'My dear child,' said Mr Squeers, 'all people have their trials. This
early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, and
your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is it? Nothing;
less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you will have a
father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs Squeers. At the delightful
village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are
boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, provided
with all necessaries--'

'It IS the gentleman,' observed the stranger, stopping the schoolmaster
in the rehearsal of his advertisement. 'Mr Squeers, I believe, sir?'

'The same, sir,' said Mr Squeers, with an assumption of extreme
surprise.

'The gentleman,' said the stranger, 'that advertised in the Times
newspaper?'

'--Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding the
Academy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys,
near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,' added Mr Squeers. 'You come on
business, sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do, my little
gentleman? and how do you do, sir?' With this salutation Mr Squeers
patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little boys, whom the
applicant had brought with him, and waited for further communications.

'I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,' said the
stranger.