The night, fraught with so much bitterness to one poor soul, had givenplace to a bright and cloudless summer morning, when a north-countrymail-coach traversed, with cheerful noise, the yet silent streetsof Islington, and, giving brisk note of its approach with the livelywinding of the guard's horn, clattered onward to its halting-place hardby the Post Office.

The only outside passenger was a burly, honest-looking countryman onthe box, who, with his eyes fixed upon the dome of St Paul's Cathedral,appeared so wrapt in admiring wonder, as to be quite insensible to allthe bustle of getting out the bags and parcels, until one of the coachwindows being let sharply down, he looked round, and encountered apretty female face which was just then thrust out.

'See there, lass!' bawled the countryman, pointing towards the object ofhis admiration. 'There be Paul's Church. 'Ecod, he be a soizable 'un, hebe.'

'Goodness, John! I shouldn't have thought it could have been half thesize. What a monster!'

'Monsther!--Ye're aboot right theer, I reckon, Mrs Browdie,' said thecountryman good-humouredly, as he came slowly down in his huge top-coat;'and wa'at dost thee tak yon place to be noo--thot'un owor the wa'? Ye'dnever coom near it 'gin you thried for twolve moonths. It's na' but aPoast Office! Ho! ho! They need to charge for dooble-latthers. A PoastOffice! Wa'at dost thee think o' thot? 'Ecod, if thot's on'y a PoastOffice, I'd loike to see where the Lord Mayor o' Lunnun lives.'

So saying, John Browdie--for he it was--opened the coach-door, andtapping Mrs Browdie, late Miss Price, on the cheek as he looked in,burst into a boisterous fit of laughter.

'Weel!' said John. 'Dang my bootuns if she bean't asleep agean!'

'She's been asleep all night, and was, all yesterday, except for aminute or two now and then,' replied John Browdie's choice, 'and I wasvery sorry when she woke, for she has been SO cross!'

The subject of these remarks was a slumbering figure, so muffled inshawl and cloak, that it would have been matter of impossibility toguess at its sex but for a brown beaver bonnet and green veil whichornamented the head, and which, having been crushed and flattened, fortwo hundred and fifty miles, in that particular angle of the vehiclefrom which the lady's snores now proceeded, presented an appearancesufficiently ludicrous to have moved less risible muscles than those ofJohn Browdie's ruddy face.

'Hollo!' cried John, twitching one end of the dragged veil. 'Coom,wakken oop, will 'ee?'

After several burrowings into the old corner, and many exclamations ofimpatience and fatigue, the figure struggled into a sitting posture; andthere, under a mass of crumpled beaver, and surrounded by a semicircleof blue curl-papers, were the delicate features of Miss Fanny Squeers.

'Oh, 'Tilda!' cried Miss Squeers, 'how you have been kicking of methrough this blessed night!'

'Well, I do like that,' replied her friend, laughing, 'when you have hadnearly the whole coach to yourself.'

'Don't deny it, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, impressively, 'because youhave, and it's no use to go attempting to say you haven't. You mightn'thave known it in your sleep, 'Tilda, but I haven't closed my eyes for asingle wink, and so I THINK I am to be believed.'

With which reply, Miss Squeers adjusted the bonnet and veil, whichnothing but supernatural interference and an utter suspension ofnature's laws could have reduced to any shape or form; and evidentlyflattering herself that it looked uncommonly neat, brushed off thesandwich-crumbs and bits of biscuit which had accumulated in her lap,and availing herself of John Browdie's proffered arm, descended from thecoach.

'Noo,' said John, when a hackney coach had been called, and the ladiesand the luggage hurried in, 'gang to the Sarah's Head, mun.'

'To the VERE?' cried the coachman.

'Lawk, Mr Browdie!' interrupted Miss Squeers. 'The idea! Saracen'sHead.'

'Sure-ly,' said John, 'I know'd it was something aboot Sarah's Son'sHead. Dost thou know thot?'

'Oh, ah! I know that,' replied the coachman gruffly, as he banged thedoor.

''Tilda, dear, really,' remonstrated Miss Squeers, 'we shall be takenfor I don't know what.'

'Let them tak' us as they foind us,' said John Browdie; 'we dean't cometo Lunnun to do nought but 'joy oursel, do we?'

'I hope not, Mr Browdie,' replied Miss Squeers, looking singularlydismal.

'Well, then,' said John, 'it's no matther. I've only been a married manfower days, 'account of poor old feyther deein, and puttin' it off. Herebe a weddin' party--broide and broide's-maid, and the groom--if a mundean't 'joy himsel noo, when ought he, hey? Drat it all, thot's what Iwant to know.'

