—some of them as beautiful as any we make in France. Maybe some day you will go there."
"I'm afraid not," returned Pierre. "Even should the war end and my father and uncle come home again I have no money to go to America."
"Don't give up so easily," Henri said, placing a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "We never can tell what will happen. My mother says that if we do the best we can every day sometimes the thing we wish most will come to us; if not, Le Bon Dieu will send something else which may be even better."
"I am trying to do my best," Pierre answered bravely. "And anyway so long as my father and uncle are safe nothing else really matters."
The boys exchanged a smile and passed on into the filature, as the factory where the reeling was done was called.
Chapter Decoration
"It is now dry weather, and as this is the best time to reel silk we are working very hard," explained Henri as they went along. "Every machine we have is running overtime. But before we inspect the reels themselves suppose we see how the cocoons are soaked and made ready. The important thing is to get the gum which the silkworm has blended with the silk out of it, and for this purpose we use soft water, having found that it loosens the filament better than anything else. That is what they are doing here. They begin by raising the water to the boiling point, and afterward reduce its temperature bymeans of cold water if they find it necessary. Care must be taken to submerge each cocoon evenly so that its entire surface will be covered; otherwise one end will be softened and the other end remain hard, in which case it cannot be reeled off."
"But why do the girls stir the cocoons with those whisks of peeled birch?" inquired Pierre curiously. "What are they trying to do?"
"The stirring frees the ends of the filaments, and the brush of twigs serves to collect them," answered Henri. "When the ends have been caught in this way they are passed on to the reeler; but if after trying this method the girls find the ends do not free themselves they put such cocoons into a different temperature of water, or else toss them out entirely and leave them to the employees who handle the lots that require special treatment. They cannot stop here to fuss with cocoons that fail to wind off readily; not only would such troublesome ones retard the work, but they would be likely to snarl the others. Frequently we find cocoons with uneven places in the thread, spots where the silkworm has been interruptedin its spinning and stopped, afterward going on with its work and making a lump or knob where the filament has been joined. Such cocoons wind badly, as you can well imagine, and they, too, cannot be reeled with the general lot."
"I notice those boys are taking the empty cocoons out of the tanks after the silk has been reeled from them. Is it necessary?"
"Yes. We never allow the discarded cocoons, or shells as we call them, to stand in the water with those that are soaking, because they not only spoil the sheen of the silk on the unreeled cocoons but discolor it," Henri replied. "Now let us watch the reeling. Shall we?"
The boys turned toward the whirling machinery.
"I had no idea they reeled so fast," declared Pierre, speaking loudly so his companion could hear.
Fascinated he stood watching the flying threads pass over the glass rods.
"The speed of the reels can be regulated, of course," answered Henri. "It is not often,though, that the filament snaps because the reel is moving too fast. When the thread does break it is more frequently because the regular motion of the machinery wears it until it parts. This cannot always be avoided. All filatures count on some loss by winding. But the percentage in a modernly equipped filature is very small. We use the glass rods to prevent the thread from being caught or roughened. The process of winding cocoons has been so carefully studied that now our French reelers can turn off silk of fifteen or twenty fibres and lose only one or two per cent. of it by waste. In Turkey the loss runs as high as six or eight per cent.; in Syria it is fifteen or twenty per cent.; and in other countries where the people have less mechanical skill the rate of loss is much higher. Successful silk reeling is a matter of good machinery, practice, and deftness. An experienced reeler knows his business too well to waste material."
"All this is amazing to me," said Pierre. "I thought the men just took the end of the thread and wound it off without any trouble."
Henri shook his head.
"No, indeed. I wish it were as easy as that. A reeler needs judgment, judgment, judgment at every turn. Not only must the floss be removed from the outside of the cocoon before it is reeled, but also the first part of the filament, which usually is weak and too fine for use, must be wound off until the firm, strong thread is reached. You see, the caterpillar has to work a little while before it gets under way and does its best spinning. All that poor filament on which it experiments or gets started must be broken off and saved for embroidery floss, since it is fit neither to be woven into broad goods or twisted into sewing silk. The reeler begins to wind where the end of the filament becomes strong. He then must combine enough fibres of the same size and strength to make a thread uniform in size. And this is not so easy as it sounds, since there is great diversity in the coarseness and fineness of the filament on the cocoons. He cannot always put the same number of filaments together. In addition to this fact he is often required to reel silk of various sizes. Thecoarseness or fineness demanded all depends on the purpose for which the silk is to be used. But always each kind must be of uniform size throughout."
"And how does he join the fresh cocoons to the others? By tying?"
"No. He runs them in so skilfully that the joining cannot be detected. Every moment he must be on the watch to add new filaments when he sees any of his cocoons giving out. As one cocoon takes the place of another its filament blends unnoticed in the thread. You can see that it would never do to join a lot of new ones all in the same spot."
"I suppose the cocoons run in uneven lengths, anyway, don't they?" ventured Pierre. "Scarcely any of them would contain the same number of yards of filament even were they all to be started together."
"Precisely. So the reeler keeps adding fresh fibres, being careful always that his thread is running uniform all the time. If he uses fibres of fine quality there must be more of them; if coarserfibres not so many. He can't turn out thread that is thick in one place and thin in another."
