Mr Squeers, being safely landed, left Nicholas and the boys standingwith the luggage in the road, to amuse themselves by looking at thecoach as it changed horses, while he ran into the tavern and wentthrough the leg-stretching process at the bar. After some minutes, hereturned, with his legs thoroughly stretched, if the hue of his nose anda short hiccup afforded any criterion; and at the same time there cameout of the yard a rusty pony-chaise, and a cart, driven by two labouringmen.

'Put the boys and the boxes into the cart,' said Squeers, rubbing hishands; 'and this young man and me will go on in the chaise. Get in,Nickleby.'

Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers with some difficulty inducing the pony toobey also, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant misery tofollow at leisure.

'Are you cold, Nickleby?' inquired Squeers, after they had travelledsome distance in silence.

'Rather, sir, I must say.'

'Well, I don't find fault with that,' said Squeers; 'it's a long journeythis weather.'

'Is it much farther to Dotheboys Hall, sir?' asked Nicholas.

'About three mile from here,' replied Squeers. 'But you needn't call ita Hall down here.'

Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why.

'The fact is, it ain't a Hall,' observed Squeers drily.

'Oh, indeed!' said Nicholas, whom this piece of intelligence muchastonished.

'No,' replied Squeers. 'We call it a Hall up in London, because itsounds better, but they don't know it by that name in these parts. A manmay call his house an island if he likes; there's no act of Parliamentagainst that, I believe?'

'I believe not, sir,' rejoined Nicholas.

Squeers eyed his companion slyly, at the conclusion of this littledialogue, and finding that he had grown thoughtful and appeared innowise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself withlashing the pony until they reached their journey's end.

'Jump out,' said Squeers. 'Hallo there! Come and put this horse up. Bequick, will you!'

While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries,Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long, cold-lookinghouse, one storey high, with a few straggling out-buildings behind, anda barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, thenoise of somebody unlocking the yard-gate was heard, and presently atall lean boy, with a lantern in his hand, issued forth.

'Is that you, Smike?' cried Squeers.

'Yes, sir,' replied the boy.

'Then why the devil didn't you come before?'

'Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire,' answered Smike, withhumility.

'Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?' demanded the schoolmaster,sharply.

'Only in the kitchen, sir,' replied the boy. 'Missus said as I wassitting up, I might go in there for a warm.'

'Your missus is a fool,' retorted Squeers. 'You'd have been a deuceddeal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage.'

By this time Mr Squeers had dismounted; and after ordering the boy tosee to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more corn thatnight, he told Nicholas to wait at the front-door a minute while he wentround and let him in.

A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon Nicholasduring the whole journey, thronged into his mind with redoubledforce when he was left alone. His great distance from home and theimpossibility of reaching it, except on foot, should he feel ever soanxious to return, presented itself to him in most alarming colours; andas he looked up at the dreary house and dark windows, and upon the wildcountry round, covered with snow, he felt a depression of heart andspirit which he had never experienced before.

'Now then!' cried Squeers, poking his head out at the front-door. 'Whereare you, Nickleby?'

'Here, sir,' replied Nicholas.

'Come in, then,' said Squeers 'the wind blows in, at this door, fit toknock a man off his legs.'

Nicholas sighed, and hurried in. Mr Squeers, having bolted the door tokeep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished with afew chairs, a yellow map hung against the wall, and a couple of tables;one of which bore some preparations for supper; while, on the other, atutor's assistant, a Murray's grammar, half-a-dozen cards of terms, anda worn letter directed to Wackford Squeers, Esquire, were arranged inpicturesque confusion.

They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes, when a femalebounced into the room, and, seizing Mr Squeers by the throat, gave himtwo loud kisses: one close after the other, like a postman's knock. Thelady, who was of a large raw-boned figure, was about half a head tallerthan Mr Squeers, and was dressed in a dimity night-jacket; with her hairin papers; she had also a dirty nightcap on, relieved by a yellow cottonhandkerchief which tied it under the chin.

'How is my Squeery?' said this lady in a playful manner, and a veryhoarse voice.

'Quite well, my love,' replied Squeers. 'How's the cows?'

'All right, every one of'em,' answered the lady.

'And the pigs?' said Squeers.

'As well as they were when you went away.'

'Come; that's a blessing,' said Squeers, pulling off his great-coat.'The boys are all as they were, I suppose?'

'Oh, yes, they're well enough,' replied Mrs Squeers, snappishly. 'Thatyoung Pitcher's had a fever.'

'No!' exclaimed Squeers. 'Damn that boy, he's always at something ofthat sort.'

'Never was such a boy, I do believe,' said Mrs Squeers; 'whatever hehas is always catching too. I say it's obstinacy, and nothing shall everconvince me that it isn't. I'd beat it out of him; and I told you that,six months ago.'

'So you did, my love,' rejoined Squeers. 'We'll try what can be done.'

