should he feel ever so
anxious to return, 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 had never 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, having bolted the door to
keep it shut, 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; while, on the other, a
tutor's assistant, a Murray's grammar, half-a-dozen cards of terms, and
a worn letter directed to Wackford Squeers, Esquire, were arranged in
picturesque confusion.

They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes, when a female
bounced into the room, and, seizing Mr Squeers by the throat, gave him
two loud kisses: one close after the other, like a postman's knock. The
lady, who was of a large raw-boned figure, was about half a head taller
than Mr Squeers, and was dressed in a dimity night-jacket; with her hair
in papers; she had also a dirty nightcap on, relieved by a yellow cotton
handkerchief which tied it under the chin.

'How is my Squeery?' said this lady in a playful manner, and a very
hoarse voice.

'Quite well, my love,' replied Squeers. 'How's the cows?'

'All right, every one of'em,' answered the lady.

'And the pigs?' said Squeers.

'As well as they were when you went away.'

'Come; that's a blessing,' said Squeers, pulling off his great-coat.
'The boys are all as they were, I suppose?'

'Oh, yes, they're well enough,' replied Mrs Squeers, snappishly. 'That
young Pitcher's had a fever.'

'No!' exclaimed Squeers. 'Damn that boy, he's always at something of
that sort.'

'Never was such a boy, I do believe,' said Mrs Squeers; 'whatever he
has is always catching too. I say it's obstinacy, and nothing shall ever
convince me that it isn't. I'd beat it out of him; and I told you that,
six months ago.'

'So you did, my love,' rejoined Squeers. 'We'll try what can be done.'

Pending these little endearments, Nicholas had stood, awkwardly enough,
in the middle of the room: not very well knowing whether he was