"That is what you or I would do," laughed Pierre. "Or at least I should. I never could reel so fast, either."
"It winds better fast," replied Henri. "It has not so much time to loosen or get caught. It just has to keep moving right along. If we can get cocoons soon enough so they can be wound off before the moth has time to come out, instead of having them cured first, they reel far more easily. The curing affects the silk. Of course in most cases it is unavoidable, for it would require very quick work for our agents to buy up the products of outlying silk-raisers and get them to us before the chrysalis matured. We should be taking a big chance of having our silk ruined, since one never can predict exactly how long it will be before the moth will come out. Varying conditions bring different results. It is a pity, however, that they have to be cured. Still, the curing has one advantage—it decreases the weight of the cocoons about twenty-five per cent."
"I didn't realize that curing caused shrinkage."
"Oh my, yes. And perhaps you did not know what a difference there is in the weight of individual cocoons. This depends not alone on the species of silkworm raised, but also on the care that has been given it. A carefully fed caterpillar will grow larger and make a bigger cocoon. The same law holds with well cultivated flowers or with well tended live stock. Even persons show the results of proper nourishment. It is just so with silkworms. Cultivation tells. And not only does good care result in larger caterpillars and finer cocoons, but also in more silk. So the number of cocoons necessary to total a pound of raw silk vary. We cannot compute that, except roughly. But we do estimate that broadly speaking it takes about an acre of full grown mulberry trees to produce forty pounds of raw silk."
"How interesting!" exclaimed Pierre. "I never thought of measuring silk in mulberry trees."
"Not precisely in trees, but in their leaves," corrected Henri. "If you were a scientific sericulturist, as many men are, you would know justhow many pounds of leaves you used each day; and you would work to economize them so as to get the largest possible yield of silk from the smallest possible outlay of leaves. All the big silk-growers manage their business that way."
Pierre sighed.
"My mother said that too," he returned. "But you see, we do not know enough to plan things so closely. However, it does not make much difference, for we have plenty of mulberry trees. With the number of silkworms we raise we never could use them all up. Years ago my father set out our grove, and each season he has added new trees to it until now it stretches from behind our house far down to the river."
"It would bring you in a lot of money if you ever wanted to sell it."
"Sell it!"
"Yes."
"But we'd never sell it!" retorted Pierre. "Pray, how should we live if we gave up raising silkworms?"
Henri shrugged his shoulders.
"I only meant that your grove is valuable," he explained kindly. "Do not forget that. Some time you might want money. I did not know whether you realized how much a big grove of full grown mulberry trees is worth."
"I never thought anything about it," was Pierre's thoughtful reply. "Our trees have never seemed to me anything I could sell. I thought only of gathering the leaves for our own use."
"Well, just remember that your silk-house and your trees are worth a good sum to a silk-grower. In these uncertain days of war one can never tell when money may be needed. Of course you might not be able to get such a good price for your property now, because France is poor, and everything is selling for less than usual—everything except food. Still, if you found the right customer you should be able to make a good many francs out of your homestead."
"It isn't mine," Pierre answered gaily, as if suddenly coming to himself. "It belongs half to my uncle and half to my father. What do you suppose they would say when they came back fromthe war if they found I had sold their mulberry grove and silk-house?"
"If you needed money for your mother and little sister they would probably feel you had done wisely, even though it caused them disappointment to see their cherished possessions in the hands of others. And if," added the elder boy gravely, "anything happened to them how glad they would be that those they loved were not left penniless."
"Anything happen to them!" Pierre's face paled. He had never, strangely enough, pictured such a calamity.His father! His uncle!True, other men were injured fighting for France, thousands of them. But surely no harm could come tohisfamily. Those he loved would return when peace came; take up life where they had left it; and the home would once more be united.
The boy glanced up to find Henri studying his face sympathetically.
"I did not mean to make you sad, little brother," declared the elder lad softly. "The father and uncle will without doubt come again just as you say. But must we not all be brave enough to look atthings squarely and with courage? Now that your father is gone to the war you have a man's work to do. Surely you are going to meet life like a man, not as a child. Forgive me if what I have said has hurt you."
With instant friendliness Pierre put out his hand.
"You have not hurt me," he returned quickly. "You have just set me to thinking. I'm afraid I have been pretty thoughtless. My mother must have had fears and have been worrying; yet so bravely has she kept it to herself that she has shown Marie and me only her joyous side. I might have helped her had I realized this before. She has always treated my sister and me as children, keeping from us everything that was hard. But I'll prove to her in future that I, at least, am no longer a child. Thanks to you, Henri, I will go home to Bellerivre not only wiser about silk-growing but wiser, I hope, about life."
"Perhaps, then, our talk has been fortunate," answered Henri, gazing earnestly into the upturned face. "I hope so. And maybe some timeyou will write to me and let me know how you are getting on. If I could ever help you about your silk-raising I'd be glad to. There might be something you'd like to ask. Henri St. Amant is my name, remember; and I am always here at Pont-de-Saint-Michel."
With a cordial clasp of the hand the two boys parted.
Little did Pierre know what a loyal friend his chance acquaintance of the morning was to prove.