That was the first night in his remembrance when he had ever neglected to say his prayers. He rose to his knees, put up his little folded hands, and said the only prayer he knew. A sobbing sound escaped him and startled his uncle. He turned suddenly, and with his whip struck the kneeling child and prostrated him. The blow was followed by a hurricane of oaths and threats. The child was badly hurt, but he did not cry nor let his uncle know that he was suffering. Seventy years afterwards Hugh Brontë used to say, "I grew fast that night. I was Christian child, ardent lover, vindictive hater, enthusiast, misanthrope, atheist, and philosopher, in one cruel hour!" The sun was shining hot in his face when he awoke. The cart had been drawn up close to a little thatched cottage, in which there was a grocer's shop and a public house. He tried to get out of the cart, but was unable to do so. A blacksmith, whose smithy stood on the other side of the road, seeing his fruitless efforts, came and lifted him down. Just as he was beginning to recite the story of his wrongs his aunt, who had approached him from behind, caught his arms and led him gently into the cottage, where he had some potatoes and buttermilk. He slept by the kitchen fire until late in the afternoon without having been permitted to speak to a soul. He was still dreaming of home, when he was roughly awakened to mount the cart again. Heavy imprecations fell upon his aunt for detaining him to wash the blood-stains from his face. A penny "bap" was given him, and he was allowed to buy apples with the money which had been put by his brothers and sisters into the pockets of his new clothes as "hansel." "It was ten years," said old Brontë, "before I fingered another penny that I could call my own!" As the shades of evening gathered, the journey was continued in a drizzling rain. A "bottle" of fresh straw had been added to the hard bed on which little Hugh was to spend the night. He arranged the straw under the cross-seat on which his uncle and aunt sat, so as to be sheltered from the rain, and, placing his heap of apples and the "bap" beside him, he settled down in comparative comfort for the night. The night was long, the rain incessant. The horse stumbled and splashed along, and the harsh uncle varied the monotony by whipping the horse into a trot, and swearing at it when it did trot. By ten o'clock the next morning a large village was reached, where was an inn of considerable importance. The child was carried, stiff and cold, and put to bed in a little room in this inn, no one but his aunt being allowed to come near him. She placed some bread and milk beside him, took away his clothes, and locked the door of his room.