So, in order that he might begin to enjoy himself at once, and lose notime, Mr Browdie gave his wife a hearty kiss, and succeeded in wrestinganother from Miss Squeers, after a maidenly resistance of scratching andstruggling on the part of that young lady, which was not quite over whenthey reached the Saracen's Head.

Here, the party straightway retired to rest; the refreshment of sleepbeing necessary after so long a journey; and here they met againabout noon, to a substantial breakfast, spread by direction of Mr JohnBrowdie, in a small private room upstairs commanding an uninterruptedview of the stables.

To have seen Miss Squeers now, divested of the brown beaver, the greenveil, and the blue curl-papers, and arrayed in all the virgin splendourof a white frock and spencer, with a white muslin bonnet, and animitative damask rose in full bloom on the inside thereof--her luxuriantcrop of hair arranged in curls so tight that it was impossible theycould come out by any accident, and her bonnet-cap trimmed with littledamask roses, which might be supposed to be so many promising scions ofthe big rose--to have seen all this, and to have seen the broaddamask belt, matching both the family rose and the little roses, whichencircled her slender waist, and by a happy ingenuity took off from theshortness of the spencer behind,--to have beheld all this, and to havetaken further into account the coral bracelets (rather short of beads,and with a very visible black string) which clasped her wrists, and thecoral necklace which rested on her neck, supporting, outside her frock,a lonely cornelian heart, typical of her own disengaged affections--tohave contemplated all these mute but expressive appeals to the purestfeelings of our nature, might have thawed the frost of age, and addednew and inextinguishable fuel to the fire of youth.

The waiter was touched. Waiter as he was, he had human passions andfeelings, and he looked very hard at Miss Squeers as he handed themuffins.

'Is my pa in, do you know?' asked Miss Squeers with dignity.

'Beg your pardon, miss?'

'My pa,' repeated Miss Squeers; 'is he in?'

'In where, miss?'

'In here--in the house!' replied Miss Squeers. 'My pa--Mr WackfordSqueers--he's stopping here. Is he at home?'

'I didn't know there was any gen'l'man of that name in the house, miss'replied the waiter. 'There may be, in the coffee-room.'

MAY BE. Very pretty this, indeed! Here was Miss Squeers, who had beendepending, all the way to London, upon showing her friends how muchat home she would be, and how much respectful notice her name andconnections would excite, told that her father MIGHT be there! 'As if hewas a feller!' observed Miss Squeers, with emphatic indignation.

'Ye'd betther inquire, mun,' said John Browdie. 'An' hond up anotherpigeon-pie, will 'ee? Dang the chap,' muttered John, looking into theempty dish as the waiter retired; 'does he ca' this a pie--three yoongpigeons and a troifling matther o' steak, and a crust so loight that youdoant know when it's in your mooth and when it's gane? I wonder hoo manypies goes to a breakfast!'

After a short interval, which John Browdie employed upon the ham anda cold round of beef, the waiter returned with another pie, and theinformation that Mr Squeers was not stopping in the house, but that hecame there every day and that directly he arrived, he should be shownupstairs. With this, he retired; and he had not retired two minutes,when he returned with Mr Squeers and his hopeful son.

'Why, who'd have thought of this?' said Mr Squeers, when he had salutedthe party and received some private family intelligence from hisdaughter.

'Who, indeed, pa!' replied that young lady, spitefully. 'But you see'Tilda IS married at last.'

'And I stond threat for a soight o' Lunnun, schoolmeasther,' said John,vigorously attacking the pie.

'One of them things that young men do when they get married,' returnedSqueers; 'and as runs through with their money like nothing at all! Howmuch better wouldn't it be now, to save it up for the eddication ofany little boys, for instance! They come on you,' said Mr Squeers in amoralising way, 'before you're aware of it; mine did upon me.'

'Will 'ee pick a bit?' said John.

'I won't myself,' returned Squeers; 'but if you'll just let littleWackford tuck into something fat, I'll be obliged to you. Give it him inhis fingers, else the waiter charges it on, and there's lot of profit onthis sort of vittles without that. If you hear the waiter coming, sir,shove it in your pocket and look out of the window, d'ye hear?'

'I'm awake, father,' replied the dutiful Wackford.

'Well,' said Squeers, turning to his daughter, 'it's your turn to bemarried next. You must make haste.'

'Oh, I'm in no hurry,' said Miss Squeers, very sharply.

'No, Fanny?' cried her old friend with some archness.

'No, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, shaking her head vehemently. 'I canwait.'

'So can the young men, it seems, Fanny,' observed Mrs Browdie.

