"Well, you've got to learn to be of use to me as soon as you can. You can write, I suppose?" "Yes, sir--not very well," I faltered. "Of course you can't. No boy brought up as you have been, without going to a school, could be expected to write a decent hand. But look here, you'll have to try and write well; so take that paper to the desk and copy it out in a neat round hand." I took the paper with trembling hands, climbed to the desk, spread the sheet of foolscap ready upon a big piece of blotting-paper, and took up one of the pens before me. Those were the days before steel nibs had become common, and the pen I took was a quill split up and spoiled. I took another and another, but they were all the same; and then, glancing at the inkstand, I found that it was dry. I hardly dared to do it, but he glanced up at me to see if I had begun, and I ventured to say that there was neither pen nor ink. "Of course not, blockhead. Get down and fetch some off the chimney-piece." I gladly obeyed; and then, resuming my seat, with the words on the paper dancing before my eyes, made my first essay as Mr Blakeford's clerk. The writing before me was not very distinct, but I managed to decipher it pretty well, getting a little puzzled as to the meaning of "ads." and "exors.," with various other legal contractions, but after the first line or two going steadily on, for, bad as my education had been, I was able to write a boy's neat round hand, consequent upon often copying out lists for my father, or names to label the collections we made. I had been writing about half an hour, working away diligently enough, when I heard the chair on the other side of the partition scroop, and Mr Blakeford came up behind me. I fully expected a severe scolding or a blow when he took up my sheet of foolscap and scanned it over, but he threw it down before me again with a grunt. Soon afterwards he rose and went out, leaving me busy over my task, writing till I grew giddy and my head began to ache. About the middle of the day Mary came in with some bread and meat; and about six o'clock there was another mug of thin tea and some pieces of bread and butter. Then the night came on, the gas was lighted, and I finished my first day in what seemed to be, and really was, as I look back upon it now, little better than a prison. The days crept slowly by as I took my place each morning at the desk, finding always something fresh to copy in a neat round hand, and at this I patiently toiled on, with my old griefs growing more dull as a little hope began to arise that I might soon see little Hetty to speak to again; but though from time to time I heard the voice and the sound of a piano upon which some one was industriously practising, she never came near the office.