2 School

Chapter 2 School A week later, Aunt Reed summoned me to her room, where a strange man glared at me. "This, Mr. Brocklehurst, is Jane Eyre. Her mother was my dead husband's sister. She has no claim on me."

What enormous teeth he had! And a huge nose and mouth. "You are bad, I hear," he trumpeted. "Deceitful. How can you avoid hell, where naughty children burn forever?" "I must keep well and not die." "Bad indeed! A good child would say, 'I will behave well.' Yes, Mrs. Reed, she may go to my school. She will learn humility." He departed, leaving me with Aunt Reed. "Go upstairs," she said, not even looking at me. But I had to speak out. "I am not deceitful," I began. "You think I have no feelings, that I can do without one bit of love or kindness, but I can't live like that. You have no pity in your heart. People think you are a good, kind woman, but I'll tell everyone at this school that it is you who is bad and deceitful..." It was my first victory. Aunt Reed left the room without a word.

I journeyed to school alone, the horse and cart whirling me fifty miles away. On arrival, I was taken to a dark, icy room lit by two candles. Seated on benches were rows of girls wearing thin brown cotton frocks, light pinafores, their hair pulled back tightly. Supper was served: nasty- tasting water and broken, thin oatcakes. Too tired to eat, I was sent to a cold dormitory with long lines of beds. Too weary to fear the strangeness, I slept.

A clanging bell woke us. Shivering, we rose to wash, but the basin in the middle of the room was filled with ice. An hour and a half of prayers followed, then... how welcome: breakfast. Ravenous, I gulped my first mouthful- and put down my spoon, revolted. Burned porridge! I saw each girl try and fail to swallow her food. Breakfast was over, and none had eaten. After my first three lessons of History, Arithmetic and Geography, I was shivering with cold and hunger, like everyone else. One girl was picked on constantly by Miss Scatcherd, the teacher. "Helen Burns, hold up your head. Helen Burns, your nails are dirty. Have you not washed?" "Why doesn't Helen explain?" I thought. "She couldn't because there was no water." "Fetch the rod, you filthy child." Miss Scatcherd beat her neck with quick, hard strokes. Not a tear rose in Helen's eyes.

"How could you bear to be beaten?" I asked her at playtime. "I couldn't." "Yes, you could. It's weak to say you can't bear what you have to." "But it was unfair." "N-no," said Helen. "I have faults. I'm untidy. I read when I should learn my lessons. I know I annoy Miss Scatcherd." "Don't you hate her?" I said. "I hate anyone who dislikes me." "That's just wrong. Read the Bible." "Why? What does it say?" Helen smiled. "Love your enemies." "Huh," I snorted. "That means I should love Aunt Reed and John," and I told Helen about them. "Don't you think they're cruel?" I asked impatiently. "You'd be happier if you tried to forget them," said Helen. "Life's too short to hold a grudge about past wrongs." Never had I met anyone so gentle, so good. And her smile! I remember it still,

how it lit up her thin face, like the reflection of an angel. She coughed, put her arm around me, and we went inside.