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. Mr. Squeers had dismounted, and after ordering
the boy, whom he called Smike, 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. His great distance from
home, and the impossibility of reaching it, except on foot, should he feel
ever so anxious, presented itself to him in most alarming colours; and as
he looked up at the dreary house and dark windows, and upon the wild
country round, covered with snow, he felt a depression of heart and spirit
which he never had experienced before.

"Now, then!" cried Squeers, poking his head out at the front door, "Where
are you, Nickleby?"

"Here, sir," replied Nicholas.

"Come in, then," said Squeers, "the wind blows in, at this door, fit to
knock a man off his legs."

Nicholas sighed, and hurried in. Mr. Squeers ushered him into a small
parlour scantily furnished with a few chairs, a yellow map hung against
the wall, and a couple of tables; one of which bore some preparations for
supper. Mrs. Squeers then came in, and was duly made acquainted with
Nicholas, and after some conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, a
young servant girl brought in a Yorkshire pie, which being set upon the
table, the boy Smike appeared with a jug of ale.

Mr. Squeers meanwhile was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to
different boys, which he had brought down. Smike glanced, with an anxious
and timid expression, at the papers, as if with a sickly hope that one
among them might relate to him. The look was a very painful one, and went
to Nicholas's heart at once; for it told a sad history. He considered the
boy more attenti