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THE PEESOXAL HISTOEY, 
 
 ADYEXTURES, EXPERIENCE, AND OBSERVATION 
 
 OP 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD 
 
 THE YOUlN^GEPt 
 
 OF RirNDERSTONE ROOKERY. 
 (which hk never meaxt to be pcblished on any account.) 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITIOK 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 B E K N II A R D T A U C II N I T Z 
 
 1840. 
 
D55d. 
 vJ 
 
 Cirp, X 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PACK 
 
 CHAPTER I. I am born 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. I observe 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. I have a change 3G 
 
 CHAPTER IV. I fall into disgrace 56 
 
 CHAPTER V. I am sent away from home 81 
 
 CHAPTER VI. I enlarge my circle of acqtiainlancc . lO.i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. My "first half" al Salem House . . Ho 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. rjy holidays. Especially one hapjiy afternoon. 139 
 
 CHAPTER IX. I have a memorable birthday .... 159 
 
 CHAPTER X. 1 become neglected, and am provided for Ho 
 
 CHAPTER XI. I begin life on my account, and don't like it 201 
 CHAPTER XII. Liking life on my own account no better, I form 
 
 a great resolution . . . . .222 
 
VI 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. The sequel of m\ resolution .... 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. My aunt makes up her mind about me . 2f>l 
 
 CHAPTER XV. I make another beginning 2S2 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 1 am a new bov in more senses than one . . 294 
 
THE 
 
 PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD THE YOUNGER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 am born. 
 
 Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, 
 or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these 
 pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my 
 life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and be- 
 lieve) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked 
 that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simulta- 
 neously. 
 
 In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was 
 declared by the nurse , and by some sage women in the neigh- 
 bourhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months 
 before there was any possibility of our becoming personally 
 acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life ; and 
 secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits ; both 
 these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all unlucky 
 infants of either gender, bom towards the small hours on a 
 Friday night. 
 
 David Copperfleld. I. 1 
 
I need say nothing here , on the first head , because nothing 
 can show better than my history whether that prediction was 
 verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of 
 the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through that 
 part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come 
 into it yet. ButI do not at all complain of having been kept out 
 of this property ; and if anybody else should be in the present 
 enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it. 
 
 I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in 
 the newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether 
 sea-going people were short of money about that time, or were 
 short of faith and preferred cork-jackets, I don't know ; all I 
 know is , that there was but one solitary bidding, and that was 
 from an attorney connected with the bill-broking business, 
 who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance in sherry, but 
 declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher 
 bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at a 
 dead loss — for as to sherry, my poor dear mother's own sherry 
 was in the market then — and ten years afterwards the caul 
 was put up in a raffle down in our part of the country, to fifty 
 members at half-a-crown a head, the winner to spend five 
 shillings. I was present myself, and I remember to have felt 
 quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of myself being 
 disposed of in that way. The caul was won , I recollect , by an 
 old lady with a hand-basket, wha, very reluctantly , produced 
 from it the stipulated five shillings , all in halfpence , and two- 
 pence halfpenny short — as it took an immense time and a 
 great waste of arithmetic, to endeavour without any effect to 
 prove to her. It is a fact which will be long remembered as 
 remarkable down there, that she was never drowned, but died 
 triumphantly in bed , at ninety-two. I have understood that it 
 was, to the last, her proudest boast, that she never had been 
 on the water in her life, except upon a bridge; and that over 
 
her tea (to which she was extremely partial) she, to the last, 
 expressed her indignation at the impiety of mariners and 
 others, who had the presumption to go "meandering'* about 
 the world. It was in vain to represent to her that some con-i 
 veniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this objection- 
 able practice. She always returned, with greater emphasis 
 and with an instinctive knowledge of the strength of her ob- 
 jection, "Let us have no meandering. " 
 
 Not to meander, myself, at present, I will go back to 
 my birth. 
 
 I was born atBlunderstone, in Suffolk, or "thereby," as 
 they say in Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father's 
 eyes had closed upon the light of this world six months , when 
 mine opened on it. There is something strange to me, even 
 now, in the reflection that he never saw me; and something 
 stranger yet in the shadowy remembrance that I have of my 
 first childish associations with his white grave-stone in the 
 church-yard, and of the indefinable compassion I used to feel 
 for it lying out alone there in the dark night, when our little 
 parlour was warm and bright with fire and candle, and the 
 doors of our house were — almost cruelly, it seemed to me 
 sometimes — bolted and locked against it. 
 
 An aunt of my father's, and consequently a great-aunt of 
 mine, of whom I shall have more to relate by and by, was the 
 principal magnate of our family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss 
 Betsey, as my poor mother always called her, when she suffi- 
 ciently overcame her dread of this formidable personage to 
 mention her at all (which was seldom), had been married to a 
 husband younger than herself, who was very handsome, except 
 in the sense of the homely adage, "handsome is, that handsome 
 does" — for he was strongly suspected of having beaten Miss 
 Betsey, and even of having once, on a disputed question of sup- 
 plies , made some hasty but determined arrangements to throw 
 
 1* 
 
her out of a two pair of stairs' window. These evidences of an 
 incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betsey to pay him off, 
 and effect a separation by mutual consent. He went to India 
 with his capital , and there , according to a wild legend in our 
 family, he was once seen riding on an elephant, in company 
 with a Baboon ; but I think it must have been a Baboo — or a 
 Begum. Any how, from India tidings of his death reached 
 home , within ten years. How they affected my aunt, nobody 
 knew; for immediately upon the separtion,she took hermaiden 
 name again, bought a cottage in a hamlet on the sea-coast a 
 long way off, established herself there as a single woman with 
 one servant, and was understood to live secluded, ever after- 
 wards, in an inllexible retirement. 
 
 My father had once been a favourite of hers , I believe ; but 
 she was mortally affronted by his marriage, on the ground that 
 my mother was "a wax doll." She had never seen my mother, 
 but she knew her to be not yet twenty. My father and Miss 
 Betsey never met again. He was double my mother's age 
 when he married, and of but a delicate constitution. He died 
 a year afterwards, and, as I have said, six months before I 
 came into the world. 
 
 This was the state of matters, on the afternoon of, what / 
 may be excused for calling, that eventful and important 
 Friday. I can make no claim therefore to have known , at that 
 time, how matters stood; or to have any remembrance, 
 founded on the evidence of my own senses , of what follows. 
 
 My mother was sitting by the fire, but poorly in health, and 
 very low in spirits, looking at It through her tears, and despond- 
 ing heavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger, who 
 was already welcomed by some grosses of prophetic pins, in a 
 drawer up-stairs, to a world not at all excited on the subject of 
 his arrival; my mother, I say, was sitting by the fire, that 
 bright, windy March afternoon , very timid and sad, and very 
 
doubtful of ever coming alive out of the trial that was before 
 her, when, lifting her eyes as she dried them, to the window 
 opposite, she saw a strange lady coming up the garden. 
 
 IMy mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance, 
 that it was Miss Betsey. The setting sun was glowing on the 
 strange lady, over the garden-fence, and she came walking up 
 to the door with a fell rigidity of figure and composure of 
 countenance that could have belonged to nobody else. 
 
 When she reached the house, she gave another proof of her 
 identity. My father had often hinted that she seldom con- 
 ducted herself like any ordinarj- Christian ; and now, instead 
 of ringing the bell, she came and looked in at that identical 
 window, pressing the end of her nose against the glass to that 
 extent, that my poor dear mother used to say it became per- 
 fectly flat and white in a moment. 
 
 She gave my mother such a turn , that I have always been 
 convinced I am indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born 
 on a Friday. 
 
 My mother had left her chair in her agitation, and gone 
 behind it in the corner. Miss Betsey, looking round the room, 
 slowly and inquiringly, began on the other side, and carried 
 her eyes on, like a Saracen's Head in a Dutch clock, until they 
 reached my mother. Then she made a frown and a gesture to 
 my mother, like one who was accustomed to be obeyed, to 
 come and open the door. My mother went. 
 
 "Mrs. David Copperfield, I MmA-," said Miss Betsey; the 
 empliasis referring, perhaps, to my mother's mourning weeds 
 and her condition. 
 
 "Yes," said my mother, faintly. 
 
 "Mis? Trotwood," said the visitor. "You have heard of 
 her, I dare say?" 
 
6 
 
 My mother answered she bad had that pleasure. And she 
 had a disagreeable consciousness of not appearing to imply 
 that it had been an overpowering pleasure. 
 
 "Now you see her," said Miss Betsey My mother bent 
 her head , and begged her to walk in. 
 
 They went into the parlour my mother had come from, the 
 fire in the best room on the other side of the passage not being 
 lighted — not having been lighted, indeed, since my father's 
 funeral; and when they were both seated, and Miss Betsey 
 said nothing, my mother, after vainly trying to restrain her- 
 self, began to cry. 
 
 "Oh tut, tut, tutl" said Miss Betsey, in a hurry. "Don't 
 do that 1 Come, come!" 
 
 My mother couldn't help it notwithstanding, so she cried 
 until she had had her cry out. 
 
 "Take off your cap, child," said Miss Betsey, "and let me 
 see you." 
 
