Chapter 13

by Charles Dickens

　　Nicholas varies the Monotony of Dothebys Hall by a most vigorous andremarkable proceeding, which leads to Consequences of someImportanceThe cold, feeble dawn of a January morning was stealing in at thewindows of the common sleeping-room, when Nicholas, raising himselfon his arm, looked among the prostrate forms which on every sidesurrounded him, as though in search of some particular object.It needed a quick eye to detect, from among the huddled mass ofsleepers, the form of any given individual. As they lay closelypacked together, covered, for warmth's sake, with their patched andragged clothes, little could be distinguished but the sharp outlinesof pale faces, over which the sombre light shed the same dull heavycolour; with, here and there, a gaunt arm thrust forth: its thinnesshidden by no covering, but fully exposed to view, in all itsshrunken ugliness. There were some who, lying on their backs withupturned faces and clenched hands, just visible in the leaden light,bore more the aspect of dead bodies than of living creatures; andthere were others coiled up into strange and fantastic postures,such as might have been taken for the uneasy efforts of pain to gainsome temporary relief, rather than the freaks of slumber. A few--and these were among the youngest of the children--slept peacefullyon, with smiles upon their faces, dreaming perhaps of home; but everand again a deep and heavy sigh, breaking the stillness of the room,announced that some new sleeper had awakened to the misery ofanother day; and, as morning took the place of night, the smilesgradually faded away, with the friendly darkness which had giventhem birth.Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport onearth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of thesun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their dailypilgrimage through the world.Nicholas looked upon the sleepers; at first, with the air of one whogazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none ofits sorrowful effect in consequence; and, afterwards, with a moreintense and searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed somethinghis eye was accustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. Hewas still occupied in this search, and had half risen from his bedin the eagerness of his quest, when the voice of Squeers was heard,calling from the bottom of the stairs.'Now then,' cried that gentleman, 'are you going to sleep all day,up there--''You lazy hounds?' added Mrs Squeers, finishing the sentence, andproducing, at the same time, a sharp sound, like that which isoccasioned by the lacing of stays.'We shall be down directly, sir,' replied Nicholas.'Down directly!' said Squeers. 'Ah! you had better be downdirectly, or I'll be down upon some of you in less. Where's thatSmike?'Nicholas looked hurriedly round again, but made no answer.'Smike!' shouted Squeers.'Do you want your head broke in a fresh place, Smike?' demanded hisamiable lady in the same key.Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, asdid the greater part of the boys, who were by this time roused.'Confound his impudence!' muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-railimpatiently with his cane. 'Nickleby!''Well, sir.''Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don't you hear me calling?''He is not here, sir,' replied Nicholas.'Don't tell me a lie,' retorted the schoolmaster. 'He is.''He is not,' retorted Nicholas angrily, 'don't tell me one.''We shall soon see that,' said Mr Squeers, rushing upstairs. 'I'llfind him, I warrant you.'With which assurance, Mr Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and,swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into thecorner where the lean body of the drudge was usually stretched atnight. The cane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There wasnobody there.'What does this mean?' said Squeers, turning round with a very paleface. 'Where have you hid him?''I have seen nothing of him since last night,' replied Nicholas.'Come,' said Squeers, evidently frightened, though he endeavoured tolook otherwise, 'you won't save him this way. Where is he?''At the bottom of the nearest pond for aught I know,' rejoinedNicholas in a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master'sface.'Damn you, what do you mean by that?' retorted Squeers in greatperturbation. Without waiting for a reply, he inquired of the boyswhether any one among them knew anything of their missingschoolmate.There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which,one shrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought):'Please, sir, I think Smike's run away, sir.''Ha!' cried Squeers, turning sharp round. 