Pending these little endearments, Nicholas had stood, awkwardly enough,in the middle of the room: not very well knowing whether he was expectedto retire into the passage, or to remain where he was. He was nowrelieved from his perplexity by Mr Squeers.

'This is the new young man, my dear,' said that gentleman.

'Oh,' replied Mrs Squeers, nodding her head at Nicholas, and eyeing himcoldly from top to toe.

'He'll take a meal with us tonight,' said Squeers, 'and go among theboys tomorrow morning. You can give him a shake-down here, tonight,can't you?'

'We must manage it somehow,' replied the lady. 'You don't much mind howyou sleep, I suppose, sir?'

No, indeed,' replied Nicholas, 'I am not particular.'

'That's lucky,' said Mrs Squeers. And as the lady's humour wasconsidered to lie chiefly in retort, Mr Squeers laughed heartily, andseemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same.

After some further conversation between the master and mistress relativeto the success of Mr Squeers's trip and the people who had paid, and thepeople who had made default in payment, a young servant girl brought ina Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which being set upon the table, theboy Smike appeared with a jug of ale.

Mr Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to differentboys, and other small documents, which he had brought down in them. Theboy glanced, with an anxious and timid expression, at the papers, as ifwith a sickly hope that one among them might relate to him. The look wasa very painful one, and went to Nicholas's heart at once; for it told along and very sad history.

It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he wassurprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments whichformed his dress. Although he could not have been less than eighteen ornineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton suit,such as is usually put upon very little boys, and which, though mostabsurdly short in the arms and legs, was quite wide enough for hisattenuated frame. In order that the lower part of his legs might be inperfect keeping with this singular dress, he had a very large pair ofboots, originally made for tops, which might have been once worn by somestout farmer, but were now too patched and tattered for a beggar. Heavenknows how long he had been there, but he still wore the same linen whichhe had first taken down; for, round his neck, was a tattered child'sfrill, only half concealed by a coarse, man's neckerchief. He was lame;and as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at theletters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, thatNicholas could hardly bear to watch him.

'What are you bothering about there, Smike?' cried Mrs Squeers; 'let thethings alone, can't you?'

'Eh!' said Squeers, looking up. 'Oh! it's you, is it?'

'Yes, sir,' replied the youth, pressing his hands together, as though tocontrol, by force, the nervous wandering of his fingers. 'Is there--'

'Well!' said Squeers.

'Have you--did anybody--has nothing been heard--about me?'

'Devil a bit,' replied Squeers testily.

The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his hand to his face, movedtowards the door.

'Not a word,' resumed Squeers, 'and never will be. Now, this is a prettysort of thing, isn't it, that you should have been left here, all theseyears, and no money paid after the first six--nor no notice taken, norno clue to be got who you belong to? It's a pretty sort of thing that Ishould have to feed a great fellow like you, and never hope to get onepenny for it, isn't it?'

The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort torecollect something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner,gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.

'I'll tell you what, Squeers,' remarked his wife as the door closed, 'Ithink that young chap's turning silly.'

'I hope not,' said the schoolmaster; 'for he's a handy fellow out ofdoors, and worth his meat and drink, anyway. I should think he'd havewit enough for us though, if he was. But come; let's have supper, for Iam hungry and tired, and want to get to bed.'

This reminder brought in an exclusive steak for Mr Squeers, who speedilyproceeded to do it ample justice. Nicholas drew up his chair, but hisappetite was effectually taken away.

'How's the steak, Squeers?' said Mrs S.

'Tender as a lamb,' replied Squeers. 'Have a bit.'

'I couldn't eat a morsel,' replied his wife. 'What'll the young mantake, my dear?'

'Whatever he likes that's present,' rejoined Squeers, in a most unusualburst of generosity.

'What do you say, Mr Knuckleboy?' inquired Mrs Squeers.

'I'll take a little of the pie, if you please,' replied Nicholas. 'Avery little, for I'm not hungry.'

Well, it's a pity to cut the pie if you're not hungry, isn't it?' saidMrs Squeers. 'Will you try a bit of the beef?'

'Whatever you please,' replied Nicholas abstractedly; 'it's all the sameto me.'

Mrs Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply; and noddingto Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find the young manknew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat with her own fairhands.

'Ale, Squeery?' inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give him tounderstand that the question propounded, was, whether Nicholas shouldhave ale, and not whether he (Squeers) would take any.

'Certainly,' said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner. 'Aglassful.'

So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own reflections,drank it, in happy innocence of all the foregone proceedings.

'Uncommon juicy steak that,' said Squeers, as he laid down his knife andfork, after plying it, in silence, for some time.

'It's prime meat,' rejoined his lady. 'I bought a good large piece of itmyself on purpose for--'

'For what!' exclaimed Squeers hastily. 'Not for the--'

'No, no; not for them,' rejoined Mrs Squeers; 'on purpose for youagainst you came home. Lor! you didn't think I could have made such amistake as that.'