 My mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance 
 with this odd request, if she had any disposition to do so. 
 Therefore she did as she was told, and did it with such ner- 
 vous hands that her hair (which was luxuriant and beautiful) 
 fell all about her face. 
 
 " Why, bless my heart 1 " exclaimed Miss Betsey. " " You 
 are a very Baby ! " 
 
 My mother w^s,no doubt, unusually youthful in appearance 
 even for her years ; she hung her head , as if it were her fault, 
 poor thing, and said, sobbing, that indeed she was afraid she 
 was but a childish widow , and would be but a childish mother 
 if she lived. In a short pause which ensued, she had a fancy 
 that she felt Miss Betsey touch her hair, and that with no un- 
 gentle hand; but, looking at her, in her timid hope, she found 
 that lady sitting with the skirt of her dress tucked up, her 
 
hands folded on one knee, and her feet upon the fender, 
 frowning at the fire. 
 
 "In the name of Heaven," said Miss Betsey, suddenly, 
 "why Rookery'?" 
 
 "Do you mean the house, Ma'am? " asked my mother. 
 
 "Why Rookery?" said Miss Betsey. "Cookery would 
 have been more to the purpose, if you had had any practical 
 ideas of life, either of you." 
 
 "The name was Mr. Copperfield's choice," returned my 
 mother. "When he bought the house, he liked to think that 
 the were rooks about it. " 
 
 The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, 
 among some tall old elm-trees at the bottom of the garden, 
 that neither my mother nor Miss Betsey could forbear glan- 
 cing that way. As the elms bent to one another, like giants 
 who were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such 
 repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, 
 as if their late confidences were really too wicked for their 
 peace of mind, some we6ther-beaten ragged old rooks'-nests, 
 burdening their higher branches, swung like wrecks upon a 
 stormy sea. 
 
 " Where are the birds? " asked Miss Betsey. 
 
 "The — ?" My mother had been thinking of something 
 else. 
 
 "The rooks — what has become of them?" asked Miss 
 Betsey. 
 
 "There have not been any since we have lived here," said 
 my mother. "We thought — Mr. Copperfield thought — it 
 was quite a large rookery; but the nests were very old ones, 
 and the birds have deserted them a long while." 
 
 "David Copperfield all over 1" said Miss Betsey. "David 
 Copperfield from head to foot! Calls a house a rookery when 
 
8 
 
 there *8 not a rook near it, and takes the birds on trust, be- 
 cause he sees the nests 1 " 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield," returned my mother, "is dead, and 
 if you dare to speak unkindly of him to me — " 
 
 My poor dear mother, I suppose, had some momentary 
 intention of committing an assault and battery upon my aunt, 
 who could easily have settled her with one hand, even if my 
 mother had been in far better training for such an encounter 
 than she was that evening. But it passed with the action of 
 rising from her chair; and she sat down again very meekly, 
 and fainted. 
 
 When she came to herself, or. when Miss Betsey had re- 
 stored her, whichever it was, she found the latter standing 
 at the window. The twilight was by this time shading down 
 into darkness; and dimly as they saw each other, they could 
 not have done that without the aid of the fire. 
 
 "Well?" said Miss Betsey, coming back to her chair, as 
 if she had only been taking a casual look at the prospect; 
 "and when do you expect — " 
 
 "I am all in a tremble," faltered my mother. "1 don't 
 know what's the matter. I shall die, I am sure ! " 
 
 "No, no, no," said Miss Betsey. "Have some tea." 
 
 "Oh dear me, dear me, do you think it will do me any 
 good? " cried my mother in a helpless manner. 
 
 "Of course it will," said Miss Betsey. "It 's nothing but 
 fancy. What do you call your girl?" 
 
 "I don't know that it will be a girl, yet. Ma'am," said my 
 mother innocently. 
 
 "Bless the Baby 1 " exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously 
 quoting the second sentiment of the pincushion in the drawer 
 up-stairs, but applying it to my mother instead of me, "I 
 don't mean that. I mean your servant-girl." 
 
 "Peggotty," said my mother. 
 
"Peggotty!" repeated Miss Betsey, with some indigna- 
 tion. "Do you mean to say, child, that any human being 
 has gone into a Christian church, and got herself named 
 Peggotty?" 
 
 "It 's her surname ," said my mother, faintly. "Mr. Cop- 
 perfield called her by it, because her Christian name was the 
 same as mine." 
 
 "Here! Peggotty 1" cried Miss Betsey, opening the par- 
 lour-door. "Tea. Your mistress is a little unwell. Don't 
 dawdle." 
 
 Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as 
 if she had been a recognised authority in the house ever since 
 it had been a house, and having looked out to confront the 
 amazed Peggotty coming along the passage with a candle at 
 the sound of a strange voice. Miss Betsey shut the door again, 
 and sat down as before: with her feet on the fender, the skirt 
 of her dress tucked up. and her hands folded on one knee. 
 
 "You were speaking about its being a girl," said Miss 
 Betsey. "I have no doubt it will be a girl. I have a pre- 
 sentiment that it must be a girl. Now child, from the moment 
 of the birth of this girl — " 
 
 "Perhaps boy," my mother took the liberty of put- 
 ting in. 
 
 "I tell you I have a presentiment that it must be a girl," 
 returned Miss Betsey. "Don't contradict. From the moment 
 of this girl's birth, child, I intend to be her friend. I in- 
 tend to be her godmother, and I beg you 'II call her Betsey 
 Trotwood Copperfield. There must be no mistakes in life 
 with i/iis Betsey Trotwood. There must be no trifling with 
 her affections, poor dear. She must be well brought up, 
 and well guarded from reposing any foolish confidences where 
 they are not deserved. I must make that my care." 
 
10 
 
 There was a twitch of Miss Betsey's head, after each of 
 these sentences, as if her own old wrongs were working 
 within her, and she repressed any plainer reference to them 
 by strong constraint. So ray mother suspected, at least, as 
 she observed her by the low glimmer of the fire: too much 
 scared by Miss Betsey, too uneasy in herself, and too subdued 
 and bewildered altogether, to observe anything very clearly, 
 or to know what to say. 
 
 " And was David good to you, child? " asked Miss Betsey, 
 when she had been silent for a little while, and these motions 
 of her head had gradually ceased. "Were you comfortable 
 together?" 
 
 "We were very happy," said my mother. "Mr. Copper- 
 field was only too good to me." 
 
 "What, he spoilt you, I suppose?" returned Miss Betsey. 
 
 "For being quite alone and dependent on myself in this 
 rough world again, yes, I fear he did indeed," sobbed my 
 mother. 
 
 "Well! Don't cry 1 " said Miss Betsey. "You were not 
 equally matched, child — if any two people can be equally 
 matched — and so I asked the question. You were an orphan, 
 weren't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And a governess ? " 
 
 "I was nursery-governess in a family where Mr. Cop- 
 perfield came to visit. Mr. Copperfield was very kind to 
 me, and took a great deal of notice of me, and paid me 
 a good deal of attention, and at last proposed to me. And 
 I accepted him. And so we were married," said my mother 
 simply. 
 
 "Ha! poor Baby!" mused Miss Betsey, with her frown 
 still bent upon the fire. "Do you know anything?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Ma'am," faltered my mother. 
 
11 
 
 "About keeping house, for instance," said Miss Betsey. 
 
 "Not much, I fear," returned my mother. "Not so 
 much as I could wish. But Mr. Copperfield was teaching 
 me—" 
 
 ("Much he knew about it himself!") said Miss Betsey in 
 a parenthesis. — " And I hope I should have improved , being 
 very anxious to learn, and he very patient to teach, if the 
 great misfortune of his death" — my mother broke down 
 again here, and could get no farther. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Miss Betsey. 
 
 — "I kept my housekeeping-book regularly, and balanced 
 it with Mr. Copperfield every night," cried my mother in 
 another burst of disttess, and breaking down again. 
 
 "Well, well!" said Miss Betsey. "Don't cry any more." 
 
 — "And I am sure we never had a word of difference 
 respecting it, except when Mr. Copperfield objected to my 
 threes and fives being too much like each other, or to my 
 putting curly tails to my sevens and nines," resumed my 
 mother in another burst, and breaking down again. 
 
 "You '11 make yourself ill," said Miss Betsey, "and you 
 know that will not be good either for you or for my god- 
 daughter. Come ! You mustn't do it ! " 
 
 This argument had some share in quieting my mother, 
 though her increasing indisposition perhaps had a larger one. 
 There was an interval of silence, only broken by Miss Betsey's 
 occasionally ejaculating "Ha!" as she sat with her feet upon 
 the fender. 
 
 "David had bought an annuity for himself with his 
 money, I know," said she, by and by. "What did he do 
 for you?" 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield," said my mother, answering with some 
 difficulty, "was so considerate and good as to secure the re- 
 version of a part of it to me." 
 
12 
 
 "How much?" asked Miss Betsey. 
 
 "A hundred and five pounds a year," said my mother. 
 
 "He might have done worse," said my aunt. 
 
