From the moment of making that resolve, Nicholas got on in his place as well as he could, doing his best to improve matters.  He arranged a few regular lessons for the boys, and saw that they were well attended; but his heart sank more and more, for besides the dull, unvarying round of misery there was another system of annoyance which nearly drove him wild by its injustice and cruelty.  Upon the wretched creature Smike, all the spleen and ill-humour that could not be vented on Nicholas, were unceasingly bestowed.  Drudgery would have been nothing—­Smike was well used to that.  Buffetings inflicted without cause would have been equally a matter of course, for to them also he had served a long and weary apprenticeship; but it was no sooner observed that he had become attached to Nicholas, than stripes and blows, morning, noon, and night, were his only portion.  Squeers was jealous of the influence which his new teacher had so soon acquired; and his family hated him, and Smike paid for both.  Nicholas saw this, and ground his teeth at every repetition of the savage and cowardly attack.

Not many weeks later, on a cold January morning, when Nicholas awoke he found the entire school agog with quivering excitement.  Smike had run away, and Squeers’s anger was at white heat against him and every one else.

“He is off,” said Mrs. Squeers, angrily.  “The cowhouse and stable are locked up, so he can’t be there; and he’s not down stairs anywhere.  He must have gone York way, and by a public road too.  Then of course,” continued Mrs. Squeers, “as he had no money he must beg his way, and he could do that nowhere, but on the public road.”

“That’s true,” exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands.

“True!  Yes; but you would never have thought of it, if I hadn’t said so,” replied his wife.  “Now, if you take the chaise and go one road, and I borrow Swallow’s chaise and go the other, one or other of us is pretty certain to lay hold of him!”

This plan was adopted and put in execution without a moment’s delay.

After a very hasty breakfast, Squeers started forth in the pony-chaise, intent upon discovery and vengeance.  Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Squeers issued forth in another chaise and another direction, taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strong cord, and a stout labouring man.

Nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible that whatever might be the upshot of the boy’s flight, nothing but painful and deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it.  The unhappy being had established a hold upon his sympathy and compassion, which made his heart ache at the prospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo.

The next evening Squeers returned alone and unsuccessful.  Another day came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard the wheels of a chaise approaching the house.  It stopped.  The voice of Mrs. Squeers was heard in exultation.  Nicholas hardly dared to look out of the window; but he did so, and the very first object that met his eyes was the wretched Smike:  so bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard, and worn, and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, of his identity.