THE NEW CALL.
Monday morning came to Nat, seemingly, before Sunday had time to get by.
Thirty-six hours scarcely ever passed away so rapidly to him before. But
it found him ready. He was one of the few boys who are always on hand,
whether it was for school, or any thing else. Teachers never complained
of him for being tardy, for they never had occasion to do it; and he was
as prompt to recite his lessons as he was to be in school at nine
o'clock. He was punctual to a second. If his mother told him to be at
home at a given time from an afternoon visit or ramble, he was sure to
be on the mark. He performed errands on the same principle, and never
had to be called twice in the morning. The fact is, there was not a lazy
bone in his whole body; each finger, toe, joint, and muscle, seemed to
understand that it was made for action, and that it must hold itself in
readiness to obey orders. His will, too, was king of his faculties, and
not one of them would have presumed to disobey its ruler. The first
little finger that would have dared to say "_no_" to his mandates, would
have fared severely for its presumption.
Now, such a boy would not find it so difficult to rise early in the
morning, at a precise time, to work in a factory, as a lazy one would. A
lazy boy, who had been accustomed to get up when he pleased, and
consequently was seldom ready to breakfast with the rest of the family,
would have a hard time in breaking into such a factory life. The bodies
of these indolent fellows seldom wake up all at once. After their eyes
are fairly awake by much rubbing, opening, and shutting, their limbs
have to be coaxed and persuaded to start. Now they think they will start
up in just one minute, but the lazy body refuses, and one minute passes,
and then another, until, sometimes, a whole hour is lost in the futile
attempts of a weak will to make the limbs mind and get up. But Nat's
will was law to his members.
He had been accustomed to hear the factory bell of his native village
call others, but it never called him before. For this reason, he had
never thought much about its tones, nor hardly stopped to consider that
its call was very early. But now its very sound was different. It seemed
to understand that Nat was to be called, and it did not require a very
flighty imagination in him to perceive that it said Nat, as plainly as
any bell could. He was on his feet in a moment. He did not wait for the
bell to call twice, any more than he did for his parents to call twice.
Every part of him waked up at once, from his head to his feet. His feet
were as wide awake as his eyes, as any person would have inferred who
had seen them start from the bed. If the bell had no harder case to
arouse, it might have done its work with half the noise, and thus saved
a great quantity of sound for special occasions, such as the fourth of
July.
He was about the first to reach the factory on Monday morning.
"Hurrah! the bobbin boy is on hand," said the overseer as he entered.
"Yes, sir!" was Nat's short and modest reply.
"You'd rather go to school, I suppose," continued the overseer, "than to
carry bobbins?"
"I had," answered Nat, "though I can do what is for the best."
"That's right. If everybody would do that, we should have a different
world to live in."
The overseer said what he did to Nat, because he knew, as everybody else
did in the village, that the boy loved his books. His brightness, and
inclination to study, were themes of frequent remark among the people.
In the school-room, his manner of acquitting himself attracted the
attention of visitors. The teachers regarded him as a very promising
boy, and often spoke of his talents. In this way, he was known generally
in the community for his "intellectual turn." This explains the remark
of the overseer about his loving school better than the factory.
One great surprise awaited Nat on that day. He found that Charlie Stone
also became a factory operative on that morning. He did not know that
Charlie expected to engage in this new business, nor did Charlie know
that Nat did. Indeed, it was unexpected to both of them, since the agent
made the arrangement with their fathers late on Saturday afternoon. The
meeting of the two boys, therefore, in their new sphere of toil, was the
occasion of mutual astonishment.
Charlie Stone was just the age of Nat--twelve years old--and was as good
a boy as the neighborhood afforded. His father was poor, very poor
indeed, and could not support his family by his own labor, so that
Charlie was compelled to lend a helping hand, which he was willing to
do. He was a very amiable boy, retiring and modest, a good scholar and
associate. He was on intimate terms with Nat, so that their mothers used
to say they were "great cronies." We have seen that they were in the
same classes in school, and Charlie was really as good a scholar as Nat,
though he had not the faculty of using his knowledge to so good
advantage. He was a great reader, and he probably read much more than
Nat in the course of a year. There is a great difference in boys, as
well as men, about the ability to use the information acquired. One boy
may thoroughly master his lessons, and fully understand the books he
reads, and improve every moment of his time, and yet not be able to make
his acquisitions tell so much as another of smaller attainments. His
memory may not be retentive, and he may be kept back by a distrust of
his own ability to do,--too bashful and timid to press forward. This was
the case with Charlie. Nat, on the other hand, possessed a remarkable
memory; together with a peculiar faculty to use his attainments to the
best advantage. When he made an acquisition he knew how to use it. Every
attainment seemed to run into wisdom and character, as the juices of the
tree run into buds and fruit. Very small advantages appeared thereby to
produce great results in his favor. Every one who knew him would agree,
that what Richter said of himself was equally true of Nat, "I have made
as much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man should
require more."