 The word was appropriate to the moment. My mother 
 was so much worse that Peggotty, coming in with the tea- 
 board and candles, and seeing at a glance how ill she was, — 
 as Miss Betsey might have done sooner if there had been 
 light enough, — conveyed her up-stairs to her own room 
 with all speed ; and immediately dispatched Ham Peggotty, 
 her nephew, who had been for some days past secreted in 
 the house, unknown to my mother, as a special messenger 
 in case of emergency, to fetch the nurse and doctor. 
 
 Those allied powers were considerably astonished, when 
 they arrived within a few minutes of each other, to find an 
 unknown lady of portentous appearance, sitting before the 
 fire, with her bonnet tied over her left arm, stopping her 
 ears with jewellers' cotton. Peggotty knowing nothing about 
 her, and my mother saying nothing about her, she was quite 
 a mystery in the parlour; and the fact of her having a ma- 
 gazine of jewellers' cotton in her pocket, and sticking the 
 article in her ears in that way, did not detract from the 
 solemnity of her presence. 
 
 Tlie doctor having been up-stairs and come down again, 
 and having satisfied himself, I suppose, that there was a 
 probability of this unknown lady and himself having to sit 
 there, face to face, for some hours, laid himself out to be 
 polite and social. He was the meekest of his sex, the mildest 
 of little men. He sidled in and out of a room, to take up the 
 less space. He walked as softly as the Ghost in Hamlet, and 
 more slowly. He carried his head on one side, partly in 
 modest depreciation of himself, partly in modest propitiation 
 of everybody else. It is nothing to say that he hadn't a word 
 to throw at a dog. He couldn't have thrown a word at a 
 
13 
 
 mad dog. He might have offered him one gently, or half 
 a one, or a fragment of one; for he spoke as slowly as 
 he walked; but he wouldn't have been rude to him, and 
 he couldn't have been quick with him, for any earthly con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Mr. Chillip, looking mildly at my aunt, with his head on 
 one side, and making her a little bow, said, in allusion to the 
 jewellers' cotton, as he softly touched his left ear: 
 
 " Some local Irritation, Ma'am ? " 
 
 "What!" replied my aunt, pulling the cotton out of one 
 ear like a cork. 
 
 Mr. Chillip was so alarmed by her abruptness — as he told 
 my mother afterwards — that it was a mercy he didn't lose his 
 presence of mind. But he repeated, sweetly : 
 
 " Some local irritation, Ma'am? " 
 
 "Nonsense!" replied my aunt, and corked herself again, 
 at one blow. 
 
 Mr. Chillip could do nothing after this, but sit and look 
 at her feebly, as she sat and looked at the fire, until he was 
 called up-stairs again. After some quarter of an hour's ab- 
 sence, he returned. 
 
 "Well?" said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ear 
 nearest to him. 
 
 "Well, Ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, "we are — we are 
 progressing slowly, Ma'am." 
 
 "Ba— a— ah!" said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the 
 contemptuous interjection. And corked herself, as before. 
 
 Really — really — as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was 
 almost shocked; speaking in a professional point of view 
 alone, he was almost shocked. But he sat and looked at her, 
 notwithstanding, for nearly two hours, as she sat looking at 
 the fire, until he was again called out. After another ab- 
 sence, he again returned. 
 
14 
 
 "Well?" said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side 
 again. 
 
 "Well, Ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, "we are — we are 
 progressing slowly, Ma'am." 
 
 "Ya — a — ah!" said my aunt. With such a snarl at him, 
 that Mr. Chillip absolutely could not bear it. It was really 
 calculated to break his spirit, he said afterwards. He pre- 
 ferred to go and sit upon the stairs , in the dark and a strong 
 draught, until he was again sent for. 
 
 Ham Peggotty, who went to the national school, and was 
 a very dragon at his catechism, and who may therefore be 
 regarded as a credible witness, reported next day, that 
 happening to peep in at the parlour-door an hour after this, 
 he was instantly descried by Miss Betsey, then walking to 
 and fro in a state of agitation, and pounced upon before he 
 could make his escape. That there were now occasional 
 Bounds of feet and voices overhead which he inferred the 
 cotton did not exclude, from the circumstance of his evidently 
 being clutched by the lady as a victim on whom to expend 
 her superabundant agitation when the sounds were loudest. 
 That, marching him constantly up and down by the collar 
 (as if he had been taking too much laudanum) , she, at those 
 times, shook him, rumpled his hair, made light of his linen, 
 stopped his ears as if she confounded them with her own , and 
 otherwise touzled and maltreated him. This was in part 
 confirmed by his aunt, who saw him at half-past twelve 
 o'clock, soon after his release, and affirmed that he was then 
 as red as I was. 
 
 The mild Mr. Chillip could not possibly bear malice at 
 such a time, if at any time. He sidled into the parlour as soon 
 as he was at liberty, and said to my aunt in his meekest 
 manner: 
 
 "Well, Ma'am, I am happy to congratulate you." 
 
15 
 
 "Wliatupon?" said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Chillip was fluttered again, by the extreme severity of 
 my aunt's manner ; so he made her a little bow and gave her a 
 little smile, to mollify her. 
 
 "Mercy on the man, what's he doing!" cried my aunt, 
 Impatiently. " Can 't he speak? " 
 
 "Becalm, my dear Ma'am," said Mr. Chillip, in his soft- 
 est accents. " There is no longer any occasion for uneasiness, 
 Ma'am. Be calm." 
 
 It has since been considered almost a miracle that my aunt 
 didn't shake him, and shake what he had to say, out of him. 
 She only shook her own head at him , but in a way that made 
 him quail. 
 
 "Well, Ma'am," resumed Mr. Chillip , as soon as he had 
 courage, "I am happy to congratulate you. All is now over. 
 Ma'am, and well over." 
 
 During the five minutes or so that Mr. Chillip devoted to 
 the delivery of this oration, my aunt eyed him narrowly. 
 
 "How is she?" said my aunt, folding her arms with her 
 bonnet still tied on one of them. 
 
 "Well, Ma'am, she will soon be quite comfortable, I hope," 
 returned Mr. Chillip. " Quite as comfortable as we can expect 
 a young mother to be, under these melancholy domestic 
 circumstances. There cannot be any objection to your seeing 
 her presently. Ma'am. It may do her good." 
 
 '^ And she. How is she?'' said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Chillip laid his head a little more on one side, and 
 looked at my aunt like an amiable bird. 
 
 "The baby," said my aunt. "How is she?" 
 
 "Ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, "I apprehended you had 
 known. It 's a boy." 
 
 My aunt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the 
 strings, in the manner of a sling, aimed a blow at Mr. Chil- 
 
16 
 
 lip's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and never came 
 back. She vanished like a discontented fairy; or like one of 
 those supernatural beings, whom it was popularly supposed I 
 was entitled to see; and never came back any more. 
 
 No. I lay in my basket, and my mother lay in her bed; 
 but Betsey Trotwood Copperfield was for ever in the land of 
 dreams and shadows, the tremendous region whence I had so 
 lately travelled ; and the light upon the window of our room 
 shone out upon the earthly bourne of all such travellers, and 
 the mound above the ashes and the dust that once was he, 
 without whom I had never been. 
 
CHAPTER n. 
 
 I observe. 
 
 The first objects that assume a distinct presence before 
 me, as I look far back, into the blank of my infancy, are my 
 mother with her pretty hair and youthful shape , and Peggotty 
 ■with no shape at all, and eyes so dark that they seemed to 
 darken their whole neighbourhood in her face, and cheeks 
 and arms so hard and red that I wondered the birds didn't 
 peck her in preference to apples. 
 
 I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, 
 dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the 
 floor, and I going unsteadily from the one to the other. I have 
 an impression on my mind which I cannot distinguish from 
 actual remembrance, of the touch of Peggotty's fore-finger 
 as she used to hold it out to me, and of its being roughened 
 by needlework, like a pocket nutmeg-grater. 
 
 This may be fancy, though I think the memory of most of 
 us can go farther back into such times than many of us sup- 
 pose; just as I believe the power of observation in numbers of 
 very young children to be quite wonderful for its closeness 
 and accuracy. Indeed, I think that most grown men who 
 are remarkable in this respect, may with greater propriety be 
 said not to have lost the faculty, than to have acquired it; the 
 rather, as I generally observe such men to retain a certain 
 freshness, and gentleness, and capacity of being pleased, 
 which are also an inheritance they have preserved from their 
 childhood. 
 
 I might have a misgiving that I am "meandering" in stop- 
 ping to say this, but that it bnngs me to remark t!)at I build 
 Dm id Coppciftld, i. 2 
 
18 
 
 these conclusions, in part upon my own experience of myself; 
 and if it should appear from anything I may set down in this 
 narrative that I was a child of close observation, or that as a 
 man I have a strong memory of my childhood, I undoubtedly 
 lay claim to both of these characteristics. 
 
 Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my in- 
 fancy, the first objects I can remember as standing out by 
 themselves from a confusion of things , are my mother and 
 Peggotty. What else do I remember? Let me see. 
 
 There comes out of the cloud, our house — not new to 
 me, but quite familiar, in its earliest remembrance. On the 
 ground-floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; 
 with a pigeon-house on a pole, in the centre, without any 
 pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner, without any 
 dog ; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, 
 walking about, in a menacing and ferocious manner. There 
 is one cock who gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take 
 particular notice of me as I look at him through the kitchen- 
 window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese 
 outside the side-gate who come waddling after me with their 
 long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream at 
 night: as a man environed by wild beasts might dream of 
 lions. 
 
