Heaven knows how long he had been there, but he still wore the same linen which he had first taken down; for, round his neck, was a tattered child's frill, only half concealed by a coarse, man's neckerchief.

He was lame; and as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at the letters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, that Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him.
'What are you bothering about there, Smike ?' cried Mrs Squeers; 'let the things alone, can't you ?' 'Eh!' said Squeers, looking up.

'Oh! it's you, is it ?' 'Yes, sir,' replied the youth, pressing his hands together, as though to control, by force, the nervous wandering of his fingers.

'Is there--' 'Well!' said Squeers.
'Have you--did anybody--has nothing been heard--about me ?' 'Devil a bit,' replied Squeers testily.
The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his hand to his face, moved towards the door.
'Not a word,' resumed Squeers, 'and never will be.

Now, this is a pretty sort of thing, isn't it, that you should have been left here, all these years, and no money paid after the first six--nor no notice taken, nor no clue to be got who you belong to?
It's a pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great fellow like you, and never hope to get one penny for it, isn't it ?' 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.
'I'll tell you what, Squeers,' remarked his wife as the door closed, 'I think that young chap's turning silly.' 'I hope not,' said the schoolmaster; 'for he's a handy fellow out of doors, and worth his meat and drink, anyway.