'Who said that?''Tomkins, please sir,' rejoined a chorus of voices. Mr Squeers madea plunge into the crowd, and at one dive, caught a very little boy,habited still in his night-gear, and the perplexed expression ofwhose countenance, as he was brought forward, seemed to intimatethat he was as yet uncertain whether he was about to be punished orrewarded for the suggestion. He was not long in doubt.'You think he has run away, do you, sir?' demanded Squeers.'Yes, please sir,' replied the little boy.'And what, sir,' said Squeers, catching the little boy suddenly bythe arms and whisking up his drapery in a most dexterous manner,'what reason have you to suppose that any boy would want to run awayfrom this establishment? Eh, sir?'The child raised a dismal cry, by way of answer, and Mr Squeers,throwing himself into the most favourable attitude for exercisinghis strength, beat him until the little urchin in his writhingsactually rolled out of his hands, when he mercifully allowed him toroll away, as he best could.'There,' said Squeers. 'Now if any other boy thinks Smike has runaway, I shall be glad to have a talk with him.'There was, of course, a profound silence, during which Nicholasshowed his disgust as plainly as looks could show it.'Well, Nickleby,' said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. 'You thinkhe has run away, I suppose?''I think it extremely likely,' replied Nicholas, in a quiet manner.'Oh, you do, do you?' sneered Squeers. 'Maybe you know he has?''I know nothing of the kind.''He didn't tell you he was going, I suppose, did he?' sneeredSqueers.'He did not,' replied Nicholas; 'I am very glad he did not, for itwould then have been my duty to have warned you in time.''Which no doubt you would have been devilish sorry to do,' saidSqueers in a taunting fashion.'I should indeed,' replied Nicholas. 'You interpret my feelingswith great accuracy.'Mrs Squeers had listened to this conversation, from the bottom ofthe stairs; but, now losing all patience, she hastily assumed hernight-jacket, and made her way to the scene of action.'What's all this here to-do?' said the lady, as the boys fell offright and left, to save her the trouble of clearing a passage withher brawny arms. 'What on earth are you a talking to him for,Squeery!''Why, my dear,' said Squeers, 'the fact is, that Smike is not to befound.''Well, I know that,' said the lady, 'and where's the wonder? If youget a parcel of proud-stomached teachers that set the young dogs arebelling, what else can you look for? Now, young man, you justhave the kindness to take yourself off to the schoolroom, and takethe boys off with you, and don't you stir out of there till you haveleave given you, or you and I may fall out in a way that'll spoilyour beauty, handsome as you think yourself, and so I tell you.''Indeed!' said Nicholas.'Yes; and indeed and indeed again, Mister Jackanapes,' said theexcited lady; 'and I wouldn't keep such as you in the house anotherhour, if I had my way.''Nor would you if I had mine,' replied Nicholas. 'Now, boys!''Ah! Now, boys,' said Mrs Squeers, mimicking, as nearly as shecould, the voice and manner of the usher. 'Follow your leader,boys, and take pattern by Smike if you dare. See what he'll get forhimself, when he is brought back; and, mind! I tell you that youshall have as bad, and twice as bad, if you so much as open yourmouths about him.''If I catch him,' said Squeers, 'I'll only stop short of flaying himalive. I give you notice, boys.''If you catch him,' retorted Mrs Squeers, contemptuously; 'you aresure to; you can't help it, if you go the right way to work. Come!Away with you!'With these words, Mrs Squeers dismissed the boys, and after a littlelight skirmishing with those in the rear who were pressing forwardto get out of the way, but were detained for a few moments by thethrong in front, succeeded in clearing the room, when she confrontedher spouse alone.'He is off,' said Mrs Squeers. 'The cow-house and stable are lockedup, so he can't be there; and he's not downstairs anywhere, for thegirl has looked. He must have gone York way, and by a public roadtoo.''Why must he?' inquired Squeers.'Stupid!' said Mrs Squeers angrily. 'He hadn't any money, had he?''Never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that I know of,'replied Squeers.'To be sure,' rejoined Mrs Squeers, 'and he didn't take anything toeat with him; that I'll answer for. Ha! ha! ha!''Ha! ha! ha!' laughed Squeers.'Then, of course,' said Mrs S., 'he must beg his way, and he coulddo that, nowhere, but on the public road.''That's true,' exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands.'True! Yes; but you would never have thought of it, for all that,if I hadn't said so,' replied his wife. 'Now, if you take thechaise and go one road, and I borrow Swallow's chaise, and go theother, what with keeping our eyes open, and asking questions, one orother of us is pretty certain to lay hold of him.'The worthy lady's plan was adopted and put in execution without amoment's delay. After a very hasty breakfast, and the prosecutionof some inquiries in the village, the result of which seemed to showthat he was on the right track, Squeers started forth in the pony-chaise, intent upon discovery and vengeance. Shortly afterwards,Mrs Squeers, arrayed in the white top-coat, and tied up in variousshawls and handkerchiefs, issued forth in another chaise and anotherdirection, taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd piecesof strong cord, and a stout labouring man: all provided and carriedupon