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Nicholas was one of those whose joy is incomplete unless it is sharedby the friends of adverse and less fortunate days. Surrounded by everyfascination of love and hope, his warm heart yearned towards plainJohn Browdie. He remembered their first meeting with a smile, and theirsecond with a tear; saw poor Smike once again with the bundle onhis shoulder trudging patiently by his side; and heard the honestYorkshireman's rough words of encouragement as he left them on theirroad to London.

Madeline and he sat down, very many times, jointly to produce a letterwhich should acquaint John at full length with his altered fortunes,and assure him of his friendship and gratitude. It so happened, however,that the letter could never be written. Although they applied themselvesto it with the best intentions in the world, it chanced that they alwaysfell to talking about something else, and when Nicholas tried it byhimself, he found it impossible to write one-half of what he wished tosay, or to pen anything, indeed, which on reperusal did not appear coldand unsatisfactory compared with what he had in his mind. At last, aftergoing on thus from day to day, and reproaching himself more and more,he resolved (the more readily as Madeline strongly urged him) to make ahasty trip into Yorkshire, and present himself before Mr and Mrs Browdiewithout a word of notice.

Thus it was that between seven and eight o'clock one evening, he andKate found themselves in the Saracen's Head booking-office, securinga place to Greta Bridge by the next morning's coach. They had to gowestward, to procure some little necessaries for his journey, and, as itwas a fine night, they agreed to walk there, and ride home.

The place they had just been in called up so many recollections, andKate had so many anecdotes of Madeline, and Nicholas so many anecdotesof Frank, and each was so interested in what the other said, and bothwere so happy and confiding, and had so much to talk about, that it wasnot until they had plunged for a full half-hour into that labyrinth ofstreets which lies between Seven Dials and Soho, without emerging intoany large thoroughfare, that Nicholas began to think it just possiblethey might have lost their way.

The possibility was soon converted into a certainty; for, on lookingabout, and walking first to one end of the street and then to the other,he could find no landmark he could recognise, and was fain to turn backagain in quest of some place at which he could seek a direction.

It was a by-street, and there was nobody about, or in the few wretchedshops they passed. Making towards a faint gleam of light which streamedacross the pavement from a cellar, Nicholas was about to descend two orthree steps so as to render himself visible to those below and make hisinquiry, when he was arrested by a loud noise of scolding in a woman'svoice.

'Oh come away!' said Kate, 'they are quarrelling. You'll be hurt.'

'Wait one instant, Kate. Let us hear if there's anything the matter,'returned her brother. 'Hush!'

'You nasty, idle, vicious, good-for-nothing brute,' cried the woman,stamping on the ground, 'why don't you turn the mangle?'

'So I am, my life and soul!' replied the man's voice. 'I am alwaysturning. I am perpetually turning, like a demd old horse in a demnitionmill. My life is one demd horrid grind!'

'Then why don't you go and list for a soldier?' retorted the woman;'you're welcome to.'

'For a soldier!' cried the man. 'For a soldier! Would his joy andgladness see him in a coarse red coat with a little tail? Would she hearof his being slapped and beat by drummers demnebly? Would she have himfire off real guns, and have his hair cut, and his whiskers shaved, andhis eyes turned right and left, and his trousers pipeclayed?'

'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, 'you don't know who that is. It's MrMantalini I am confident.'

'Do make sure! Peep at him while I ask the way,' said Nicholas. 'Comedown a step or two. Come!'

Drawing her after him, Nicholas crept down the steps and looked intoa small boarded cellar. There, amidst clothes-baskets and clothes,stripped up to his shirt-sleeves, but wearing still an old patchedpair of pantaloons of superlative make, a once brilliant waistcoat,and moustache and whiskers as of yore, but lacking their lustrousdye--there, endeavouring to mollify the wrath of a buxom female--notthe lawful Madame Mantalini, but the proprietress of the concern--andgrinding meanwhile as if for very life at the mangle, whose creakingnoise, mingled with her shrill tones, appeared almost to deafenhim--there was the graceful, elegant, fascinating, and once dashingMantalini.

'Oh you false traitor!' cried the lady, threatening personal violence onMr Mantalini's face.

'False! Oh dem! Now my soul, my gentle, captivating, bewitching, andmost demnebly enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm,' said Mr Mantalini,humbly.

'I won't!' screamed the woman. 'I'll tear your eyes out!'

'Oh! What a demd savage lamb!' cried Mr Mantalini.

'You're never to be trusted,' screamed the woman; 'you were out all dayyesterday, and gallivanting somewhere I know. You know you were! Isn'tit enough that I paid two pound fourteen for you, and took you out ofprison and let you live here like a gentleman, but must you go on likethis: breaking my heart besides?'

