go home very soon, you will. You'll find yourself at the
peaceful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, in something under a week's
time, my young friend; and the next time you get away from there, I
give you leave to keep away. Where's the clothes you run off in, you
ungrateful robber?' said Mr Squeers, in a severe voice.

Smike glanced at the neat attire which the care of Nicholas had provided
for him; and wrung his hands.

'Do you know that I could hang you up, outside of the Old Bailey, for
making away with them articles of property?' said Squeers. 'Do you know
that it's a hanging matter--and I an't quite certain whether it an't
an anatomy one besides--to walk off with up'ards of the valley of five
pound from a dwelling-house? Eh? Do you know that? What do you suppose
was the worth of them clothes you had? Do you know that that Wellington
boot you wore, cost eight-and-twenty shillings when it was a pair, and
the shoe seven-and-six? But you came to the right shop for mercy when
you came to me, and thank your stars that it IS me as has got to serve
you with the article.'

Anybody not in Mr Squeers's confidence would have supposed that he was
quite out of the article in question, instead of having a large stock
on hand ready for all comers; nor would the opinion of sceptical persons
have undergone much alteration when he followed up the remark by poking
Smike in the chest with the ferrule of his umbrella, and dealing a smart
shower of blows, with the ribs of the same instrument, upon his head and
shoulders.

'I never threshed a boy in a hackney coach before,' said Mr Squeers,
when he stopped to rest. 'There's inconveniency in it, but the novelty
gives it a sort of relish, too!'

Poor Smike! He warded off the blows, as well as he could, and now shrunk
into a corner of the coach, with his head resting on his hands, and his
elbows on his knees; he was stunned and stupefied, and had no more idea
that any act of his, would enable him to escape from the all-powerful
Squeers, now that he had no friend to speak to or to advise with, than
he had had in all the weary years of his Yorkshire life which preceded
the arrival of Nicholas.

The journey seemed endless; street after street was entered and left
behind; and still they went jolting on. At last Mr Squeers began to
thrust his head out of the widow every half-minute, and to bawl a
variety of directions to the coachman; and after passing, with some
difficulty, through sev