the expedition, with the sole object of assisting in thecapture, and (once caught) insuring the safe custody of theunfortunate Smike.Nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible thatwhatever might be the upshot of the boy's flight, nothing butpainful and deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it.Death, from want and exposure to the weather, was the best thatcould be expected from the protracted wandering of so poor andhelpless a creature, alone and unfriended, through a country ofwhich he was wholly ignorant. There was little, perhaps, to choosebetween this fate and a return to the tender mercies of theYorkshire school; but the unhappy being had established a hold uponhis sympathy and compassion, which made his heart ache at theprospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo. He lingeredon, in restless anxiety, picturing a thousand possibilities, untilthe evening of next day, when Squeers returned, alone, andunsuccessful.'No news of the scamp!' said the schoolmaster, who had evidentlybeen stretching his legs, on the old principle, not a few timesduring the journey. 'I'll have consolation for this out ofsomebody, Nickleby, if Mrs Squeers don't hunt him down; so I giveyou warning.''It is not in my power to console you, sir,' said Nicholas. 'It isnothing to me.''Isn't it?' said Squeers in a threatening manner. 'We shall see!''We shall,' rejoined Nicholas.'Here's the pony run right off his legs, and me obliged to come homewith a hack cob, that'll cost fifteen shillings besides otherexpenses,' said Squeers; 'who's to pay for that, do you hear?'Nicholas shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.'I'll have it out of somebody, I tell you,' said Squeers, his usualharsh crafty manner changed to open bullying 'None of your whiningvapourings here, Mr Puppy, but be off to your kennel, for it's pastyour bedtime! Come! Get out!'Nicholas bit his lip and knit his hands involuntarily, for hisfingerends tingled to avenge the insult; but remembering that theman was drunk, and that it could come to little but a noisy brawl,he contented himself with darting a contemptuous look at the tyrant,and walked, as majestically as he could, upstairs: not a littlenettled, however, to observe that Miss Squeers and Master Squeers,and the servant girl, were enjoying the scene from a snug corner;the two former indulging in many edifying remarks about thepresumption of poor upstarts, which occasioned a vast deal oflaughter, in which even the most miserable of all miserable servantgirls joined: while Nicholas, stung to the quick, drew over his headsuch bedclothes as he had, and sternly resolved that the outstandingaccount between himself and Mr Squeers should be settled rather morespeedily than the latter anticipated.Another day came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard thewheels of a chaise approaching the house. It stopped. The voice ofMrs Squeers was heard, and in exultation, ordering a glass ofspirits for somebody, which was in itself a sufficient sign thatsomething extraordinary had happened. Nicholas hardly dared to lookout of the window; but he did so, and the very first object that methis eyes was the wretched Smike: so bedabbled with mud and rain, sohaggard and worn, and wild, that, but for his garments being such asno scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might have been doubtful,even then, of his identity.'Lift him out,' said Squeers, after he had literally feasted hiseyes, in silence, upon the culprit. 'Bring him in; bring him in!''Take care,' cried Mrs Squeers, as her husband proffered hisassistance. 'We tied his legs under the apron and made'em fast tothe chaise, to prevent his giving us the slip again.'With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord; andSmike, to all appearance more dead than alive, was brought into thehouse and securely locked up in a cellar, until such time as MrSqueers should deem it expedient to operate upon him, in presence ofthe assembled school.Upon a hasty consideration of the circumstances, it may be matter ofsurprise to some persons, that Mr and Mrs Squeers should have takenso much trouble to repossess themselves of an incumbrance of whichit was their wont to complain so loudly; but their surprise willcease when they are informed that the manifold services of thedrudge, if performed by anybody else, would have cost theestablishment some ten or twelve shillings per week in the shape ofwages; and furthermore, that all runaways were, as a matter ofpolicy, made severe examples of, at Dotheboys Hall, inasmuch as, inconsequence of the limited extent of its attractions, there was butlittle inducement, beyond the powerful impulse of fear, for anypupil, provided with the usual number of legs and the power of usingthem, to remain.The news that Smike had been caught and brought back in triumph, ranlike wild-fire through the hungry community, and expectation was ontiptoe all the morning. On tiptoe it was destined to remain,however, until afternoon; when Squeers, having refreshed himselfwith his dinner, and further strengthened himself by an extralibation or so, made his appearance (accompanied by his amiablepartner) with a countenance of portentous import, and a fearfulinstrument of flagellation, strong, supple, wax-ended, and new,--inshort, purchased that morning, expressly for the occasion.'Is every boy here?' asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice.Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak, so Squeersglared along the lines to assure himself; and every eye drooped, andevery head cowered down, as he did so.'Each boy keep his place,' said Squeers, administering his favouriteblow to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction theuniversal start which it never failed to occasion. 'Nickleby! toyour desk, sir.'It was remarked by more than one small observer, that there was avery curious and unusual expression in the usher's face; but he tookhis seat, without opening his lips in reply. Squeers, casting atriumphant glance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensivedespotism on the boys, left the room, and shortly afterwardsreturned, dragging Smike by the collar--or rather by that fragmentof his jacket which was nearest the place where his collar wouldhave been, had he boasted such a decoration.In any other place, the appearance of the wretched, jaded,spiritless object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion andremonstrance. It had some effect, even there; for the lookers-onmoved uneasily in their seats; and a few of the boldest ventured tosteal looks at each other, expressive of indignation and pity.They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on theluckless Smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases,whether he had anything to say for himself.'Nothing, I suppose?' said Squeers, with a diabolical grin.Smike glanced round, and his eye rested, for an instant, onNicholas, as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look wasriveted on his desk.'Have you anything to say?' demanded Squeers again: giving his rightarm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. 'Standa little out of the way, Mrs Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got roomenough.''Spare me, sir!' cried Smike.'Oh! that's all, is it?' said Squeers. 'Yes, I'll flog you withinan inch of your life, and spare you that.''Ha, ha, ha,' laughed Mrs Squeers, 'that's a good 'un!''I was driven to do it,' said Smike faintly; and casting anotherimploring look about him.'Driven to do it, were you?' said Squeers. 'Oh! it wasn't yourfault; it was mine, I suppose--eh?''A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog,'exclaimed Mrs Squeers, taking Smike's head under her arm, andadministering a cuff at every epithet; 'what does he mean by that?''Stand aside, my dear,' replied Squeers. 'We'll try and find out.'Mrs Squeers, being out of breath with her exertions, complied.Squeers caught the boy firmly in his grip; one desperate cut hadfallen on his body--he was wincing from the lash and uttering ascream of pain--it was raised again, and again about to fall--whenNicholas Nickleby, suddenly starting up, cried 'Stop!' in a voicethat made the rafters ring.'Who cried stop?' said Squeers, turning savagely round.'I,' said Nicholas, stepping forward. 'This must not go on.''Must not go on!' cried Squeers, almost in a shriek.'No!' thundered Nicholas.Aghast and stupefied by the boldness of the interference, Squeersreleased his hold of Smike, and, falling back a pace or two, gazedupon Nicholas with looks that were positively frightful.'I say must not,' repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted; 'shall not. Iwill prevent it.'Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out ofhis head; but astonishment had actually, for the moment, bereft himof speech.'You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserablelad's behalf,' said Nicholas; 'you have returned no answer to theletter in which I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to beresponsible that he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me forthis public interference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I.''Sit down, beggar!' screamed Squeers, almost beside himself withrage, and seizing Smike as he spoke.'Wretch,' rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, 'touch him at your peril! Iwill not stand by, and see it done. My blood is up, and I have thestrength of ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven Iwill not spare you, if you drive me on!''Stand back,' cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon.'I have a long series of insults to avenge,' said Nicholas, flushedwith passion; 'and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardlycruelties practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have acare; for if you do raise the devil within me, the consequencesshall fall heavily upon your own head!'He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak ofwrath, and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him,and struck him a blow across the face with his instrument oftorture, which raised up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted.Smarting