 Here is a long passage — what an enormous perspective I 
 make of it! — leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front- 
 door. A dark store-room opens out of it, and that is a place 
 to be run past at night; for I don't know what may be among 
 those tubs and jars and old tea-chests, when there is nobody 
 in there with a dimly-burning light, letting a mouldy air come 
 out at the door, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, 
 pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there 
 are the two parlours : the parlour in which we sit of an evening, 
 my mother and I and Peggotty — for Peggotty is quite our 
 
19 
 
 companion, when her work is done and we are alone — and 
 the best parlour where we sit on a Sunday; grandly, but not so 
 comfortably. There is something of a doleful air about that 
 room to me, for Peggotty has told me — I don't know when, 
 but apparently ages ago — about my father's funeral, and the 
 company having their black cloaks put on. One Sunday night 
 my mother reads to Peggotty and me in there, how Lazarus 
 was raised up from the dead. And I am so frightened that 
 they are afterwards obliged to take me out of bed, and show 
 me the quiet churchyard out of the bed-room window, with 
 the dead all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn 
 moon. 
 
 There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as 
 the grass of that churchyard ; nothing half so shady as its 
 trees; nothing half so quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are 
 feeding there, when I kneel up, early in the morning, in my 
 little bed in a closet within my mother's room, to look out at 
 it; and Isee the red light shining on the sun-dial, and think 
 within myself, "Is the sun-dial glad, I wonder, that it can tell 
 the time again?" 
 
 Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew ! 
 With a window near it, out of which our house can be seen, 
 and is seen many times during the morning's service, by 
 Peggotty, who likes to make herself as sure as she can that 
 it 's not being robbed, or is not in flames. But though Peg- 
 gotty's eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does, and 
 frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at 
 the clerg) man. But I can't always look at him — I know him 
 without that white thing on , and I am afraid of his wondering 
 why I stare so, and perhaps stopping the service to inquire — 
 and what am I to do? It 's a dreadful thing to gape, but I 
 must do something. I look at my mother, but sh(^ pretends 
 not to see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes 
 
20 
 
 faces at me. I look at the sunlight coming in at the open door 
 through the porch, and there I see a stray sheep — I don't 
 mean a sinner, but mutton — half making up his mind to come 
 into the church. I feel that if I looked at him any longer, 
 I might be tempted to say something out loud ; and what would 
 become of me then ! I look up at the monumental tablets on 
 the wall, and try to think of Mr. Bodgers late of this parish, 
 and what the feelings of Mrs. Bodgers must have been , when 
 affliction sore, long time Mr. Bodgers bore, and physicians 
 were in vain. I wonder whether they called in Mr. Chillip, 
 and he was in vain ; and if so , how he likes to be reminded of 
 it once a week. I look from Mr. Chillip, in his Sunday neck- 
 cloth, to the pulpit; and think what a good place it would be 
 to play in, and what a castle it would make, with another boy 
 coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvet cushion 
 with the tassels thrown down on his head. In time my eyes 
 gradually shut up; and, from seeming to hear the clergyman 
 singing a drowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, until I fall 
 off the seat with a crash, and am taken out, more dead than 
 alive, by Peggotty. 
 
 And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed 
 bedroom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling 
 air, and the ragged old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm- 
 trees at the bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the 
 garden at the back, beyond the yard where the empty pigeon- 
 house and dog-kennel are — a very preserve of butterflies, as 
 I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and padlock; 
 where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than 
 fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my 
 mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting 
 furtive gooseberries, and trying to look unmoved. A great 
 wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are 
 playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour. When 
 
21 
 
 my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, 
 I watch her winding her bright curls round her fingers, and 
 straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that 
 she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty. 
 
 That is among my very earliest impressions. That, and 
 a sense that we were both a little afraid of Peggotty , and sub- 
 mitted ourselves in most things to her direction, were among 
 the first opinions — if they may be so called — that I ever 
 derived from what I saw. 
 
 Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlour fire, 
 alone. I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. 
 I must have read very perspicuously, or the poor soul must 
 have been deeply interested, for I remember she had a cloudy 
 impression, after I had done, that they were a sort of vege- 
 table. I was tired of reading, and dead sleepy; but having 
 leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home 
 from spending the evening at a neighbour's, I would rather 
 have died upon my post (of course) than have gone to bed. 
 I had reached that stage of sleepiness when Peggotty seemed 
 to swell and grow immensely large. I propped my eyelids 
 open with my two forefingers, and looked perseveringly at 
 her as she sat at work ; at the little bit of wax-candle she kept 
 for her thread — how old it looked, being so wrinkled in all 
 directions! — at the little house with a thatched roof, where 
 the yard-measure lived; at her work-box with a sliding lid, 
 with a view of Saint Paul's Cathedral (with a pink dome) 
 painted on the top; at the brass thimble on her finger; at her- 
 self, whom I thought lovely. I felt so sleepy, that I knew if 
 Host sight of anything, for a moment, I was gone. 
 
 "Peggotty," says I, suddenly, "were you ever married?" 
 
 "Lord, Master Davy," replied Peggotty. "What 's put 
 marriage in your head! " 
 
22 
 
 She answered with such a start, that It quite awoke me. 
 And then she stopped in her work, and looked at me, with 
 her needle drawn out to its thread's length. 
 
 ^^But were you ever married, Peggotty?" says I. "You 
 are a very handsome woman, an't you? " 
 
 I thought her in a different style from my mother, cer- 
 tainly; but of another school of beauty, I considered her a 
 perfect example. There was a red velvet footstool in the best 
 parlour, on wliich my mother had painted a nosegay. The 
 ground-work of that stool, and Peggotty's complexion, ap- 
 peared to me to be one and the same thing. The stool was 
 smooth, and Peggotty was rough, but that made no dif- 
 ference. 
 
 "Me handsome, Davy!" said Peggotty. "Lawk, no, my 
 dear ! But what put marriage in your head ? " 
 
 "I don't know! — You mustn't marry more than one per- 
 son at a time, may you, Peggotty?" 
 
 "Certainly not," says Peggotty , with the promptest deci- 
 sion. 
 
 ""But if you marry a person, and the person dies, why 
 then you may marry another person, mayn't you, Peggotty? " 
 
 "You MAY," says Peggotty, "if you choose, my dear. 
 That 's a matter of opinion." 
 
 "But what is your opinion, Peggotty?" said I. 
 
 I asked her, and looked curiously at her, because she 
 looked so curiously at me. 
 
 "My opinion is ," said Peggotty , taking her eyes from me, 
 after a little indecision and going on with her work, "that I 
 never was married myself, Master Davy, and that I don't 
 expect to be. That 's all I know about the subject." 
 
 "You an't cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?" said T, 
 after sitting quiet for a minute. 
 
23 
 
 I really thought she was, she had been so short with me; 
 but I was quite mistaken: for she laid aside her work, (which 
 was a stocking of her own,) and opening her arms wide, took 
 my curly head within them, and gave it a good squeeze. 
 I know it was a good squeeze, because, being very plump, 
 whenever she made any little exertion after she was dressed, 
 some of the buttons on the back of her gown flew off. And I 
 recollect two bursting to the opposite side of the parlour, while 
 she was hugging me. 
 
 "Now let me hear some more about the Crorkindills," 
 saidPeggotty, who was not quite right in the name yet, "for 
 I an't heard half enough." 
 
 I couldn't quite understand why Peggotty looked so queer, 
 or why she was so ready to go back to the crocodiles. How- 
 ever, we returned to those monsters, with fresh wakefulness 
 on my part, and we left their eggs in the sand for the sun to 
 hatch; and we ran away from them, and baffled them by 
 constantly turning, which they were unable to do quickly, on 
 account of their unwieldy make: and we went into the wat€r 
 after them, as natives, and put sharp pieces of timber down 
 their throats; and in short we ran the whole crocodile gaun- 
 tlet. / did at least: but I had my doubts of Peggotty, who 
 was thoughtfully sticking her needle into various parts of her 
 face and arms , all the time. 
 
 We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with the 
 alligators, when the garden-bell rang. We went out to the 
 door; and there was my mother, looking unusually pretty, 
 I thought, and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair 
 and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last 
 Sunday. 
 
 As my mother stooped down on the threshhold to take me 
 in her arms and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more 
 highly privileged little fellow than a monarch — or something 
 
24 
 
 like that; for my later understanding comes, I am sensible, to 
 ray aid here. 
 
 '* What does that mean? " I asked him, over her shoulder. 
 
 He patted me on the head ; but somehow, I didn't like him 
 or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch 
 my mother's in touching me — which it did. I put it away , as 
 well as I could. 
 
 " Oh D&vy 1 " remonstrated my mother. 
 
 "Dear boy!" said the gentleman. "I cannot wonder at 
 his devotion!" 
 
 I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother's face 
 before. She gently chid me for being rude ; and, keeping me 
 close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking 
 60 much trouble as to bring her home. She put out her hand 
 to him as she spoke, and, as he met it with his own, she 
 glanced, I thought, at me. 
 