'I will never break its heart, I will be a good boy, and never do so anymore; I will never be naughty again; I beg its little pardon,' saidMr Mantalini, dropping the handle of the mangle, and folding his palmstogether; 'it is all up with its handsome friend! He has gone to thedemnition bow-wows. It will have pity? It will not scratch and claw, butpet and comfort? Oh, demmit!'

Very little affected, to judge from her action, by this tender appeal,the lady was on the point of returning some angry reply, when Nicholas,raising his voice, asked his way to Piccadilly.

Mr Mantalini turned round, caught sight of Kate, and, without anotherword, leapt at one bound into a bed which stood behind the door, anddrew the counterpane over his face: kicking meanwhile convulsively.

'Demmit,' he cried, in a suffocating voice, 'it's little Nickleby! Shutthe door, put out the candle, turn me up in the bedstead! Oh, dem, dem,dem!'

The woman looked, first at Nicholas, and then at Mr Mantalini, asif uncertain on whom to visit this extraordinary behaviour; but MrMantalini happening by ill-luck to thrust his nose from under thebedclothes, in his anxiety to ascertain whether the visitors were gone,she suddenly, and with a dexterity which could only have been acquiredby long practice, flung a pretty heavy clothes-basket at him, with sogood an aim that he kicked more violently than before, though withoutventuring to make any effort to disengage his head, which was quiteextinguished. Thinking this a favourable opportunity for departingbefore any of the torrent of her wrath discharged itself upon him,Nicholas hurried Kate off, and left the unfortunate subject of thisunexpected recognition to explain his conduct as he best could.

The next morning he began his journey. It was now cold, winter weather:forcibly recalling to his mind under what circumstances he had firsttravelled that road, and how many vicissitudes and changes he hadsince undergone. He was alone inside the greater part of the way, andsometimes, when he had fallen into a doze, and, rousing himself, lookedout of the window, and recognised some place which he well remembered ashaving passed, either on his journey down, or in the long walk backwith poor Smike, he could hardly believe but that all which had sincehappened had been a dream, and that they were still plodding wearily ontowards London, with the world before them.

To render these recollections the more vivid, it came on to snow asnight set in; and, passing through Stamford and Grantham, and by thelittle alehouse where he had heard the story of the bold Baron ofGrogzwig, everything looked as if he had seen it but yesterday, andnot even a flake of the white crust on the roofs had melted away.Encouraging the train of ideas which flocked upon him, he could almostpersuade himself that he sat again outside the coach, with Squeers andthe boys; that he heard their voices in the air; and that he felt again,but with a mingled sensation of pain and pleasure now, that old sinkingof the heart, and longing after home. While he was yet yielding himselfup to these fancies he fell asleep, and, dreaming of Madeline, forgotthem.

He slept at the inn at Greta Bridge on the night of his arrival, and,rising at a very early hour next morning, walked to the market town, andinquired for John Browdie's house. John lived in the outskirts, now hewas a family man; and as everbody knew him, Nicholas had no difficultyin finding a boy who undertook to guide him to his residence.

Dismissing his guide at the gate, and in his impatience not evenstopping to admire the thriving look of cottage or garden either,Nicholas made his way to the kitchen door, and knocked lustily with hisstick.

'Halloa!' cried a voice inside. 'Wa'et be the matther noo? Be the toona-fire? Ding, but thou mak'st noise eneaf!'

With these words, John Browdie opened the door himself, and opening hiseyes too to their utmost width, cried, as he clapped his hands together,and burst into a hearty roar:

'Ecod, it be the godfeyther, it be the godfeyther! Tilly, here beMisther Nickleby. Gi' us thee hond, mun. Coom awa', coom awa'. In wi'un, doon beside the fire; tak' a soop o' thot. Dinnot say a word tillthou'st droonk it a'! Oop wi' it, mun. Ding! but I'm reeght glod to seethee.'

Adapting his action to his text, John dragged Nicholas into the kitchen,forced him down upon a huge settle beside a blazing fire, poured outfrom an enormous bottle about a quarter of a pint of spirits, thrust itinto his hand, opened his mouth and threw back his head as a sign tohim to drink it instantly, and stood with a broad grin of welcomeoverspreading his great red face like a jolly giant.

'I might ha' knowa'd,' said John, 'that nobody but thou would ha'coom wi' sike a knock as you. Thot was the wa' thou knocked atschoolmeasther's door, eh? Ha, ha, ha! But I say; wa'at be a' this abootschoolmeasther?'

'You know it then?' said Nicholas.

'They were talking aboot it, doon toon, last neeght,' replied John, 'butneane on 'em seemed quite to un'erstan' it, loike.'

'After various shiftings and delays,' said Nicholas, 'he has beensentenced to be transported for seven years, for being in the unlawfulpossession of a stolen will; and, after that, he has to suffer theconsequence of a conspiracy.'

