to town
for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a
boy who, unfortunately----"

"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
assistant. Do you really want one?"

"Certainly," answered Squeers.

"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
the man you want."

"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."

"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
being a Master of Arts?"

"The absence of the college degree _is_ an objection." replied Squeers,
considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.

"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.

"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
with us."

"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
to do but keep yourself warm."

_II.--At Dotheboys Hall_

"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the
pump's froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be
content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the
well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys."

Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
the school-room.

"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
our shop."

It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
desks and forms.

But the pupils!

Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
yet, painful as the scene was, it had its g