on had the desired effect, and a deathlike
silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr Squeers went on
to say:

'Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to my family and you, as
strong and well as ever.'

According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers at
this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers! Sights of extra strength with
the chill on.

'I have seen the parents of some boys,' continued Squeers, turning over
his papers, 'and they're so glad to hear how their sons are getting on,
that there's no prospect at all of their going away, which of course is
a very pleasant thing to reflect upon, for all parties.'

Two or three hands went to two or three eyes when Squeers said this, but
the greater part of the young gentlemen having no particular parents to
speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one way or other.

'I have had disappointments to contend against,' said Squeers, looking
very grim; 'Bolder's father was two pound ten short. Where is Bolder?'

'Here he is, please sir,' rejoined twenty officious voices. Boys are
very like men to be sure.

'Come here, Bolder,' said Squeers.

An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped from
his place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes imploringly to
Squeers's face; his own, quite white from the rapid beating of his
heart.

'Bolder,' said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was considering, as
the saying goes, where to have him. 'Bolder, if you father thinks that
because--why, what's this, sir?'

As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of his jacket,
and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and disgust.

'What do you call this, sir?' demanded the schoolmaster, administering a
cut with the cane to expedite the reply.

'I can't help it, indeed, sir,' rejoined the boy, crying. 'They will
come; it's the dirty work I think, sir--at least I don't know what it
is, sir, but it's not my fault.'

'Bolder,' said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands, and moistening
the palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, 'you're an
incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you no good,
we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you.'

With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr Squeers
fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off, indeed, until
his arm was tired out.

'There,' said Squeers, when he had quite done;