'Whew!' cried John, 'a conspiracy! Soom'at in the pooder-plot wa'? Eh?Soom'at in the Guy Faux line?'

'No, no, no, a conspiracy connected with his school; I'll explain itpresently.'

'Thot's reeght!' said John, 'explain it arter breakfast, not noo, forthou be'est hoongry, and so am I; and Tilly she mun' be at the bottom o'a' explanations, for she says thot's the mutual confidence. Ha, ha, ha!Ecod, it's a room start, is the mutual confidence!'

The entrance of Mrs Browdie, with a smart cap on, and very manyapologies for their having been detected in the act of breakfasting inthe kitchen, stopped John in his discussion of this grave subject, andhastened the breakfast: which, being composed of vast mounds of toast,new-laid eggs, boiled ham, Yorkshire pie, and other cold substantials(of which heavy relays were constantly appearing from another kitchenunder the direction of a very plump servant), was admirably adaptedto the cold bleak morning, and received the utmost justice from allparties. At last, it came to a close; and the fire which had beenlighted in the best parlour having by this time burnt up, they adjournedthither, to hear what Nicholas had to tell.

Nicholas told them all, and never was there a story which awakened somany emotions in the breasts of two eager listeners. At one time, honestJohn groaned in sympathy, and at another roared with joy; at one timehe vowed to go up to London on purpose to get a sight of the brothersCheeryble; and, at another, swore that Tim Linkinwater should receivesuch a ham by coach, and carriage free, as mortal knife had nevercarved. When Nicholas began to describe Madeline, he sat with his mouthwide open, nudging Mrs Browdie from time to time, and exclaiming underhis breath that she must be 'raa'ther a tidy sart,' and when he heardat last that his young friend had come down purposely to communicate hisgood fortune, and to convey to him all those assurances of friendshipwhich he could not state with sufficient warmth in writing--that theonly object of his journey was to share his happiness with them, andto tell them that when he was married they must come up to see him,and that Madeline insisted on it as well as he--John could hold out nolonger, but after looking indignantly at his wife, and demanding toknow what she was whimpering for, drew his coat sleeve over his eyes andblubbered outright.

'Tell'ee wa'at though,' said John seriously, when a great deal had beensaid on both sides, 'to return to schoolmeasther. If this news aboot 'unhas reached school today, the old 'ooman wean't have a whole boan in herboddy, nor Fanny neither.'

'Oh, John!' cried Mrs Browdie.

'Ah! and Oh, John agean,' replied the Yorkshireman. 'I dinnot know whatthey lads mightn't do. When it first got aboot that schoolmeasther wasin trouble, some feythers and moothers sent and took their young chapsawa'. If them as is left, should know waat's coom tiv'un, there'll besike a revolution and rebel!--Ding! But I think they'll a' gang daft,and spill bluid like wather!'

In fact, John Browdie's apprehensions were so strong that he determinedto ride over to the school without delay, and invited Nicholas toaccompany him, which, however, he declined, pleading that his presencemight perhaps aggravate the bitterness of their adversity.

'Thot's true!' said John; 'I should ne'er ha' thought o' thot.'

'I must return tomorrow,' said Nicholas, 'but I mean to dine with youtoday, and if Mrs Browdie can give me a bed--'

'Bed!' cried John, 'I wish thou couldst sleep in fower beds at once.Ecod, thou shouldst have 'em a'. Bide till I coom back; on'y bide till Icoom back, and ecod we'll make a day of it.'

Giving his wife a hearty kiss, and Nicholas a no less hearty shake ofthe hand, John mounted his horse and rode off: leaving Mrs Browdie toapply herself to hospitable preparations, and his young friend to strollabout the neighbourhood, and revisit spots which were rendered familiarto him by many a miserable association.

John cantered away, and arriving at Dotheboys Hall, tied his horse to agate and made his way to the schoolroom door, which he found locked onthe inside. A tremendous noise and riot arose from within, and, applyinghis eye to a convenient crevice in the wall, he did not remain long inignorance of its meaning.

The news of Mr Squeers's downfall had reached Dotheboys; that was quiteclear. To all appearance, it had very recently become known to the younggentlemen; for the rebellion had just broken out.