with the agony of the blow, and concentrating into that onemoment all his feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholassprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and pinning himby the throat, beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy.The boys--with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to hisfather's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear--moved not, handor foot; but Mrs Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to thetail of her partner's coat, and endeavoured to drag him from hisinfuriated adversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peepingthrough the keyhole in expectation of a very different scene, dartedin at the very beginning of the attack, and after launching a showerof inkstands at the usher's head, beat Nicholas to her heart's content;animating herself, at every blow, with the recollection of hishaving refused her proffered love, and thus imparting additionalstrength to an arm which (as she took after her mother in thisrespect) was, at no time, one of the weakest.Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows nomore than if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tiredof the noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides,he threw all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishingcuts, and flung Squeers from him with all the force he could muster.The violence of his fall precipitated Mrs Squeers completely over anadjacent form; and Squeers striking his head against it in hisdescent, lay at his full length on the ground, stunned andmotionless.Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained,to his thorough satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and notdead (upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first),Nicholas left his family to restore him, and retired to considerwhat course he had better adopt. He looked anxiously round forSmike, as he left the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.After a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a smallleathern valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose hisprogress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortlyafterwards, struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.When he had cooled sufficiently to be enabled to give his presentcircumstances some little reflection, they did not appear in a veryencouraging light; he had only four shillings and a few pence in hispocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty miles fromLondon, whither he resolved to direct his steps, that he mightascertain, among other things, what account of the morning'sproceedings Mr Squeers transmitted to his most affectionate uncle.Lifting up his eyes, as he arrived at the conclusion that there wasno remedy for this unfortunate state of things, he beheld a horsemancoming towards him, whom, on nearer approach, he discovered, to hisinfinite chagrin, to be no other than Mr John Browdie, who, clad incords and leather leggings, was urging his animal forward by meansof a thick ash stick, which seemed to have been recently cut fromsome stout sapling.'I am in no mood for more noise and riot,' thought Nicholas, 'andyet, do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honestblockhead, and perhaps a blow or two from yonder staff.'In truth, there appeared some reason to expect that such a resultwould follow from the encounter, for John Browdie no sooner sawNicholas advancing, than he reined in his horse by the footpath, andwaited until such time as he should come up; looking meanwhile, verysternly between the horse's ears, at Nicholas, as he came on at hisleisure.'Servant, young genelman,' said John.'Yours,' said Nicholas.'Weel; we ha' met at last,' observed John, making the stirrup ringunder a smart touch of the ash stick.'Yes,' replied Nicholas, hesitating. 'Come!' he said, frankly,after a moment's pause, 'we parted on no very good terms the lasttime we met; it was my fault, I believe; but I had no intention ofoffending you, and no idea that I was doing so. I was very sorryfor it, afterwards. Will you shake hands?''Shake honds!' cried the good-humoured Yorkshireman; 'ah! that Iweel;' at the same time, he bent down from the saddle, and gaveNicholas's fist a huge wrench: 'but wa'at be the matther wi' thyfeace, mun? it be all brokken loike.''It is a cut,' said Nicholas, turning scarlet as he spoke,--'a blow;but I returned it to the giver, and with good interest too.''Noa, did 'ee though?' exclaimed John Browdie. 'Well deane! Iloike 'un for thot.''The fact is,' said Nicholas, not very well knowing how to make theavowal, 'the fact is, that I have been ill-treated.''Noa!' interposed John Browdie, in a tone of compassion; for he wasa giant in strength and stature, and Nicholas, very likely, in hiseyes, seemed a mere dwarf; 'dean't say thot.''Yes, I have,' replied Nicholas, 'by that man Squeers, and I havebeaten him soundly, and am leaving this place in consequence.''What!' cried John Browdie, with such an ecstatic shout, that thehorse quite shied at it. 