1910. Pownal, Vermont. At 12, Grace and her best friend Arthur must leave school and go to work as a “doffers” on their mothers’ looms in the mill. Grace’s mother is the best worker, fast and powerful, and Grace desperately wants to help her. But she’s left handed and doffing is a right-handed job. Grace’s every mistake costs her mother, and the family. She only feels capable on Sundays, when she and Arthur receive special lessons from their teacher. Together they write a secret letter to the Child Labor Board about underage children working in Pownal. A few weeks later a man with a camera shows up. It is the famous reformer Lewis Hine, undercover, collecting evidence for the Child Labor Board. Grace’s brief acquaintance with Hine and the photos he takes of her are a gift that changes her sense of herself, her future, and her family’s future. "History and fiction are woven seamlessly together in this beautifullywritten novel. Readers won't soon forget Grace." - School Library Journal, Starred"Vividly portrays mill life and four characters who resist its deadeningeffects. . . . Solid research and lively writing." - Kirkus Reviews "The child-labor story is gripping. " - Booklist Elizabeth Winthrop is the highly acclaimed author of more than sixty books for children of all ages. She is the daughter of famed journalist and political analyst Stewart Alsop, and the great-grandniece of Theodore Roosevelt. Her works include Counting on Grace, The Castle in the Attic, and The Battle for the Castle.  "Grace, your turn." The book is called The Red Badge of Courage. I like that name. I stand up to read, but as soon as I open my mouth, my feet start moving. It always happens that way. I can't help it. " 'The youth was in a little trance of astonishment. So they were at last going to fight.' Miss Lesley, why don't the youth have a name?" "Why doesn't the youth have a name," Miss Lesley says, but I go right on. She's always trying to fix our grammar, but we don't pay much mind. "The writer should call him Joe or Henry or something." In the front row, my little brother, Henry, giggles. Miss Lesley touches his head with her hand and he stops. At least she don't smack him with that ruler of hers. "Grace, sit down when you read." "I can't. I don't read as good. When I sit my brain stops working." "Nonsense. Your brain works just like everybody else's. I want you to stay in one place when you read. Stop hopping around the room. Look at Arthur. He can sit still. Now you try it." Arthur's desk is hooked up to mine and he never moves a muscle 'cepting his lips when he's reading. That's why Miss Lesley likes him the best. It's not only 'cause he's the best reader. It's 'cause he's a sitter and the rest of us are hoppers, jumpers, fidgeters. Arthur's twelve too, but he's four months older than me. I can read just as good as him so long as I can move around at the same time. I go on. "'He could not accept with asshur--'" "Assurance," Miss Lesley says. "That means he could not believe. Henry, sit up and listen. Your sister's reading a story." I finish the sentence. "'. . . he was about to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth.'" "Thank you, Grace. Please sit now. What do you think that means? Class?" Arthur's hand goes up. Miss Lesley nods at him. "The youth's going to be in a war." "How do you know that?" "I read ahead." Arthur always reads ahead. "And if you hadn't read ahead, Arthur?" " 'Cause there are soldiers in the story. If there are soldiers, there's gonna be a war." "Right. This is a story about the Civil War. Some of you children could have had grandparents who fought in that war." "Not me," says Dougie. "My grandparents lived in Ireland." "Me either," yells Felix. "My grandparents were born in Canada." Miss Lesley claps her hands for silence. The whole time she's teaching, Miss Lesley moves around the room, keeping us kids in order. I'm back at my desk, but my feet are dancing underneath. Miss Lesley slaps them with her ruler whenever she passes by. I pretend I don't even feel it. Seems she cares more about sitting still than learning. "You older children go on reading among yourselves now. One sentence each, then pass the book." I hate that. I like to hear my voice doing the reading. Or Arthur's. Thomas mumbles so you can't understand him and Norma just pretends to read and Rose is too busy twirling her hair around her finger and staring at Thomas. I hate when the story goes too slow. Then I forget what's happening. *** It's Arthur who's reading when we hear footsteps outside on the wooden porch, the thunk of a boot against the step to knock off the mud. We get still. The man coming through that door understands that Miss Lesley don't like dirt in her classroom. We know who it is. We know what he's going to say. I sneak a peek at Arthur, who's put the book down. For once. Miss Lesley has her ruler raised and suddenly she stops moving too. The door opens. French Joh