Frank took up his lifeless body, and the tears started afresh as he said, "stone dead."
"Oh, how sorry I am that we let Trip come with us!" said Nat.
"So am I, but it can"t be helped now; his neck is broke, and neither of us can mend it."
"Let us carry him home as a witness against Sam. Your folks will want to see him once more, too, and I know that my father and mother would be glad to." Thus Nat expressed himself as they turned their steps homeward. Silently they walked on, Frank carrying the dog-corpse in his arms, as solemn as ever pall-bearer bore the remains of human being to the grave. We will leave them to get home in their own time, while we look in upon Nat"s father and mother.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE END OF SCHOOL-DAYS.
In the course of the afternoon Nat"s father met the agent of the factory, and the following conversation ensued:--
"What do you say about letting your boy come into the factory to work?"
said the agent. "We are greatly in need of a boy to carry bobbins, and we will give him two dollars a week."
"I"ll see what his mother says about it. I suppose he will have to do something for a living soon. I shall not be able to do much more for him."
"But Nat has worked some already in a factory, has he not?"
"Well, not exactly to make it a business. He was at his uncle"s, in Lowell, about six months, and he was a "picker boy" a short time."
"That is enough to initiate him. It is only a step from "picker boy" to "bobbin boy.""
The facts about his going to Lowell were these: He had an uncle there who was a clergyman, and Nat was one of his favorites, as he was generally with all those who knew him intimately. This uncle proposed that Nat should come and stay with him a few months in the new "city of spindles" (for the city was then only about four years old), a sort of baby-city. The lad was only eleven years old, at that time, though he was more forward and manly than most boys are at fifteen. He was somewhat pleased with the idea of going to his uncle"s, and engaged in preparing for the event with a light heart. As the time drew near for his departure, he found he loved home more than he thought he did, and he almost wished that he had not decided to go. But being a boy of much decision, as we have seen, he was rather ashamed to relinquish what he had undertaken to do. He said little or nothing therefore about his feelings, but went at the appointed time. Soon after he became a member of his uncle"s family, where he was a very welcome visitor, a "picker boy" was wanted in the factory, and arrangements were made for Nat to fill the place. He entered upon the work, well pleased to be able to earn something for his parents, and he fully satisfied his employers, by his close attention to his work, his respectful manners, and his amiable, intelligent, and gentlemanly bearing. But Nat loved home too well to be contented to remain long away. He had seasons of being homesick, when he thought he would give more to see his father and mother again than for any thing beside. His uncle saw that the boy was really growing thin under the intense longing of his heart for home, so he wrote to his parents, and arrangements were made immediately for his return. It was a happy day for Nat when he reached home, and took his parents once more by the hand. Home never seemed more precious than it did then. If he had been a singer, I have no doubt that he would have made the old homestead resound with the familiar song of Payne,
""Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there"s no place like home."
It is a good sign for boys to love home. Good boys always do love home.
It is the place where their parents dwell, whom they love and respect.
No ties are so dear as those which bind them to this sacred spot. No love is purer than that which unites them to parents, brothers, and sisters. It may be a home of poverty, where few of the comforts, and none of the luxuries of life are found, but this does not destroy its charm. Sickness and misfortune may be there, and still it is home, loved and sought. Others may have more splendid homes, where affluence gathers much to please the eye and fascinate the heart, but they would not be received in exchange for this.
Such boys as Sam and Ben Drake seldom love home. Disobedient and headstrong children do not love their parents much, and, for this reason, home has few charms except as a place to eat and sleep. The history of nearly all base men will show that in early life they broke away from the restraints of home, and ceased to love the place where parents would guide them in the path of virtue. Some years ago a distinguished philanthropist visited a young man about twenty-eight years of age, who was confined in prison for pa.s.sing counterfeit money.
His sentence was imprisonment for life. He had become very sad and penitent in consequence of his imprisonment, and the fact that consumption was rapidly carrying him to the grave. The philanthropist inquired into his history. When he spoke to the prisoner of his mother, he observed that his chin quivered, and that tears came unbidden to his eyes.
"Was not your mother a Christian?" inquired the visitor.
"Oh yes, sir!" he answered; "many and many a time has she warned me of this."
"Then you had good Christian parents and wholesome instruction at home, did you not?"
"Certainly; but it all avails me nothing now."
"Then why are you here?"
Raising himself up in bed to reply to this last inquiry, the young man said,
"I can answer you that question in a word. I did not obey my parents nor care for home." And he uttered these last words with a look and tone of despair that sent a chill through the interrogator"s heart.
This is but one ill.u.s.tration of the truth, that boys who do not love home usually make shipwreck of their characters. Probably Sam Drake would have laughed at Nat, or any other boy, for being homesick, and said,
"I should like to see _myself_ tied to mother"s ap.r.o.n strings. It will do for babies to cry to see their mothers, but it will not do for men.
Suppose it _is_ home, there are other places in creation besides home.
I"d have folks know that there"s one feller who can go away from home, and stay too."
A great many men who are now in prison, or dishonored graves, talked exactly so when they were young. They thought it was manly to have their own way, and show that they cared little for home.
Nat"s love of home, then, was a good omen. It was not a discredit to him to long to get back again to his father and mother. It was the evidence of an obedient, affectionate, amiable son.
After the conversation between the agent and Nat"s father, the latter went home to consult his wife upon the subject. He related to her the substance of his conversation with the agent, and waited her reply.
"I hardly know what to say," said she. "Nat is only twelve years old, and needs all the schooling he can get. His teachers have said so much to me about his talents, and their wish that he might be educated, that I have hoped, and almost expected, some unforeseen way might be opened for his love of study to be gratified."
"That is entirely out of the question, I think," replied her husband.
"The time has come, too, when he must earn something for his support. I see not how we can get along and keep him at school. He loves his books I know, and I should be very glad to see him enjoy them, but poor folks must do as they can and not as they want to."
"Very true; but it is so hard to think that his schooling must end here, when he is only a little boy. I don"t know but it would break his heart to be told that he could go to school no more."
"He need not be told _that_," added her husband. "He may not know but that he will go to school again at some future day."
"It will be difficult to satisfy him on that point, if we keep honesty on our side. You are not with him so much as I am, so that you do not know how inquisitive he is, nor how much he talks about his books, and getting learning. The first thing he will think of will be, whether he will go to school any more. He knows that factory boys are deprived of this privilege, and as he is to become a factory boy, his inference will be that there is no more schooling for him."
"Well, it must come to that, and he may as well know it first as last.
But I do not apprehend that he will lay it seriously to heart, for he is always ready to do what his parents think is best. I think he is remarkable for that."
"I think so too; and I shall rely more upon his disposition in this respect to be reconciled to the privation of school, than upon any thing else. I think if the subject is brought before him at the right time, and in the right way, I can convince him it is for the best, and I am sure he will be ready to do what will be best for all of us."
The conclusion of the matter was that Nat should enter the factory on Monday, and that his mother should open the subject to him as soon as he came home.
CHAPTER IX.
OPENING THE SUBJECT.
The door suddenly opened, and in rushed Nat, under great excitement, with his eyes "as large as saucers," to use a hyperbole, which means only that his eyes looked very large indeed.
"Sam Drake has killed little Trip," said he to his mother.
"Killed Trip!" reiterated his mother, with great surprise.
"Yes; he kicked him down the steep side of Prospect Hill, and he is stone dead."