denounced me to
Monsieur Aristide Maugrebleu as a _mauvais sujet_; and as he was a
creature of hers, he frequently annoyed me to gratify his patroness.
This fellow was at that time about forty-five years of age, and had
much more experience than agility, having greatly increased his bulk
by the roast beef and ale of England. While he taught us the rigadoons
of his own country, his vanity induced him to attempt feats much above
the cumbrous weight of his frame. I entered the lists with him, beat
him at his own trade, and he beat me with his fiddle-stick, which
broke in two over my head; then, making one more glorious effort to
show that he would not be outdone, snapped the tendon Achilles, and
down he fell, _hors de combat_ as a dancing-master. He was taken away
in his gig to be cured, and I was taken into the school-room to be
flogged.

This I thought so unjust that I ran away. Tom Crauford helped me to
scale the wall; and when he supposed I had got far enough to be out of
danger from pursuit, went and gave information, to avoid the suspicion
of having aided and abetted. After running a mile, to use a sea
phrase, I hove to, and began to compose, in my mind, an oration which
I intended to pronounce before my father, by way of apology for
my sudden and unexpected appearance; but I was interrupted by the
detested usher and half a dozen of the senior boys, among whom was
Tom Crauford. Coming behind me as I sat on a stile, they cut short my
meditations by a tap on the shoulder, collared and marched me to the
right about in double quick time. Tom Crauford was one of those
who held me, and outdid himself in zealous invective at my base
ingratitude in absconding from the best of masters, and the most
affectionate, tender, and motherly of all school-dames.

The usher swallowed all this, and I soon made him swallow a great deal
more. We passed near the side of a pond, the shoals and depths of
which were well known to me. I looked at Tom out of the corner of my
eye, and motioned him to let me go; and, like a mackerel out of a
fisherman's hand, I darted into the water, got up to my middle, and
then very coolly, for it was November, turned round to gaze at my
escort, who stood at bay, and looked very much like fools. The usher,
like a low bred cur, when he could no longer bully, began to fawn;
he entreated and he implored me to think on "my papa and mamma; how
miserable they would be, if they could but see me; what an increase of