years he was shut up in
prison for his crimes."

"Sam ought to be put there for what he has done already," said Frank.
"But come, let us go round and get poor Trip's body. He shall have a
decent burial at any rate."

Both started up, and hastened down the hill to a spot from which they
might turn and pass round to where Trip lay. They were soon at his side.
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 t