'Beatten the schoolmeasther! Ho! ho! ho!Beatten the schoolmeasther! who ever heard o' the loike o' that noo!Giv' us thee hond agean, yoongster. Beatten the schoolmeasther!Dang it, I loov' thee for't.'With these expressions of delight, John Browdie laughed and laughedagain--so loud that the echoes, far and wide, sent back nothing butjovial peals of merriment--and shook Nicholas by the hand meanwhile,no less heartily. When his mirth had subsided, he inquired whatNicholas meant to do; on his informing him, to go straight toLondon, he shook his head doubtfully, and inquired if he knew howmuch the coaches charged to carry passengers so far.'No, I do not,' said Nicholas; 'but it is of no great consequence tome, for I intend walking.''Gang awa' to Lunnun afoot!' cried John, in amazement.'Every step of the way,' replied Nicholas. 'I should be many stepsfurther on by this time, and so goodbye!''Nay noo,' replied the honest countryman, reining in his impatienthorse, 'stan' still, tellee. Hoo much cash hast thee gotten?''Not much,' said Nicholas, colouring, 'but I can make it enough.Where there's a will, there's a way, you know.'John Browdie made no verbal answer to this remark, but putting hishand in his pocket, pulled out an old purse of solid leather, andinsisted that Nicholas should borrow from him whatever he requiredfor his present necessities.'Dean't be afeard, mun,' he said; 'tak' eneaf to carry thee whoam.Thee'lt pay me yan day, a' warrant.'Nicholas could by no means be prevailed upon to borrow more than asovereign, with which loan Mr Browdie, after many entreaties that hewould accept of more (observing, with a touch of Yorkshire caution,that if he didn't spend it all, he could put the surplus by, till hehad an opportunity of remitting it carriage free), was fain tocontent himself.'Tak' that bit o' timber to help thee on wi', mun,' he added,pressing his stick on Nicholas, and giving his hand another squeeze;'keep a good heart, and bless thee. Beatten the schoolmeasther!'Cod it's the best thing a've heerd this twonty year!'So saying, and indulging, with more delicacy than might have beenexpected from him, in another series of loud laughs, for the purposeof avoiding the thanks which Nicholas poured forth, John Browdie setspurs to his horse, and went off at a smart canter: looking back,from time to time, as Nicholas stood gazing after him, and wavinghis hand cheerily, as if to encourage him on his way. Nicholaswatched the horse and rider until they disappeared over the brow ofa distant hill, and then set forward on his journey.He did not travel far that afternoon, for by this time it was nearlydark, and there had been a heavy fall of snow, which not onlyrendered the way toilsome, but the track uncertain and difficult tofind, after daylight, save by experienced wayfarers. He lay, thatnight, at a cottage, where beds were let at a cheap rate to the morehumble class of travellers; and, rising betimes next morning, madehis way before night to Boroughbridge. Passing through that town insearch of some cheap resting-place, he stumbled upon an empty barnwithin a couple of hundred yards of the roadside; in a warm cornerof which, he stretched his weary limbs, and soon fell asleep.When he awoke next morning, and tried to recollect his dreams, whichhad been all connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys Hall, hesat up, rubbed his eyes and stared--not with the most composedcountenance possible--at some motionless object which seemed to bestationed within a few yards in front of him.'Strange!' cried Nicholas; 'can this be some lingering creation ofthe visions that have scarcely left me! It cannot be real--and yetI--I am awake! Smike!'The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped upon its knees at hisfeet. It was Smike indeed.'Why do you kneel to me?' said Nicholas, hastily raising him.'To go with you--anywhere--everywhere--to the world's end--to thechurchyard grave,' replied Smike, clinging to his hand. 'Let me, ohdo let me. You are my home--my kind friend--take me with you,pray.''I am a friend who can do little for you,' said Nicholas, kindly.'How came you here?'He had followed him, it seemed; had never lost sight of him all theway; had watched while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment;and had feared to appear before, lest he should be sent back. Hehad not intended to appear now, but Nicholas had awakened moresuddenly than he looked for, and he had had no time to concealhimself.'Poor fellow!' said Nicholas, 'your hard fate denies you any friendbut one, and he is nearly as poor and helpless as yourself.''May I--may I go with you?' asked Smike, timidly. 'I will be yourfaithful hard-working servant, I will, indeed. I want no clothes,'added the poor creature, drawing his rags together; 'these will dovery well. I only want to be near you.''And you shall,' cried Nicholas. 'And the world shall deal by youas it does by me, till one or both of us shall quit it for a better.Come!'With these words, he strapped his burden on his shoulders, and,taking his stick in one hand, extended the other to his delightedcharge; and so they passed out of the old barn, together.