tire me to stand so many hours.  I found that I should soon be able to do most of my work mechanically, and think about what I pleased in the mean time.  So I hoped to be able to study at home and recite my lessons to myself in the mill.  The only thing that troubled me was that I could not take Nat to and from school, and he had to be left alone sometimes.  But I found a very pleasant and faithful Irish boy, who was glad to earn a little money by drawing him back and forth, often staying with him after school till I came home at six o’clock.  This boy was the son of the Irish gardener on the overseer’s place.  The overseer was an Englishman; his name was Wilkins.  He is the only human being I ever disliked so that it was hard to speak to him.  His brother, too, the agent who had charge of all Mr. Maynard’s business, was almost as disagreeable as he.  They both looked like bloated frogs; their wide, shapeless mouths, flat noses, and prominent eyes, made me shudder when I looked at them.

“Little Patrick soon grew fond of Nat, as everybody did who came into close contact with him; and he used often to stay at our house till late at night, hearing Nat’s stories, and watching him draw pictures on the blackboard.  One of the things I had kept was a great blackboard which papa had made for him.  It was mounted on a stout standard, so that it could be swung close in front of his chair or wagon, and he would lie there and draw for hours together.  Some of the pictures he drew were so beautiful I could not bear to have them rubbed out.  It seemed almost like killing things that were alive.  Whenever I dared to spend a penny for anything not absolutely needful, I always bought a sheet of drawing-paper or a crayon; for Nat would rather have them than anything else in the world—­even than a book—­unless the book had pictures.

“One night, when I went home, I found him sitting up very straight in his wagon, with his cheeks crimson with excitement.  Patrick was with him, and the table and the whole floor were covered with queer, long, jointed paste-board sheets, with pieces of gay-colored calicoes, pasted on them.  Patrick looked as excited as Nat, and as soon as I opened the door he exclaimed, ‘Och, Miss Dora, see how he’s plazed with um.’  I was almost frightened at Nat’s face.  ‘Why Nat, dear,’ said I, ’what are they?  I don’t think they are very pretty;’ and I picked up one of the queer things and looked at it.  ’The colors are bright and pretty, but I am sure almost all the patterns are hideous.’

“‘Of course they are,’ shouted Nat hysterically.  ’That’s just it.  That’s what pleases me so,’ and he burst out crying.  I was more frightened still.  Trampling the calicoes under my feet, I ran and knelt by his chair, and put my arms around him.  ‘Oh, Nat, Nat, what is the matter?’ cried I.  ‘Patrick, what have you done to him?’ Poor Patrick could not speak; he was utterly bewildered; he began hastily picking up the prints and shuffling them out of sight.