LITMIR.BIZ

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eighty girls sat motionless, all in brown dresses and all with plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible. Miss Miller ordered the monitors to fetch the globes for a geography lesson. But before we started, the dark-haired lady, who had been so kind to me the previous day, entered the room.

      She walked up and down the benches inspecting us. I stared at her in awe admiring how tall, beautiful and graceful she was.

      As she came to the middle of the room, and stood before us to make an announcement. “You had a breakfast this morning which you could not eat,” she said. “You must be hungry. I have ordered a lunch of bread and cheese to be served to all.”

      The teachers looked at her with surprise.

      “I will take full responsibility,” she added. And so the delicious fresh bread and cheese was brought in to the high delight of the whole school.

      The order was now given 'To the garden!'

      Outdoors there was a wide square garden surrounded by high walls. A verandah ran along it framed by broad walks. There were also cultivation beds, where in the summer we would grow flowers and vegetables. But at the end of January they were brown and bare. There was a drizzling yellow fog and most pupils huddled in groups to stay warm, only few stronger girls engaged in active games. I saw how pale the children were and heard many of them cough.

      I stood lonely, as I had not spoken to anyone. No one took notice of me, and I was accustomed to isolation. I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed long forgotten. I looked round the garden, and then up at the house-a large building, half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new. I saw that it had an inscription above the door:

      “'Lowood Institution.-

      'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.'-

      St. Matt. v. 16.”

      I read these words over and over again: there must be an explanation. I was still thinking about the inscription when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. A girl a few years older than me was sitting on a stone bench, reading a book. I saw that it was called-Rasselas. It sounded exotic and exciting, as if it might be about genies and dragons. I wished I had a book to read myself, and I wondered if the girl might lend it to me one day.

      As she turned the page, she looked up and I took my chance to speak.

      “Is your book interesting?”

      “I like it,” she said.

      “What is it about?”

      She handed me the book to look at. 'Rasselas' looked boring. There were no pictures, and I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii. I returned it, and asked instead:

      “Have you seen the inscription? What is Lowood Institution?”

      “This house where you are now.”

      “Why isn't it called a school?”

      “It's partly a charity-school for orphans.”

      “Do we pay no money?”

      “We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each. Not enough for board and teaching, and we are also funded by kind-hearted ladies and gentlemen from the neighbourhood and London. And Mr. Brocklehurst overlooks and directs everything here.”

      “Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who said we were to have some bread and cheese?”

      “Miss Temple? I wish it did! But she has to answer to Mr. Brocklehurst.”

      “It is that cruel man who visited Mrs. Reed at Gateshead Hall,” I thought.

      “Does he live here?” I asked.

      “Oh no, he lives in a big house two miles away, with his family. He's the village clergyman[12].”

      I asked her about the teachers. They were all nice and she liked them, but Miss Temple was the best. She was very clever and knew far more than the others did.

      “Are you an orphan too?” I asked finally.

      “My mother is dead.”

      “Are you happy here?”

      “You ask too many questions,” but at that moment the bell rang to call us back inside. We had dinner and more classes followed it.

      The only marked event of the afternoon was that I saw Miss Scatcherd from a history class scolding my new friend. I could not see what she had done wrong, but she was sent to stand in the middle of the schoolroom, where everyone could stare at her.

      If this had happened to me, I knew I would have been overwhelmed with rage and indignation[13]. The punishment seemed to me unfair, and I was amazed to see her standing there quietly, looking at the floor without a hint of distress and shame. I did not understand her though I wanted to.

      The school day ended with brown bread and coffee, half-an-hour's recreation, then study, then the glass of water and the piece of oatcake, prayers, and bed.

      Such was my first day at Lowood.

      Chapter 6

      The next day began as before, except that we could not wash as the water in the pitchers was frozen solid. It was now even colder, and a freezing wind blew right into the dormitory. We shivered through our early morning prayers until the breakfast bell. Today, the porridge was not burned, but there still was not enough of it and I stayed hungry again.

      Until now I had only watched the lessons; today I was allowed to take part in the fourth class. If I had to struggle with learning things by heart, now I was given a pleasant task to sew, which I could do easily, and I could sit quietly in the corner and spy on the class next to ours.

      It was an English history lesson. We were sitting so quietly that we could hear every word-Miss Scatcherd's questions, and each girl's response. I could see the girl I had talked to on the verandah: in fact, Miss Scatcherd seemed to be angry with her constantly.

      “Burns,” (the girls here were all called by their surnames). “Burns, I insist on your holding your head up; Or: “Burns, you are standing on the side of your shoe; stop it now!”

      The class read the chapter twice and closed the books. Now the girls had to answer the questions. No one but Burns could remember the details well enough to answer. Miss Scatcherd could have praised my friend but instead she suddenly cried: “You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails this morning!”

      “Why doesn't she tell her that the water was frozen and nobody could do it?” I thought. But Burns was silent.

      Just then, Miss Smith came up to me. She asked me whether I could knit, or darn, or stitch and whether I had been to school before. Till she dismissed me, I could not watch the history class.

      When I looked back at last, Burns was given an order I could not hear and immediately left the class. She returned with a bundle of long twigs tied together at one end, which she handed to Miss Scatcherd with respectful curtsy. I paused from my sewing. Without being told, she unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher unhesitatingly gave her twelve sharp lashes on the side of her neck. I was overwhelmed by anger, but Burns kept her ordinary expression, which did not escape Miss Scatcherd's attention. “Nothing can correct you!” she exclaimed.

      Burns obeyed when she was told to take the rod away. When she returned, she had her handkerchief in hand, and I could see that she had cried a little.

      That evening, after our bread and milk, I wandered around the tables. I had decided that this was the best part of the day: we were free to do anything we wanted for a whole hour. I decided to look for Burns and talk to her once again.

      I found her sitting by the fireside finishing the same book. I sat down beside her on the floor and, when she had closed the book, I asked: “What is your name besides Burns?”

      “Helen.”

      “Do you come a long way from here?”

      “I

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