'They an't draw'd into it by ME, 'Tilda,' retorted Miss Squeers.

'No,' returned her friend; 'that's exceedingly true.'

The sarcastic tone of this reply might have provoked a ratheracrimonious retort from Miss Squeers, who, besides being of aconstitutionally vicious temper--aggravated, just now, by travel andrecent jolting--was somewhat irritated by old recollections and thefailure of her own designs upon Mr Browdie; and the acrimonious retortmight have led to a great many other retorts, which might have led toHeaven knows what, if the subject of conversation had not been, at thatprecise moment, accidentally changed by Mr Squeers himself

'What do you think?' said that gentleman; 'who do you suppose we havelaid hands on, Wackford and me?'

'Pa! not Mr--?' Miss Squeers was unable to finish the sentence, but MrsBrowdie did it for her, and added, 'Nickleby?'

'No,' said Squeers. 'But next door to him though.'

'You can't mean Smike?' cried Miss Squeers, clapping her hands.

'Yes, I can though,' rejoined her father. 'I've got him, hard and fast.'

'Wa'at!' exclaimed John Browdie, pushing away his plate. 'Got thatpoor--dom'd scoondrel? Where?'

'Why, in the top back room, at my lodging,' replied Squeers, 'with himon one side, and the key on the other.'

'At thy loodgin'! Thee'st gotten him at thy loodgin'? Ho! ho! Theschoolmeasther agin all England. Give us thee hond, mun; I'm darned butI must shak thee by the hond for thot.--Gotten him at thy loodgin'?'

'Yes,' replied Squeers, staggering in his chair under the congratulatoryblow on the chest which the stout Yorkshireman dealt him; 'thankee.Don't do it again. You mean it kindly, I know, but it hurts rather. Yes,there he is. That's not so bad, is it?'

'Ba'ad!' repeated John Browdie. 'It's eneaf to scare a mun to hear tellon.'

'I thought it would surprise you a bit,' said Squeers, rubbing hishands. 'It was pretty neatly done, and pretty quick too.'

'Hoo wor it?' inquired John, sitting down close to him. 'Tell us allaboot it, mun; coom, quick!'

Although he could not keep pace with John Browdie's impatience, MrSqueers related the lucky chance by which Smike had fallen into hishands, as quickly as he could, and, except when he was interrupted bythe admiring remarks of his auditors, paused not in the recital until hehad brought it to an end.

'For fear he should give me the slip, by any chance,' observed Squeers,when he had finished, looking very cunning, 'I've taken three outsidesfor tomorrow morning--for Wackford and him and me--and have arranged toleave the accounts and the new boys to the agent, don't you see? So it'svery lucky you come today, or you'd have missed us; and as it is, unlessyou could come and tea with me tonight, we shan't see anything more ofyou before we go away.'

'Dean't say anoother wurd,' returned the Yorkshireman, shaking him bythe hand. 'We'd coom, if it was twonty mile.'

'No, would you though?' returned Mr Squeers, who had not expected quitesuch a ready acceptance of his invitation, or he would have consideredtwice before he gave it.

John Browdie's only reply was another squeeze of the hand, and anassurance that they would not begin to see London till tomorrow, so thatthey might be at Mr Snawley's at six o'clock without fail; and aftersome further conversation, Mr Squeers and his son departed.

During the remainder of the day, Mr Browdie was in a very odd andexcitable state; bursting occasionally into an explosion of laughter,and then taking up his hat and running into the coach-yard to have itout by himself. He was very restless too, constantly walking in and out,and snapping his fingers, and dancing scraps of uncouth country dances,and, in short, conducting himself in such a very extraordinary manner,that Miss Squeers opined he was going mad, and, begging her dear 'Tildanot to distress herself, communicated her suspicions in so many words.Mrs Browdie, however, without discovering any great alarm, observed thatshe had seen him so once before, and that although he was almost sure tobe ill after it, it would not be anything very serious, and therefore hewas better left alone.

The result proved her to be perfectly correct for, while they were allsitting in Mr Snawley's parlour that night, and just as it was beginningto get dusk, John Browdie was taken so ill, and seized with such analarming dizziness in the head, that the whole company were thrown intothe utmost consternation. His good lady, indeed, was the only personpresent, who retained presence of mind enough to observe that if hewere allowed to lie down on Mr Squeers's bed for an hour or so, and leftentirely to himself, he would be sure to recover again almost as quicklyas he had been taken ill. Nobody could refuse to try the effect of soreasonable a proposal, before sending for a surgeon. Accordingly, Johnwas supported upstairs, with great difficulty; being a monstrous weight,and regularly tumbling down two steps every time they hoisted him upthree; and, being laid on the bed, was left in charge of his wife, who,after a short interval, reappeared in the parlour, with the gratifyingintelligence that he had fallen fast asleep.

