Upstairs matters appeared even worse, though it struck me that the rooms were not so dusty. After the "view" on the previous day the auctioneer's men had arranged the things so that they would be handy for taking downstairs, and the grotesque positions they were now in suggested endless ideas. Pairs of sheets and blankets hung from pegs like so many culprits; towel-horses stood upon their heads, while chairs did acrobatic tricks, one at the bottom sustaining four or five piled up in a state of equilibrium; the tooth-brush trays all seemed to have been frightened into taking refuge in the ewers; while the bedsteads and toilet-tables appeared to think the place so dirty and untidy that they were holding up their trailing garments to keep them from being soiled. On the previous day I had taken refuge in my favourite haunt, the summer-house, till the strangers had gone, and now, hearing the auctioneer's men below, I was hurriedly taking a farewell glance round before once more making my retreat. I had heard footsteps on the stairs, and supposed it to be one of the owners of the carpet-caps and aprons that lay tucked in a corner, when suddenly passing out of one of the bedrooms into the passage I came face to face with Mr Blakeford. "Oh! you're there, are you?" he said, in quite an ill-used tone, as if he had been hunting for me for days. "Why, where have you been hiding yourself?" "Please, sir, I've been here all the time." "It's false, sir. How dare you tell me such a lie! I was hunting for you all day yesterday and you were not here. I supposed you had run away." "If you please, sir," I said, "I was in the summer-house--indeed!" "Then how dare you tell me, sir, that you were here! Now look here, Master Antony Grace; don't you try to trifle with me, for I'm not the man to be played with. You've been allowed to grow up in sloth, ignorance, and idleness; and now that out of pure charity I am going to take you into my office, you had better try to make yourself of some use, unless you want to be turned adrift and starved;" and he bent down and shook his finger in my face. "Come to your office, sir?" I cried, wondering. "Come to my office, sir, yes," he snarled. "What else were you going to do? Did you think you were going to spend your life sticking pins through butterflies and running about picking buttercups and daisies, as you did with your defrauding scoundrel of a father?" "How dare you say that!" I cried, as a fierce burst of passion swept over me at hearing him speak thus of my poor dead father. I have some recollection of rushing at him with clenched fists, and being caught roughly by a strong hand, of being shaken, my ears sharply boxed, and of being then thrown panting, sobbing, and half heart-broken upon the floor, as Mr Blakeford stood over me.