It was one of the brimstone-and-treacle mornings, and Mrs Squeershad entered school according to custom with the large bowl and spoon,followed by Miss Squeers and the amiable Wackford: who, during hisfather's absence, had taken upon him such minor branches of theexecutive as kicking the pupils with his nailed boots, pulling the hairof some of the smaller boys, pinching the others in aggravating places,and rendering himself, in various similar ways, a great comfort andhappiness to his mother. Their entrance, whether by premeditation ora simultaneous impulse, was the signal of revolt. While one detachmentrushed to the door and locked it, and another mounted on the desks andforms, the stoutest (and consequently the newest) boy seized the cane,and confronting Mrs Squeers with a stern countenance, snatched off hercap and beaver bonnet, put them on his own head, armed himself with thewooden spoon, and bade her, on pain of death, go down upon her knees andtake a dose directly. Before that estimable lady could recover herself,or offer the slightest retaliation, she was forced into a kneelingposture by a crowd of shouting tormentors, and compelled to swallow aspoonful of the odious mixture, rendered more than usually savoury bythe immersion in the bowl of Master Wackford's head, whose duckingwas intrusted to another rebel. The success of this first achievementprompted the malicious crowd, whose faces were clustered together inevery variety of lank and half-starved ugliness, to further acts ofoutrage. The leader was insisting upon Mrs Squeers repeating her dose,Master Squeers was undergoing another dip in the treacle, and a violentassault had been commenced on Miss Squeers, when John Browdie, burstingopen the door with a vigorous kick, rushed to the rescue. The shouts,screams, groans, hoots, and clapping of hands, suddenly ceased, and adead silence ensued.

'Ye be noice chaps,' said John, looking steadily round. 'What's to dohere, thou yoong dogs?'

'Squeers is in prison, and we are going to run away!' cried a score ofshrill voices. 'We won't stop, we won't stop!'

'Weel then, dinnot stop,' replied John; 'who waants thee to stop? Roonawa' loike men, but dinnot hurt the women.'

'Hurrah!' cried the shrill voices, more shrilly still.

'Hurrah?' repeated John. 'Weel, hurrah loike men too. Noo then, lookout. Hip--hip,--hip--hurrah!'

'Hurrah!' cried the voices.

'Hurrah! Agean;' said John. 'Looder still.'

The boys obeyed.

'Anoother!' said John. 'Dinnot be afeared on it. Let's have a good 'un!'

'Hurrah!'

'Noo then,' said John, 'let's have yan more to end wi', and thencoot off as quick as you loike. Tak'a good breath noo--Squeers be injail--the school's brokken oop--it's a' ower--past and gane--think o'thot, and let it be a hearty 'un! Hurrah!'

Such a cheer arose as the walls of Dotheboys Hall had never echoedbefore, and were destined never to respond to again. When the sound haddied away, the school was empty; and of the busy noisy crowd which hadpeopled it but five minutes before, not one remained.

'Very well, Mr Browdie!' said Miss Squeers, hot and flushed from therecent encounter, but vixenish to the last; 'you've been and excited ourboys to run away. Now see if we don't pay you out for that, sir! Ifmy pa IS unfortunate and trod down by henemies, we're not going to bebasely crowed and conquered over by you and 'Tilda.'

'Noa!' replied John bluntly, 'thou bean't. Tak' thy oath o' thot. Thinkbetther o' us, Fanny. I tell 'ee both, that I'm glod the auld man hasbeen caught out at last--dom'd glod--but ye'll sooffer eneaf wi'out anycrowin' fra' me, and I be not the mun to crow, nor be Tilly the lass,so I tell 'ee flat. More than thot, I tell 'ee noo, that if thou need'stfriends to help thee awa' from this place--dinnot turn up thy nose,Fanny, thou may'st--thou'lt foind Tilly and I wi' a thout o' old timesaboot us, ready to lend thee a hond. And when I say thot, dinnot thinkI be asheamed of waa't I've deane, for I say again, Hurrah! and dom theschoolmeasther. There!'

His parting words concluded, John Browdie strode heavily out, remountedhis nag, put him once more into a smart canter, and, carolling lustilyforth some fragments of an old song, to which the horse's hoofs rang amerry accompaniment, sped back to his pretty wife and to Nicholas.

For some days afterwards, the neighbouring country was overrun withboys, who, the report went, had been secretly furnished by Mr and MrsBrowdie, not only with a hearty meal of bread and meat, but with sundryshillings and sixpences to help them on their way. To this rumour Johnalways returned a stout denial, which he accompanied, however, with alurking grin, that rendered the suspicious doubtful, and fully confirmedall previous believers.

There were a few timid young children, who, miserable as they had been,and many as were the tears they had shed in the wretched school, stillknew no other home, and had formed for it a sort of attachment, whichmade them weep when the bolder spirits fled, and cling to it as arefuge. Of these, some were found crying under hedges and in suchplaces, frightened at the solitude. One had a dead bird in a littlecage; he had wandered nearly twenty miles, and when his poor favouritedied, lost courage, and lay down beside him. Another was discovered in ayard hard by the school, sleeping with a dog, who bit at those who cameto remove him, and licked the sleeping child's pale face.

They were taken back, and some other stragglers were recovered, butby degrees they were claimed, or lost again; and, in course of time,Dotheboys Hall and its last breaking-up began to be forgotten by theneighbours, or to be only spoken of as among the things that had been.