 "Let us say 'good night,' my fine boy," said the gentle- 
 man , when he had bent his head — / saw him ! — over my mo- 
 ther's little glove. 
 
 "Goodnight!" said I. 
 
 "Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!" said the 
 gentleman, laughing. " Shake hands ! " 
 
 My right hand was in my mother's left, so I gave him the 
 other. 
 
 "\Vhy that's the wrong hand, Davy!" laughed the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was re- 
 solved, for my former reason, not to give it him, and I did not. 
 I gave him the other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was 
 a brave fellow, and went away. 
 
 At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give 
 us a last look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door 
 was shut. 
 
25 
 
 Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, 
 secured the fastenings instantly, and we all went into the 
 parlour. My mother, contrary to her usual habit, instead of 
 coming to the elbow-chair by the fire, remained at tlie other 
 end of the room, and sat singing to herself. 
 
 " — Hope you have had a pleasant evening. Ma'am," said 
 Peggotty, standing as stiif as a barrel in the centre of the 
 room , with a candlestick in her hand. 
 
 "Much obliged to you, Peggotty," returned my mother, 
 in a cheerful voice, "I have had a very pleasant evening." 
 
 " A stranger or so makes an agreeable change ," suggested 
 Peggotty. 
 
 "A verj' agreeable change indeed," returned my mo- 
 ther. 
 
 Peggotty continuing to stand motionless in the middle of 
 the room, and my mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, 
 though I was not so sound asleep but that I could hear voices, 
 without hearing what they said. When I half awoke from this 
 uncomfortable dose, I found Peggotty and my mother both 
 in tears, and both talking. 
 
 "Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have 
 liked," saidPeggotty. "Thatlsay, and that I swear! " 
 
 "Good Heavens!" cried my mother. "You '11 drive me 
 mad! Was ever any poor girl so ill-used by her servants as I 
 am I Why do I do myself the injustice of calling myself a girl ? 
 Have I never been married, Peggotty ? " 
 
 "God knows you have. Ma'am," returned Peggotty. 
 
 " Then how can you dare ," said my mother — "you know 
 I don't mean how can you dare, Peggotty, but how can you 
 have the heart — to make me so uncomfortable and say such 
 bitter things to me, when you are well aware that I haven't, 
 out of this place, a single friend to turn to ! " 
 
26 
 
 "The more 's the reason," returned Peggotty, "for saying 
 that it won't do. No ! That it won't do. No I No price could 
 make it do. No ! *' — I thought Peggotty would have thrown 
 the candlestick away, she was so emphatic with it. 
 
 "How can you be so aggravating," said my mother, 
 shedding more tears than before, "as to talk in such an unjust 
 manner! How can you go on as if it was all settled and ar- 
 ranged, Peggotty, when I tell you over and over again, you 
 cruel thing, that beyond the commonest civilities nothing has 
 passed ! You talk of admiration. What am I to do ? If people 
 are so silly as to indulge the sentiment, is It my fault? What 
 am I to do , I ask you? Would you wish me to shave my head 
 and black my face, or disfigure myself with a burn, or a scald, 
 or something of that sort? I dare say you would, Peggotty. 
 I dare say you 'd quite enjoy it." 
 
 Peggotty seemed to take this aspersion very much to heart, 
 I thought. 
 
 "And my dear boy," cried my mother, coming to the 
 elbow-chair in which I was, and caressing me, "my own little 
 Davy! Is it to be hinted to me that I am wanting in affection 
 for my precious treasure, the dearest little fellow that ever 
 was!" 
 
 "Nobody never went and hinted no such a thing," said 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " You did, Peggotty 1 " returned my mother. " You know 
 you did. What else was it possible to infer from what you 
 said, you unkind creature, when you know as well as I do, 
 that on his account only last quarter I wouldn't buy myself a 
 new parasol, though that old green one is frayed the whole 
 way up, and the fringe is perfectly mangy. You know it is, 
 Peggotty. You can't deny it." Then, turning affectionately 
 to me, with her cheek against mine, " Am I a naughty mama 
 to you, Davy? Am I a nasty, cruel, selfish bad mama? Say 
 
27 
 
 I am, my child; say 'yes;' dear boy, and Poggotty will love 
 you, and Peggotty's love is a great deal better than mine, 
 Davy, /don'tloveyouat all, do I?" 
 
 At this , we all fell a-crying together. I think I was the 
 loudest of the party, but I am sure we were all sincere about 
 it. I was quite heart-broken myself, and am afraid that in the 
 first transports of wounded tenderness I called Peggotty a 
 "Beast." That honest creature was in deep affliction, I 
 remember, and must have become quite buttonless on the 
 occasion ; for a little voUey of those explosives went off, when, 
 after having made it up with my mother, she kneeled down by 
 the elbow-chair, and made it up with me. 
 
 We went to bed greatly dejected. My sobs kept waking 
 me, for a long time; and when one ver\' strong sob quite 
 hoisted me up in bed , I found my mother sitting on the cover- 
 let, and leaning over me. I fell asleep in her arms, after 
 that, and slept soundly. 
 
 Whether it was the following Sunday when I saw the 
 gentleman again, or whether there was any greater lapse of 
 time before he reappeared, I cannot recall. I don't profess to 
 be clear about dates. But there he was, in church, and he 
 walked home with us afterwards. He came in, too, to look at 
 a famous geranium we had, in the parlour-window. It did not 
 appear to me that he took much notice of it, but before he 
 went he asked my mother to give him a bit of the blossom. 
 She begged him to choose it for himself, but he refused to do 
 that — I could not understand why — so she plucked it for 
 him, and gave it into his hand. He said he would never, 
 never, part with it any more ; and I thought he must be quite 
 a fool not to know that it would fall to pieces in a day or 
 two. 
 
 Peggotty began to be less with ns, of an evening, than she 
 had always been. My mother deterred to her very much — 
 
28 
 
 more than usual, it occurred to me — and we were all three 
 excellent friends ; still v/e were different from what we used to 
 be, and were not so comfortable among ourselves. Some- 
 times I fancied that Peggotty perhaps objected to my mother's 
 wearing all the pretty dresses she had in her drawers, or to her 
 going so often to visit at that neighbour's; but I couldn't, to 
 my satisfaction , make out how it was. 
 
 Gradually, I became used to seeing the gentleman with the 
 black whiskers. I liked him no better than at first, and had 
 the same uneasy jealousy of him; but if I had any reason for 
 it beyond a child's instinctive dislike, and a general idea that 
 Peggotty and I could make much of my mother without any 
 help, it certainly was not the reason that I might have found if 
 I had been older. No such thing came into ray mind, or near 
 it. I could observe, in little pieces, as it were; but as to 
 making a net of a number of these pieces, and catching any- 
 body in It, that was, as yet, beyond me. 
 
 One autumn morning I was with my mother In the front 
 garden, when Mr. Murdstone — I knew him by that name now 
 — came by, on horseback. He reined up his horse to salute 
 my mother, and said he was going to Lowestoft to see some 
 friends who were there with a yacht, and merrily proposed 
 to take me on the saddle before him if I would like the 
 ride. 
 
 The air was so clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed 
 to like the Idea of the ride so much himself, as he stood 
 snorting and pawing at the garden-gate, that I had a great 
 desire to go. So I was sent up-stairs to Peggotty to be made 
 spruce; and in the meantime Mr. Mnrdstone dismounted, and, 
 with his horse's bridle drawn over his arm, walked slowly 
 up and down on the outer side of the sweetbriar fence, while 
 my mother walked slowly up and down on the Inner to keep 
 him company. I recollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them 
 
29 
 
 from my little window; I recollect bow closely they appeared 
 to be examining the sweetbriar between them, as they strolled 
 along; and how, from being in a perfectly angelic temper, 
 Peggotty turned cross in a moment, and brushed my hair the 
 wrong way, excessively hard. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on 
 the green turf by the side of the road. He held me quite 
 easily with one arm, and I don't think I was restless usually; 
 but I could not make up my mind to sit in front of him without 
 turning my head sometimes, and looking up in his face. He 
 had that kind of shallow black eye — I want a better word to 
 express an eye that has no depth in it to be looked into — 
 which, when it is abstracted, seems from some peculiarity of 
 light to be disfigured, for a moment at a time, by a cast. 
 Several times when I glanced at him, I observed that ap- 
 pearance with a sort of awe, and wondered what he was 
 thinking about so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker 
 and thicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them 
 credit for being. A squareness about the lower part of his 
 face, and the dotted indication of the strong black beard he 
 shaved close every day, reminded me of the wax- work that 
 had travelled into our neighbourhood some half-a-year before. 
 This, his regular eyebrows, and the rich white, and black, 
 and brown, of his complexion — confound his complexion, 
 and his memory! — made me think him, in spite of my mis- 
 givings, a very handsome man. I have no doubt that my poor 
 dear mother thought him so too. 
 
 We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen 
 were smoking cigars in a room by themselves. Each of them 
 was lying on at least four chairs, and had a large rough 
 jacket on. In a corner was a heap of coats and boat- cloaks, 
 and a flag, all bundled up together. 
 
30 
 
 The} both rolled on to their foet in an untidy sort of 
 manner when we came in, and said "Halloa, Murdstone! We 
 thought you were dead I " 
 
 "Not yet," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "And who 's this shaver?" said one of the gentlemen, 
 taking hold of me. 
 
