Free Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë & Sierra Cartwright Page A

especially for so great a girl—she looked thirteen or upwards. I expected she would show signs of great distress and shame, but to my surprise she neither wept nor blushed, composed, though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes. How can she bear it so quietly—so firmly? I asked of myself. Were I in her place, it seems to me I should wish the earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if she were thinking of something beyond her punishment—beyond her situation, of something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams—is she in a day-dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure they do not see it—her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart, she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is—whether good or naughty.
    Soon after five p.m. we had another meal, consisting of a small mug of coffee, and half a slice of brown bread. I devoured my bread and drank my coffee with relish, but I should have been glad of as much more—I was still hungry. Half an hour’s recreation succeeded, then study—then the glass of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my first day at Lowood.
 

Chapter Six
 
     
 
    The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by rushlight. But this morning we were obliged to dispense with the ceremony of washing. The water in the pitchers was frozen. A change had taken place in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen north-east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bedroom windows all night long, had made us shiver in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers to ice.
    Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible-reading was over, I felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast time came at last, and this morning the porridge was not burnt— the quality was eatable, the quantity small. How small my portion seemed! I wished it had been doubled.
    In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth class, and regular tasks and occupations were assigned me, hitherto, I had only been a spectator of the proceedings at Lowood. I was now to become an actor therein. At first, being little accustomed to learn by heart, the lessons appeared to me both long and difficult—the frequent change from task to task, too, bewildered me—and I was glad when, about three o’clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith put into my hands a border of muslin two yards long, together with needle, thimble, etcetera., and sent me to sit in a quiet corner of the schoolroom, with directions to hem the same. At that hour most of the others were sewing likewise, but one class still stood round Miss Scatcherd’s chair reading, and as all was quiet, the subject of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner in which each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or commendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was English history—among the readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah—at the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of the class, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to stops, she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that obscure position, Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of constant notice. She was continually addressing to her such phrases as the following, “Burns”—such it seems was her name, the girls here were all called by their surnames, as boys are elsewhere—“Burns, you are standing on the side of your shoe, turn your toes out immediately.
    “Burns, you poke your chin most unpleasantly; draw it in.
    “Burns, I insist on your holding your head up; I will not have you before me in that attitude,” etcetera, etcetera.
    A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed and the girls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign of Charles I., and there were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage and ship-money,