Smike stumbled across the yard. It was dark out, and he was still half asleep. The Missus had yelled at him to wake up, for he needed to unlock the gate for the Master. Tripping over his lame foot, cringed at his Masters consistent shouting.
"Smike! Smike! Where are ya boy?"
Reaching the gate Smike fiddled with the keys.
The Master growled at him, "What took you so long?"
"The Missus said I might rest up by the fire." Smike replied as he swung the gate open.
His Master charged in like an angry bull and cursing he hit his hand bag against Smike's head. Crying out in pain, Smike fell to the ground, hitting the dirt beneath him hard. He covered his head with his hands, pitifully, as his Master hit him over the head again and again. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the evil man walked away, obviously wanting to get in the warmth of his home for it was a cold night.
A younger man, the new school teacher Smike assumed, had been watching the scene before him in horror. And once the Master was inside, he knelt at Smike's side and asked, "Are you all right?"
His voice was sad, hurt. As if he had witnessed a terrible tragedy.
Smike nodded and struggled to get up. The school teacher grabbed his arm and hauled him upward, helping him as no one had done before. Standing beside him, Smike realized just how tall the teacher was. Looking down to the ground, Smike respectfully remained silent. The teacher didn't say another word and instead turned and walked into the house.
Going to the back of the carriage, Smike unloaded the few bags the new teacher had and dragged them into the house. Although the bags were small and light, it was difficult for Sike to maneuver with them. Setting them down to the side of the door he looked around. The Master and Missus were embracing and telling each other there news, while the teacher was standing off to the side watching in embarrassment.
Smike noticed the stack of letters on the table that the Master had brought hoe from town. Limping to the table, he started to look through the letters, desperately hoping one might have his name on it. He was just about to put one letter at the bottom of the stack and look at the next letter when a shriveled hand came crashing down. Smike jumped back and let go of the pile of letters causing them to scatter across the table.
"What are you doing?" Came the angry voice of his Master.
"I was just..."
"Yes?"
"Is there...are there any letters for...for me?" Smike finally managed to say.
The Master, who had been leaning towards Smike, breathing in his face now took a step back and said,"No. Never was, never will be. You're lucky I let ya stay here. All these years and not a single cent."
Smike turned to pick up the teachers bags so he might take them to his room. The teacher caught Smike's eye and sent him a understanding, apologetic look. Smike dropped his gaze. He didn't want to get in anymore trouble.
Oh how he wished he could leave this dreadful place. But the only way he would ever be able to leave is if he died, something Smike wished for often.
As he struggled up the stairs, carrying the bags Smike thought about the teacher. Did he know what he was doing? Surely he didn't know what a hell-hole this place was. No one in his right mind would come here willingly. Smike felt sorry for the teacher. He wished he could warn him, tell him to leave. Smike knew it to be too late for himself to leave, but perhaps the teacher could get away. He had seemed like a kind soul, not harsh like Smike's Master. But that could easily change. Perhaps after a month of learning the behavior and habits of the Master, the new teacher would start to act like him.
But for now, instead of knowing the new teacher as an enemy, Smike thought of him as a beacon of hope. Maybe this teacher would befriend him, for that was all he really wanted...a friend. If he had a fried then maybe he could get away occasionally, if not for more than a few minutes at a time.