 " That 's Davy," returned Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "Davy who?" said the gentleman. "Jones?" 
 
 "Copperfield," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "What! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's incumbrance?" 
 cried the gentleman. " The pretty little widow ? " 
 
 "Quinion," said Mr. Murdstone, "take care, if you please. 
 Somebody 's sharp." 
 
 "Who is?" asked the gentleman, laughing. 
 
 I looked up, quickly; being curious to know. 
 
 " Only Brooks of Sheffield," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 I was quite relieved to find it was only Brooks of Sheffield ; 
 for, at first, I really thought it was I. 
 
 There seemed to be something very comical in the reputa 
 tion of Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen 
 laughed heartily when he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone 
 was a good deal amused also. After some laughing, the 
 gentleman whom he had called Quinion, said : 
 
 "And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in 
 reference to the projected business ? " 
 
 "Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much 
 about It at present," replied Mr. Murdstone; "but he is not 
 generally favourable, I believe." 
 
 There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he 
 would ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to 
 Brooks. This he did; and when the wine came, he made me 
 have a little, with a biscuit, and, before I drank it, stand up 
 and say "Confusion to Brooks of ShefGold!" The toast 
 
31 
 
 was received with great applause, and such hearty laughter 
 that It made me laugh too ; at which they laughed the more. 
 In short, we quite enjoyed ourselves. 
 
 We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the 
 grass, and looked at things through a telescope — I could 
 make out nothing myself when it was put to my eye, but I 
 pretended I could — and then we came back to the hotel 
 to an early dinner. All the time we were out, the two gentle- 
 men smoked incessantly — which, I thought, If I might 
 judge from the smell of their rough coats , they must have 
 been doing, ever since the coats had first come home from 
 the tailor's. I must not forget that we went on board the 
 yacht, where they all three descended into the cabin, and 
 were busy with some papers. I saw them quite hard at work, 
 when I looked down through the open skylight. They left me, 
 during this time, with a very nice man with a very large head 
 of red hair and a very small shiny hat upon it , who had got a 
 cross-barred shirt or waistcoat on , with "Skylark" in capital 
 letters across the chest. I thought it was his name; and that 
 as he lived on board ship and liadn't a street-door to put his 
 name on, he put It there instead; but when I called him Mr. 
 Skylark, he said it meant the vessel. 
 
 I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver and 
 steadier than the two gentlemen. They were very gay and 
 careless. They joked freely with one another, but seldom 
 with him. It appeared to me that he was more clever and 
 cold than they were, and that they regarded him with some- 
 thing of my own feeling. I remarked that once or twice when 
 Mr. Quinion was talking, he looked at Mr, Murdstone side- 
 ways , as if to make sure of his not being displeased ; and that 
 once when Mr. Passnidge (the other gentleman) was in high 
 spirits, he trod upon his foot, and gave him a secret caution 
 with his eyes, to observe Mr. Murdstone, who was sitting 
 
32 
 
 stern and silent. Nor do I recollect that Mr. Murdstone 
 laughed at all that day , except at the Sheffield joke — and 
 that, by the by, was his own. 
 
 We went home early in the evening. It was a very fine 
 evening, and my mother and he had another stroll by the 
 sweet briar, while I was sent in to get my tea. When he was 
 gone, my mother asked me all about the day I had had, and 
 what they had said and done. I mentioned what they had said 
 about her, and she laughed, and told me they were impudent 
 fellows who talked nonsense — but I knew it pleased her. I 
 knew it quite as well as I know it now. I took the opportunity 
 of asking if she was at all acquainted with Mr. Brooks of 
 Sheffield, but she answered No, only she supposed he must 
 be a manufacturer in the knife and fork way. 
 
 Can I say of her face — altered as I have reason to re- 
 member it, perished as I know it is — that it is gone, when 
 here it comes before me at this instant, as distinct as any face 
 that I may choose to look on in a crowded street? Can I say of 
 her innocent and girlish beauty, that it faded, and was no 
 more, when its breath falls on my cheek now, as it fell that 
 night? Can I say she ever changed, when my remembrance 
 brings her back to life, thus only; and, truer to its loving 
 youth than I have been, or man ever is, still holds fast what it 
 cherished then? 
 
 I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after 
 this talk, and she came to bid me good night. She kneeled 
 down playfully by the side of the bed, and laying her chin 
 upon her hands, and laughing, said; 
 
 "What was it they said, Davy? Tell me again. I can't 
 believe it." 
 
 "'Bewitching — '" I began. 
 
 My mother put her hands upon her lips to stop me. 
 
S3 
 
 "It was never bewitching," she said, laughing. "It never 
 could have been bewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn't! " 
 
 "Yes it was. 'Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield,'" I repeated 
 stoutly. "And 'pretty.'" 
 
 "No no, it was never pretty. Not pretty," interposed my 
 mother, laying her fingers on my lips again. 
 
 "Yes it was. 'Pretty little widow.'" 
 
 "What foolish, impudent creatures!" cried my mother, 
 laughing and covering her face. "^V^lat ridiculous men! 
 An't they? Davy dear — " 
 
 "Well, Ma." 
 
 "Don't tell Peggotty; she might be angry with them. I 
 am dreadfully angry with them myself; but I would rather 
 Peggotty didn't know." 
 
 I promised, of course; and we kissed one another over 
 and over again, and I soon fell fast asleep. 
 
 It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if it were the 
 next day when Peggotty broached the striking and adven- 
 turous proposition I am about to mention ; but it was probably 
 about two months afterwards. 
 
 We were sitting as before, one evening (when my mother 
 was out as before), in company with the stocking and the yard 
 measure, and the bit of wax, and the box with Saint Paul's 
 on the lid, and the crocodile book, when Peggotty, after 
 looking at me several times, and opening her mouth as if she 
 were going to speak, without doing it — which I thought was 
 merely gaping, or I should have been rather alarmed — said 
 coaxingly: 
 
 "Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me 
 and spend a fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't 
 that be a treat? " 
 
 "Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?" I in- 
 quired, provisionally. 
 David Cojiperjield, 1. 3 
 
34 
 
 "Oh what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggottj', 
 holding up her hands. " Then there 's the sea ; and the boats 
 and ships; and the fishermen: and the beach; and Am to 
 play with — " 
 
 Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, mentioned in my first 
 chapter; but she spoke of him as a morsel of English 
 Grammar. 
 
 I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied 
 that it would indeed be a treat, but what would my 
 mother say? ^ 
 
 " Why then I '11 as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, 
 intent upon my face, "that she '11 let us go. I '11 ask her, 
 if you like, as soon as ever she comes home. There now!" 
 
 "But what 's she to do while we 're away?" said I, putting 
 my small elbows on the table to argue the point. "She can't 
 live by herself." 
 
 If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the 
 heel of that stocking, it must have been a very little one 
 indeed, and not worth darning. 
 
 "I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know." 
 
 "Oh bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at me again at 
 last. "Don't you know? She 's going to stay for a fortnight 
 with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs. Grayper 's going to have a lot of 
 company." 
 
 Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in 
 the utmost impatience, until my mother came home from 
 Mrs. Grayper's (for it was that identical neighbour), to as- 
 certain if we could get leave to carry out this great idea. 
 Without being nearly so much surprised as I had expected, 
 my mother entered into it readily ; and it was all arranged that 
 night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be 
 paid for. 
 
35 
 
 The day soon came for our going. It was such an early 
 day that it came soon, even to me, who was in a fever of 
 expectation, and half afraid that an earthquake or a fiery 
 mountain, or some other great convulsion of nature, might 
 interpose to stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's 
 cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I would 
 have given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself up 
 over-night, and sleep in my hat and boots. 
 
 It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to 
 recollect how eager I was to leave my happy home; to think 
 how little I suspected what I did leave for ever. 
 
 I am glad to recollect that when the carrier's cart was at the 
 gate, and my mother stood there kissing me, a grateful 
 fondness for her and for the old place I had never turned my 
 back upon before, made me cry. I am glad to know that 
 my mother cried too, and that I felt her heart beat against 
 mine. 
 
 I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, 
 my mother ran out at the gate , and called to him to stop , that 
 she might kiss me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the 
 earnestness and love with which she lifted up her face to mine, 
 and did so. 
 
 As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came 
 up to where she was, and seemed to expostulate with her for 
 being so moved. I was looking back round the awning of the 
 cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty, 
 who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything 
 but satisfied; as the face she brought back into the cart 
 denoted. 
 
 I sat looking at Peggotty for sometime, in a reverie on 
 this supposititious case: whether, if she were employed to 
 lose me like the boy in the fairy t;ile , I should be able to track 
 my way home again by the buttons she would shed. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 I have a change. 
 
 The carrier's horse -was the laziest horse in the world, I 
 should hope, and shuffled along, with his head down, as if he 
 liked to keep the people waiting to whom the packages were 
 directed. I fancied, indeed, that he sometimes cliuckled au- 
 dibly over this reflection, but the carrier said he was only 
 troubled with a cough. 
 
