The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to recollect something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner, gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.

The following morning, when Nicholas appeared downstairs, Mrs. Squeers was in a state of great excitement.

“I can’t find the school spoon anywhere,” she said anxiously.

“Never mind it, my dear,” observed Squeers in a soothing manner; “it’s of no consequence.”

“No consequence?  Why, how you talk!” retorted Mrs. Squeers sharply, “isn’t it brimstone morning?”

“I forgot, my dear,” rejoined Squeers; “yes, it certainly is.  We purify the boys’ bloods now and then, Nickleby.”

“Oh! nonsense,” rejoined Mrs. Squeers.  “If the young man comes to be a teacher here, let him understand, at once, that we don’t want any foolery about the boys.  They have the brimstone and treacle, partly because if they hadn’t something or other in the way of medicine they ’d be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly because it spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner.  So, it does them good and us good at the same time, and that’s fair enough, I’m sure!”

“But come,” said Squeers, “let’s go to the schoolroom; and lend me a hand with my school-coat, will you?”

Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old fustian shooting jacket, and Squeers, arming himself with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a door in the rear of the house.

“There,” said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together; “this is our shop, Nickleby!”

The “shop” was a bare and dirty room, with a couple of windows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder being stopped up with old copybooks and paper.  There were a couple of long, old rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked, and damaged, in every possible way; two or three forms; a detached desk for Squeers; and another for his assistant.  The ceiling was supported, like that of a barn, by cross beams and rafters; and the walls were so stained and discoloured, that it was impossible to tell whether they had ever been touched with paint or whitewash.

But the pupils!  How the last faint traces of hope faded from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in dismay around!  There were pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth; little faces which should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering; vicious-faced boys, brooding with leaden eyes, with every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in its birth, with every young and healthy feeling flogged and starved down.

And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features.  Mrs. Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an immense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound she administered a large instalment to each boy in succession:  using for the purpose a common wooden spoon, which widened every young gentleman’s mouth considerably:  they being all obliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the whole of the bowl at a gasp.