Return of the Prodigal Son

My aunt, who was perfectly indifferent to public opinion, drove the grey pony through Dover in a masterly manner; sitting high and stiff like a state coachman, keeping a steady eye upon him wherever he went, and making a point of not letting him have his own way in any respect. When we came into the country road, she permitted him to relax a little, however; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by her side, asked me whether I was happy?
you, aunt,' I said. ¡¡¡¡She was much gratified; and both her hands being occupied, patted me on the head with her whip. ¡¡¡¡'Is it a large school, aunt?' I asked. ¡¡¡¡'Why, I don't know,' said my aunt. 'We are going to Mr. Wickfield's first.' ¡¡¡¡'Does he keep a school?' I asked. ¡¡¡¡'No, Trot,' said my aunt. 'He keeps an office.'