It was fortunate, on the whole, that these two boys entered the factory
together, for both of them became more reconciled to their condition
than they otherwise would have been. They were company for each other,
and, if possible, became more strongly attached to each other in
consequence. They had no opportunity, during the forenoon, to converse
with each other concerning the manner of their having entered the
factory. But as soon as the rattling machinery silenced its clatter for
the dinner hour, the subject was talked over until both fairly
understood it.
"Come," said Nat, as they passed out of the factory, "let us step into
the office and see when we can take out books."
"Perhaps Dr. Holt (the agent) has gone to his dinner?"
"We'll see," added Nat. So saying they both walked into the office.
"What is wanted, boys?" inquired the doctor, who was there, and he
smiled upon them so benignantly that they could not but feel at home.
"We stepped in, sir, to inquire when we could take books out of the
library," answered Nat.
"To-night, my lads, as soon as the factory stops. So it seems you are
going to improve your spare moments reading?"
"Yes, sir," replied both of them together.
"That is right. It is not the worst berth in the world to be a factory
boy, especially if there is a good library to use. Two hours a day in
reading will do a great deal for a boy. Most of the young people waste
time enough to acquire an education, if it were only well improved. You
will have more time for self-improvement than William Cobbett had in
his youth--that distinguished member of the British Parliament, of whom
so much has been said in the papers of late."
The doctor was an intelligent, well-read man, affable and kind, and
deeply interested in the welfare of those over whom he had an oversight.
The boys particularly shared his tender sympathies, especially such
bright ones as the two who stood before him. His words were uttered in
such a way as to go straight to the heart of an enterprising lad. They
were words of cheer and hope, such as give spirit and pluck to a poor
fellow whose experience is shadowy, to say the least. More than one boy
has had occasion to remember the doctor with gratitude. His allusion to
William Cobbett, really contained more information than he imparted, as
the following account which Cobbett published of himself will show:--
"I learned grammar," said he, "when I was a private soldier on the pay
of sixpence a day. The edge of my berth, or that of my guard-bed, was my
seat to study in; my knapsack was my book-case; a bit of board lying on
my lap was my writing table; and the task did not demand any thing like
a year of my life. I had no money to purchase candle or oil; in winter
time it was rarely that I could get any evening light but that of the
fire, and only my turn of even that. And if I, under such
circumstances, and without parent or friend to advise or encourage me,
accomplished this undertaking, what excuse can there be for any youth,
however poor, however pressed with business, or however circumstanced as
to room or other conveniences? To buy a pen or a sheet of paper I was
compelled to forego some portion of food, though in a state of half
starvation; I had no moment of time that I could call my own; and I had
to read and write amidst the talking, laughing, singing, whistling, and
brawling of at least half a score of the most thoughtless of men, and
that, too, in the hours of their freedom from all control. Think not
lightly of the farthing that I had to give, now and then, for ink, pen,
or paper! That farthing was, alas! a great sum to me! I was as tall as I
am now; I had great health and great exercise. The whole of the money,
not expended for us at market, was two-pence a week for each man. I
remember, and well I may, that on one occasion I, after all necessary
expenses, had, on Friday, made shifts to have a halfpenny in reserve,
which I had destined for the purchase of a red herring in the morning;
but when I pulled off my clothes at night, so hungry then as to be
hardly able to endure life, I found that I had lost my halfpenny! I
buried my head under the miserable sheet and rug, and cried like a
child! And again I say, if I, under circumstances like these, could
encounter and overcome this task, is there, can there be, in the whole
world, a youth to find an excuse for the non-performance?"
Nat had no time to converse with his parents at noon concerning his new
business--his time was occupied, after dinner, until the factory bell
rung, in giving a history of his surprise at meeting Charlie there. His
parents were surprised too, as they had not heard that he intended to
work in the mill.
"I am glad for you," said his mother, "that Charlie is to work with you,
though I am sorry that his parents are so poor as to make it necessary.