 The carrier had a way of keeping his head down, like his 
 horse, and of drooping sleepily forward as he drove, with one 
 of his arms on each of his knees. I say " drove," but it struck 
 me that the cart would have gone to Yarmouth quite as well 
 without him, for the horse did all that; and as to conversation, 
 he had no idea of It but whistling. 
 
 Peggotty had a basket of refreshments on her knee, which 
 would have lasted us out handsomely, if we had been going to 
 London by the same conveyance. We ate a good deal, and 
 slept a good deal, Peggotty always went to sleep with her chin 
 upon the handle of the basket, her hold of which never 
 relaxed; and I coidd not have believed unless I had heard 
 her do it, that one defenceless woman could have snored so 
 much. 
 
 We made so many deviations up and down lanes , and were 
 such a long time delivering a bedstead at a public-house, and 
 calling at other places, that 1 was quite tired, and very glad, 
 when we saw Yarmouth. It looked rather spongey and soppy, 
 1 thought, as I carried my eye over the great dull waste that lay 
 across the river; and I could not help wondering, if the world 
 Avere really as round as my geography-book said, how any part 
 
37 
 
 of It came to be so flat. But I reflected that Yarmouth 
 might be situated at one of the poles ; which would account 
 for it. 
 
 As we drew a little nearer, and saw the whole adjacent 
 prospect lying a straight low line under the sky, I hinted to 
 Peggotty that a mound or so might have improved it; and also 
 that if tlie land had been a little more separated from the sea, 
 and the town and the tide had not been quite so much mixed 
 up, like toast and water, it would have been nicer. But Peg- 
 gottj' said, with greater emphasis than usual, that we must take 
 things as we found them, and that, for her part, she was proud 
 to call herself a Yarmouth Bloater. 
 
 When we got into the street (which was strange enough to 
 me), and smelt the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tar, and 
 saw the sailors walking about, and the carts jingling up and 
 down over the stones, I felt thati had done so busy a place an 
 injustice; and said as much to Peggotty, who heard my ex- 
 pressions of delight with great complacency, and told me it was 
 well known (I suppose to those who had the good fortune to be 
 bom Bloaters) that Yarmouth was, upon the whole, the finest 
 place in the universe. 
 
 "Here's my Am!" screamed Peggotty, "growed out of 
 knowledge 1 " 
 
 He was waiting for us. In fact, at the public-house; and 
 asked me how I found myself, like an old acquaintance. I did 
 not feel, at first, that I knew him as well as he knew me, be- 
 cause he had never come to our house since the night I was 
 born , and naturally he had the advantage of me. But our inti- 
 macy was much advanced by his taking me on his back to carry 
 me home. He was, now, a huge, strong fellow of six feet high, 
 broad in proportion, and round-shouldered; but with a simper- 
 ing boy's face and curly light air that gave him quite a sheepish 
 look. He was dressed in a canvass jacket, and a pair of such 
 
(8 
 
 very stiff trousers that they would have stood quite as well 
 alone, without any legs in them. And you couldn't so properly 
 have said he wore a hat, as that he was covered in a-top,like an 
 old building, with something pitchy. 
 
 Ham carrying me on his back and a small box of ours under 
 his arm, and Peggotty carrying another small box of ours, we 
 turned down lanes bestrewn with bits of chips and little hillocks 
 of sand, and went past gas-works, rope-walks, boat-builders' 
 yards, ship-wrights' yards, ship -breakers' yards, caulkers' 
 yards , riggers' lofts, smiths' forges , and a great litter of such 
 places, until we came out upon the dull waste I had already 
 seen at a distance ; when Ham said, 
 
 "Yon 's our house, Mas'r Davy!'* 
 
 I looked in all directions, as far as I could stare over the 
 wilderness, and away at the sea, and away at the river, but no 
 house could /make out. There was a black barge, or some 
 other kind of superannuated boat, not far off, high and dry on 
 the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of It for a chimney 
 and smoking very cosily ; but nothing else in the way of a habi- 
 tation that was visible to me. 
 
 " That 's not it? " said I. " That ship-looking thing? '* 
 
 "That 's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham. 
 
 If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's eg^ and all, I suppose 
 I could not have been more charmed with the romantic idea of 
 living in it. There was a delightful door cut in the side , and It 
 was roofed in, and there were little windows in it; but the 
 wonderful charm of it was, that it was a real boat which had no 
 doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had 
 never been intended to be lived in , on dry land. That was the 
 captivation of it to me. If it had ever been meant to be lived 
 in, I might have thought it small, or inconvenient, or lonely; 
 but never having been designed for any such use , it became a 
 perfect abode. 
 
39 
 
 It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. 
 There was a table , and a Dutch clock , and a chest of drawers, 
 and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting 
 on it of a lady with a parasol , taking a walk with a military- 
 looking child who was trundling a hoop. The tray was kept 
 from tumbling down, by a bible ; and the tray, if it had tumbled 
 down, would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and 
 a teapot that were grouped around the book. On the walls 
 there were some common coloured pictures, framed and glazed, 
 of scripture subjects; such as I have never seen since in the 
 hands of pedlars, without seeing the whole interior of Peg-, 
 gotty's brother's house again, at one view. Abraham in red 
 going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and Daniel in yellow cast into a 
 den of green lions, were the most prominent of these. Over 
 the little mantel-shelf, was a picture of the Sarah Jane lugger, 
 built at Sunderland , with a real little wooden stern stuck on to 
 it; a work of art, combining composition with carpentery, 
 which I considered to be one of the most enviable possessions 
 that the world could afford. There were some hooks in the 
 beams of the ceiling, the use of which I did not divine then; 
 and some lockers and boxes and conveniences of that sort, 
 which served for seats and eked out the chairs. 
 
 All this, I saw in the first glance after I crossed the thresh- 
 old — childlike, according to my theory — and then Peggotty 
 opened a little door and showed me my bedroom. It was the 
 completest and most desirable bedroom ever seen — in the 
 stern of the vessel ; with a little window, wliere the rudder n^ed 
 to go through; a little looking-glass, just the right height for 
 me, nailed against the wall, and framed with oyster-shells; a 
 little bed , which there was just room enough to get into ; and a 
 nosegay of seaweed in a blue mug on the table. The walls 
 were whitewashed as white as milk, and the patchwork counter- 
 pane made my eyes quite ache with its brightness. One thing 
 
40 
 
 1 particularly noticed in this delightful house, was the smell of 
 fish ; which was so searching, that when I took out ray pocket- 
 handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it 
 had wrapped up a lobster. On my imparting this discovery in 
 confidence toPeggotty,she informed me that her brother dealt 
 in lobsters , crabs , and crawfish ; and I afterwards found that a 
 heap of these creatures, in a state of wonderful conglomeration 
 with one another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they 
 laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden out- 
 house where the pots and kettles were kept. 
 
 We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, 
 whom I had seen curtseying at the door when I was on Ham's 
 back, about a quarter of a mile off. Likewise by a most beau- 
 tiful little girl (or I thought her so) Avith a necklace of blue 
 beads on, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to , but 
 ran away and hid herself. By and by, when we had dined in a 
 sumptuous manner off boiled dabs, melted butter, and po- 
 tatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good- 
 natured face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and 
 gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt, from 
 the general propriety of her conduct, that he was her brother ; 
 and so he turned out — being presently introduced to me as 
 Mr. Peggotty, the master of the house. 
 
 " Glad to see you , Sir," said Mr. Peggotty. "You '11 find 
 us rough , Sir, but you '11 find us ready." 
 
 I thanked him, and replied that I was sure I should be happy 
 in such a delightful place. 
 
 "How 's your Ma, Sir," said Mr.Peggotty. "Did you leave 
 her pretty jolly?" 
 
 I gave Mr.Peggotty to understand that she was as jolly as 1 
 could wish, and that she desired her compliments — which was 
 a polite fiction on my part. 
 
41 
 
 " 1 'm much obleeged to her, I 'm suie ," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 "Well Sir, if you can make out here, fur a fortnut, 'long wi' 
 her," nodding at his sister, "and Ham, and little Em'ly, we 
 shall be proud of your company." 
 
 Having done the honours of his house in this hospitable 
 manner, Mr. Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful of 
 hot water, remarking that "cold would never get his muck off.' 
 He soon returned, greatly improved in appearance; but so 
 rubicund, that I couldn't help thinking his face had this in 
 common with the lobsters, crabs, and crawfish, — that it went 
 into the hot water very black, and came out very red. 
 
 After tea, when the door was shut and all was made snug 
 (the nights being cold and misty now), it seemed to me the 
 most delicious retreat that the imagination of man could con- 
 ceive. To hear the wind getting up out at sea, to know that 
 the fog was creeping over the desolate flat outside, and to look 
 at the fire, and think that there was no house near but this one, 
 and this one a boat, was like enchantment. Little Em'ly had 
 overcome her shyness, and was sitting by my side upon the 
 lowest and least of the lockers, which was just large enough for 
 us two, and just fitted into the chimney corner. Mrs. Peggotty 
 with the white apron, was knitting on the opposite side of the 
 fire. Peggotty at her needle-work was as much at home with 
 Saint Paul's and the bit of wax-candle, as if they had never 
 known any other roof. Ham , who had been giving me my first 
 lesson in all-fours, was trying to recollect a scheme of telling 
 fortunes with the dirty cards, and was printing off fishy im- 
 pressions of his thumb on all the cards he turned. Mr. Peggotty 
 was smoking his pipe. I felt it was a time for conversation and 
 confidence. 
 