Now, the fact was, that at that particular moment, John Browdie wassitting on the bed with the reddest face ever seen, cramming the cornerof the pillow into his mouth, to prevent his roaring out loud withlaughter. He had no sooner succeeded in suppressing this emotion, thanhe slipped off his shoes, and creeping to the adjoining room where theprisoner was confined, turned the key, which was on the outside, anddarting in, covered Smike's mouth with his huge hand before he couldutter a sound.

'Ods-bobs, dost thee not know me, mun?' whispered the Yorkshireman tothe bewildered lad. 'Browdie. Chap as met thee efther schoolmeasther wasbanged?'

'Yes, yes,' cried Smike. 'Oh! help me.'

'Help thee!' replied John, stopping his mouth again, the instant hehad said this much. 'Thee didn't need help, if thee warn't as sillyyoongster as ever draw'd breath. Wa'at did 'ee come here for, then?'

'He brought me; oh! he brought me,' cried Smike.

'Brout thee!' replied John. 'Why didn't 'ee punch his head, or laytheeself doon and kick, and squeal out for the pollis? I'd ha' lickeda doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But thee be'est a poorbroken-doon chap,' said John, sadly, 'and God forgi' me for braggingower yan o' his weakest creeturs!'

Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him.

'Stan' still,' said the Yorkshireman, 'and doant'ee speak a morsel o'talk till I tell'ee.'

With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, anddrawing a screwdriver from his pocket, took off the box of the lock ina very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, together with theimplement, on the floor.

'See thot?' said John 'Thot be thy doin'. Noo, coot awa'!'

Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his meaning.

'I say, coot awa',' repeated John, hastily. 'Dost thee know where theelivest? Thee dost? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, or schoolmeasther's?'

'Mine,' replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the adjoiningroom, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which were lying on achair.

'On wi' 'em,' said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrong sleeve,and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive's neck. 'Noo,foller me, and when thee get'st ootside door, turn to the right, andthey wean't see thee pass.'

'But--but--he'll hear me shut the door,' replied Smike, trembling fromhead to foot.

'Then dean't shut it at all,' retorted John Browdie. 'Dang it, theebean't afeard o' schoolmeasther's takkin cold, I hope?'

'N-no,' said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. 'But he brought meback before, and will again. He will, he will indeed.'

'He wull, he wull!' replied John impatiently. 'He wean't, he wean't.Look'ee! I wont to do this neighbourly loike, and let them think thee'sgotten awa' o' theeself, but if he cooms oot o' thot parlour awhilestheer't clearing off, he mun' have mercy on his oun boans, for I wean't.If he foinds it oot, soon efther, I'll put 'un on a wrong scent, Iwarrant 'ee. But if thee keep'st a good hart, thee'lt be at whoam aforethey know thee'st gotten off. Coom!'

Smike, who comprehended just enough of this to know it was intendedas encouragement, prepared to follow with tottering steps, when Johnwhispered in his ear.

'Thee'lt just tell yoong Measther that I'm sploiced to 'Tilly Price, andto be heerd on at the Saracen by latther, and that I bean't jealous of'un--dang it, I'm loike to boost when I think o' that neight! 'Cod, Ithink I see 'un now, a powderin' awa' at the thin bread an' butther!'

It was rather a ticklish recollection for John just then, for he waswithin an ace of breaking out into a loud guffaw. Restraining himself,however, just in time, by a great effort, he glided downstairs, haulingSmike behind him; and placing himself close to the parlour door, toconfront the first person that might come out, signed to him to makeoff.

Having got so far, Smike needed no second bidding. Opening thehouse-door gently, and casting a look of mingled gratitude and terrorat his deliverer, he took the direction which had been indicated to him,and sped away like the wind.

The Yorkshireman remained on his post for a few minutes, but, findingthat there was no pause in the conversation inside, crept back againunheard, and stood, listening over the stair-rail, for a full hour.Everything remaining perfectly quiet, he got into Mr Squeers's bed, oncemore, and drawing the clothes over his head, laughed till he was nearlysmothered.

If there could only have been somebody by, to see how the bedclothesshook, and to see the Yorkshireman's great red face and round headappear above the sheets, every now and then, like some jovial monstercoming to the surface to breathe, and once more dive down convulsed withthe laughter which came bursting forth afresh--that somebody would havebeen scarcely less amused than John Browdie himself.