xclaimed:

'As I am alive, here comes Mother Smith with a great whalebone; now,
girl, you'll be cut to pieces.'

A general shout of 'Run! run!' from men, women, and children almost
deafened me. Without stopping to see if Mrs. Smith was really coming, I
did run as fast as my feet would carry me, till, strength and breath
failing, I was obliged to slacken my pace. I had by this time run nearly
the whole length of the Borough, and was almost at London Bridge. I had
never before seen the Thames, and thought it was the sea. The noise of
the water-works frightened me, and I hesitated about venturing on the
bridge; but, seeing others go over, I, with some fear, followed them,
and thought that I had escaped a great danger when I reached the
opposite end in safety. But this imaginary fear was but a short
interruption to my more just one of Mrs. Smith, and I now ventured to
look back to see if I was pursued. Terror, I suppose, deceived me, for I
thought I saw her coming with a stick in her hand. I again set off
running, and, following the stream of the people, was soon in Cheapside.
My feet were now sore, and cut in several places by the ice; but I still
hurried on as well as I was able, till I entered St. Paul's Churchyard.
There, notwithstanding my fear, I stood still to gaze on the immense and
beautiful building, which I now for the first time beheld, and for some
minutes I was lost in a dream of astonishment. My dream was soon
interrupted by the crowds of people who were hurrying on in different
directions, and who pushed me about without any ceremony, so that I was
soon obliged to collect my scattered ideas and consider what I was now
to do. I had left Mr. Smith's, but I had no where else to go to, not a
friend to receive me, nor a house to shelter me for a single night. As I
thought of my miserable situation, the tears chased each other down my
face. Of the great numbers who passed me, no doubt some observed them;
but they were all too much engaged with their own concerns to make any
inquiries into the sorrows of a poor little outcast like myself, and I
passed on unheeded. Going on with the course of the people, I went
through St. Paul's Churchyard, down Ludgate Hill, along Fleet Street,
and entered the Strand. By this time I had made the determination of
endeavouring to find my way back to E----; of going to Mr. Sanders's,
and telling him how ill I had been treated by the Smiths; for I thought
that his influence with the