'Upon my word, my dear, I didn't know what you were going to say,' saidSqueers, who had turned pale.

'You needn't make yourself uncomfortable,' remarked his wife, laughingheartily. 'To think that I should be such a noddy! Well!'

This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible; but popularrumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr Squeers, being amiablyopposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for boyconsumption the bodies of horned cattle who had died a natural death;possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally devoured somechoice morsel intended for the young gentlemen.

Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a hungryeye, Mrs Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into safecustody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who werehalf-way up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to death's door,in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were then regaled witha light supper of porridge, and stowed away, side by side, in a smallbedstead, to warm each other, and dream of a substantial meal withsomething hot after it, if their fancies set that way: which it is notat all improbable they did.

Mr Squeers treated himself to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water, madeon the liberal half-and-half principle, allowing for the dissolution ofthe sugar; and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas the ghost of a smallglassful of the same compound. This done, Mr and Mrs Squeers drewclose up to the fire, and sitting with their feet on the fender, talkedconfidentially in whispers; while Nicholas, taking up the tutor'sassistant, read the interesting legends in the miscellaneous questions,and all the figures into the bargain, with as much thought orconsciousness of what he was doing, as if he had been in a magneticslumber.

At length, Mr Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high timeto go to bed; upon which signal, Mrs Squeers and the girl dragged in asmall straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and arranged them into acouch for Nicholas.

'We'll put you into your regular bedroom tomorrow, Nickelby,' saidSqueers. 'Let me see! Who sleeps in Brooks's bed, my dear?'

'In Brooks's,' said Mrs Squeers, pondering. 'There's Jennings, littleBolder, Graymarsh, and what's his name.'

'So there is,' rejoined Squeers. 'Yes! Brooks is full.'

'Full!' thought Nicholas. 'I should think he was.'

'There's a place somewhere, I know,' said Squeers; 'but I can't at thismoment call to mind where it is. However, we'll have that all settledtomorrow. Good-night, Nickleby. Seven o'clock in the morning, mind.'

'I shall be ready, sir,' replied Nicholas. 'Good-night.'

'I'll come in myself and show you where the well is,' said Squeers.'You'll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window; thatbelongs to you.'

Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth; and Squeers was again goingaway, when he once more turned back.

'I don't know, I am sure,' he said, 'whose towel to put you on; butif you'll make shift with something tomorrow morning, Mrs Squeers willarrange that, in the course of the day. My dear, don't forget.'

'I'll take care,' replied Mrs Squeers; 'and mind YOU take care, youngman, and get first wash. The teacher ought always to have it; but theyget the better of him if they can.'

Mr Squeers then nudged Mrs Squeers to bring away the brandy bottle, lestNicholas should help himself in the night; and the lady having seized itwith great precipitation, they retired together.

Nicholas, being left alone, took half-a-dozen turns up and down the roomin a condition of much agitation and excitement; but, growing graduallycalmer, sat himself down in a chair, and mentally resolved that, comewhat come might, he would endeavour, for a time, to bear whateverwretchedness might be in store for him, and that remembering thehelplessness of his mother and sister, he would give his uncle noplea for deserting them in their need. Good resolutions seldom fail ofproducing some good effect in the mind from which they spring. He grewless desponding, and--so sanguine and buoyant is youth--even hoped thataffairs at Dotheboys Hall might yet prove better than they promised.

He was preparing for bed, with something like renewed cheerfulness,when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket. In the hurry of leavingLondon, it had escaped his attention, and had not occurred to him since,but it at once brought back to him the recollection of the mysteriousbehaviour of Newman Noggs.

'Dear me!' said Nicholas; 'what an extraordinary hand!'

It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, and insuch cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible. After greatdifficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as follows:--

My dear young Man.

I know the world. Your father did not, or he would not have done me akindness when there was no hope of return. You do not, or you would notbe bound on such a journey.

If ever you want a shelter in London (don't be angry at this, I oncethought I never should), they know where I live, at the sign of theCrown, in Silver Street, Golden Square. It is at the corner of SilverStreet and James Street, with a bar door both ways. You can come atnight. Once, nobody was ashamed--never mind that. It's all over.

Excuse errors. I should forget how to wear a whole coat now. I haveforgotten all my old ways. My spelling may have gone with them.

NEWMAN NOGGS.

P.S. If you should go near Barnard Castle, there is good ale at theKing's Head. Say you know me, and I am sure they will not charge youfor it. You may say Mr Noggs there, for I was a gentleman then. I wasindeed.

It may be a very undignified circumstances to record, but after he hadfolded this letter and placed it in his pocket-book, Nicholas Nickleby'seyes were dimmed with a moisture that might have been taken for tears.