pony to obey also, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant misery to follow at leisure.
"Are you cold, Nickleby?" inquired Squeers, after they had travelled some distance in silence.
"Rather, Sir, I must say."
"Well, I don't find fault with that," said Squeers; "it's a long journey this weather."
"Is it much further to Dotheboys Hall, Sir?" asked Nicholas.
"About three mile from here," replied Squeers. "But you needn't call it a 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 much astonished.
"No," replied Squeers. "We call it a Hall up in London, because it sounds better, but they don't know it by that name in these parts. A man may call his house an island if he likes; there's no act of Parliament against that, I believe."
"I believe not, Sir," rejoined Nicholas.
Squeers eyed his companion slily at the conclusion of this little dialogue, and finding that he had grown thoughtful and appeared in nowise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself with lashing the pony until they reached their journey's end.
"Jump out," said Squeers. "Hallo there! come and put this horse up. Be quick, will you."
While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries, Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long cold-looking house, one story high, with a few straggling outbuildings behind, and a barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, the noise of somebody unlocking the yard gate was heard, and presently a tall 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, with humility.
"Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?" demanded the school-master, sharply.
"Only in the kitchen. Sir," replied the boy. "Missus said as I was sitting up, I might go in there, for a warm."
"Your missus is a fool," retorted Squeers. "You'd have been a deuced deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage."
By this time Mr. Squeers had dismounted; and after ordering the boy to see to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more corn that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front door a minute while he went round and let him in.
A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon Nicholas during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with redoubled force when he was left alone. His great distance from home