Charlie is a noble boy, and I know you have a good companion when you
have him."
"We can take books from the library to-night," said Nat.
"And what one are you going to take out?" inquired his mother.
"The Life of Patrick Henry," was his quick reply.
"What is there about Patrick Henry that interests you in his life?"
"He was a great orator and statesman, and made himself so by improving
his time, so the teacher told us last winter."
Nat was obliged to hasten back to the factory at the call of the bell,
so that a period was put to the conversation very suddenly. His work in
the factory was to carry bobbins around to the operatives as fast as
they wanted them, and hence he was called "The Bobbin Boy." It was
rather light work though he was often obliged to step around quite
lively, which he could do without much trouble, since he was none of
your half-way boys. His movements were quick, and what he did he did
with all his heart, with only occasional exceptions. A smart,
wide-awake, active boy could carry bobbins to better advantage than a
clumsy man in meridian life. Nat carried them as if he were made on
purpose for the business. It was difficult to tell which he did best,
carry bobbins or speak pieces. He did both, as a looker-on said, "in
apple-pie order," which means, I suppose, about as well as they could be
done by one of his age.
At the close of the day, when the boys came to take out books, Nat found
that the life of Patrick Henry was out, so he took the life of Dr.
Franklin, without feeling much disappointed. He was so anxious to read
both of these volumes that he cared but little which he read first.
"That you, Nat?" exclaimed David Sears, with whom Nat met on his way
home from the factory. "What's got you to-day? We missed you and Charlie
at school."
"Done going to school," answered Nat. "We are going to finish our
education in the factory."
"You have graduated in a hurry, it seems to me. But you don't mean that
you are not going to school any more, do you?"
"Why, yes; I think that will really be the case, though I hope for the
best," replied Nat. "Perhaps I may go again after a while."
"It is really too bad," continued David. "I wish the factory was a
thousand miles off. It is a pretty hard case to be tied up to a factory
bell every day, and work from five o'clock in the morning till seven at
night."
"I don't care much about the bell," replied Nat. "I can get up as early
as the man who rings it, I know. And then it is capital to make one
punctual. There is no chance for delays when the bell calls--a fellow
must be on the mark."
Nat struck upon a very important thought here. Punctuality is a cardinal
virtue, and the earlier a person learns to be punctual the better it is
for him. Being obliged to obey the summons of a bell at just such a
minute aids in establishing the habit of punctuality. Hence, the modern
rules of the school-room, requiring pupils to be there at a precise
hour, and to recite their lessons at such a minute, are very valuable to
the young. Pupils who form the habit of getting to school any time in
the morning, though usually late, are generally behind time all the way
through life. They make the men and women who are late at meeting, late
to meet their business engagements, late everywhere--a tardy,
dilatory, inefficient class of persons, wherever they are found. It is
good to be obliged to plan and do by car-time. The man who is obliged
to keep his watch by railroad time, and then make all things bend to the
same, is more likely to form the habit of being punctual, than he who
has not a fixed moment for going and coming. And so it is with the
factory. The boy who must be up at the first bell-call, and get to his
place of toil at five o'clock in the morning, is more likely to be
prompt in every place and work. Nat was right. It is another instance of
his ability to perceive the real tendencies of things.
David smiled at Nat's view of the matter, and asked, "What book have you
there?"
"The life of Dr. Franklin. You know they have a library for the
operatives in the factory, and I mean to make the most of it."
"But you won't get much time to read, if you work in the factory all
day, from Monday morning till Saturday night."
"I can get two or three hours in a day, if I sit up till ten o'clock,
and that is early enough for anybody to go to bed. I shall read this
volume through by Saturday night."
"Well, _you'll_ make the most of it if anybody can," said David,
laughing, and hurrying on homewards.
Nat commenced reading Dr. Franklin's life that evening. It was his first
step in a somewhat systematic course of reading, for which he was
indebted to the manufacturing company. But for his factory life he
might not have been introduced to those authors that gratified his
desire for knowledge, and nurtured in his soul that energy and
perseverance which he was already known to possess.
His parents did not converse much with him about his new business, as
they thought it might not be wise; but they interested themselves in his
reading. His mother found he was deeply absorbed in Franklin's life,
though he said but little of the book, except in reply to her inquiries.
But he seemed hardly willing to lay it aside at bed-time, and eagerly
took it up to read during the few spare moments he had when he came to
his meals. The book was read through before the next Sabbath.