 "Mr. Peggotty! "says I. 
 "Sir," savs he. 
 
42 
 
 "Did you give your son the name of Ham, because you 
 lived in a sort of ark? " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty seemed to think it a deep idea, but an- 
 swered: 
 
 "No, Sir. I never giv him no name." 
 
 "Who gave him that name, then? " said I, putting question 
 number two of the catechism to Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "Why, Sir, his father giv it him," said Mr, Peggotty. 
 
 "I thought you were his father! " 
 
 "My brother Joe was his father," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "Dead, Mr. Peggotty?" I hinted, after a respectful 
 pause. 
 
 "Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 I was very much surprised that Mr. Peggotty was not Ham's 
 father, and began to wonder whether I was mistaken about 
 his relationship to anybody else there. I was so curious 
 to know, that I made up my mind to have it out with Mr. 
 Peggotty. 
 
 "Little Em'ly," I said, glancing at her. "She is your 
 daughter, isn't she, Mr. Peggotty?" 
 
 "No, Sir. My brother in law, Tom, was her father." 
 
 I couldn't help it. "—Dead, Mr. Peggotty?" I hinted, 
 after another respectful silence. 
 
 "Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 I felt the difficulty of resuming the subject, but had not 
 got to the bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom some- 
 how. So I said: 
 
 "Havn't you any children, Mr. Peggotty?" 
 
 "No, master," he answered with a short laugh. "I 'm a 
 bacheldore." 
 
 "A bachelor!" I said, astonished. "Why, who 's that, 
 Mr. Peggoty?" Pointing to the person in the apron who was 
 knitting. 
 
43 
 
 "That 's Missis Gummidge," said Mr. Peggotty 
 
 " Gummidge , Mr. Peggotty ? " 
 
 But at this point Peggotty — I mean my own peculiar Peg- 
 gotty — made such impressive motions to me not to ask any 
 more questions, that I could only sit and look at all the silent 
 company , until it was time to go to bed. Then , in the privacy 
 of my own little cabin, she informed me that Ham and Em'ly 
 were an orphan nephew and niece, whom my host had at 
 different times adopted in their childhood, when they were 
 left destitute; and that Mrs. Gummidge was the widow of his 
 partner in a boat, who had died very poor. He was but a 
 poor man himself, said Peggotty, but as good as gold and as 
 true as steel — those were her similies. The only subject, 
 she informed me, on which he ever showed a violent temper 
 or swore an oath, was this generosity of his; and if it were 
 ever referred to , by any one of them , he struck the table a 
 heavy blow with his right hand (had split it on one such occa- 
 sion) , and swore a dreadful oath that he would be 'Gormed' 
 if he didn't cut and run for good, if it was ever mentioned 
 again. It appeared, in answer to my inquiries, that nobody 
 had the least idea of the etymolog)- of this terrible verb pas- 
 sive to be gormed; but that they all regarded it as constitu- 
 ting a most solemn imprecation. 
 
 I was very sensible of my entertainer's goodness, and 
 listened to the women's going to bed in another little crib like 
 mine at the opposite end of the boat, and to him and Ham 
 hanging up two hammocks for themselves on the hooks I had 
 noticed in the roof, in a very luxurious state of mind, en- 
 hanced by my being sleepy. As slumber gradually stole upon 
 me, I heard the wind howling out at sea and coming on across 
 the flat so fiercely , that I had a lazy apprehension of the great 
 deep rising in the night. But I bethouglit myself that I was In 
 
44 
 
 a boat, after all; and that a man like Mr. Pcggotty was not a 
 bad person to have on board if anything did happen. 
 
 Nothing happened, however, worse than morning. Al- 
 most as soon as it shone upon the oyster-shell frame of my 
 mirror I was out of bed , and out with little Em'ly , picking up 
 stones upon the beach. 
 
 "You 're quite a sailor, I suppose?" I said to Em'ly. I 
 don't know that I supposed any thing of the kind , but I felt it 
 an act of gallantry to say something; and a shining sail close 
 to us made such a pretty little image of itself, at the moment, 
 in her bright eye , that it came into my head to say this. 
 
 "No," replied Em'ly , shaking her head, "I 'm afraid of 
 the sea." 
 
 "Afraidl" I said, with a becoming air of boldness, and 
 looking very big at the mighty ocean, "/an't! " 
 
 "Ah! but it 's cruel," said Em'ly. "I have seen it very 
 cruel to some of our men. I have seen it tear a boat as big as 
 our house, all to pieces." 
 
 "I hope it wasn't the boat that — " 
 
 " That father was drownded in? '' said Em'ly. " No. Not 
 that one, I never see that boat." 
 
 "Nor him?" I asked her. 
 
 Little Em'ly shook her head. "Not to remember 1 " 
 
 Here was a coincidence! I immediately went into an ex- 
 planation how I had never seen my own father; and how my 
 mother and I had always lived by ourselves in the happiest 
 state imaginable, and lived so then, and always meant to live 
 BO ; and how my father's grave was in the churchyard near our 
 house, and shaded by a tree, beneath the boughs of which 1 
 had walked and heard the birds sing many a pleasant morning. 
 But there were some differences between Em'ly's orphanhood 
 and mine, it appeared. She had lost her mother before hor 
 
45 
 
 father; and where her father's grave wa? no one knew, ex- 
 cept that it was somewhere in tlie depths of the sea. 
 
 "Besides," saidEm'ly, as she looked about for shells and 
 pebbles, "your father was a gentleman and your mother is a 
 lady; and my father was a fisherman and my mother was a 
 fisherman's daughter, and my uncle Dan is a fisherman." 
 
 "DanisMr. Peggotty, is he?" said I. 
 
 "Uncle Dan — yonder," answered Em'ly, nodding at the 
 boat-house. 
 
 "Yes. I mean him. He must be very good, I should 
 think?" 
 
 "Good?" saidEm'ly. "If I was ever to be a lady, I'd 
 give him a sky-blue coat with diamond buttons, nankeen 
 trousers, a red velvet waistcoat, a cocked hat, a large gold 
 watch, asilverpipe, and a box of money." 
 
 I said I had no doubt that Mr. Peggotty well deserved 
 these treasures. I must acknowledge that I felt it difficult to 
 picture him quite at his ease in the raiment proposed for him 
 by his gratefullittle niece, and that I was particularly doubt- 
 ful of the policy of the cocked liat; but I kept these senti- 
 ments to myself. 
 
 Little Em'ly had stopped and looked up at the sky in her 
 enumeration of these articles, as if they were a glorious vision. 
 We went on again , picking up shells and pebbles. 
 
 "You would like to be a lady?" I said. 
 
 Emily looked at me , and laughed and nodded "yes." 
 
 "I should like it very much. We would all be gentlefolks 
 together, then. Me, and uncle, and Ham, and Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. We wouldn't mind then, when there come stormy 
 weather. — Not for our own sakes, I mean. We would for 
 the poor fishermen's, to be sure, and we 'd help 'em with 
 money when they come to any hurt." 
 
46 
 
 This seemed to me to be a very satisfactory and therefore 
 not at all improbable picture. I expressed my pleasure in the 
 contemplation of it, and little Em'ly was emboldened to say, 
 shyly, 
 
 " Don't you think you are afraid of the sea , now ? " 
 
 It was quiet enough to reassure me , but I have no doubt if 
 I had seen a moderately large wave come tumbling in, I should 
 have taken to my heels, with an awful recollection of her 
 drowned relations. However, I said "No," and I added, 
 "You don't seem to be, either, though you say you are;" — 
 for she was walking much too near the brink of a sort of old 
 jetty or wooden causeway we had strolled upon, and I was 
 afraid of her falling over. 
 
 "I 'm not afraid in this way," said little Em'ly. "But I 
 wake when it blows , and tremble to think of uncle Dan and 
 Ham, and believe I hear 'em crying out for help. That 's 
 why I should like so much to be a lady. But I 'm not afraid in 
 this way. Not a bit. Look here! " 
 
 She started from my side, and ran along a jagged timber 
 which protruded from the place we stood upon, and overhung 
 the deep water at some height, without the least defence. 
 The incident is so impressed on my remembrance, that if I 
 were a draughtsman I could draw its form here, I daresay, 
 accurately as it was that day, and little Em'ly springing for- 
 ward to her destruction (as it appeared to me), with a look 
 that I have never forgotten , directed far out to sea. 
 
 The light, bold, fluttering little figure turned and came 
 back safe to me, and I soon laughed at my fears, and at the 
 cry I had uttered; fruitlessly in any case, for there was no 
 one near. But there have been times since, in my manhood, 
 many times there have been, when I have thought, Is it pos- 
 sible, among the possibilities of hidden things, that in the 
 fjudden rashness of the child and her wild look so far ofl", there 
 
47_ J 
 
 was any merciful attraction of her into danger , any tempting; 
 her towards him permitted on the part of her dead father, 
 that her life might have a chance of ending that day. There 
 has been a time since when I have wondered whether, if the 
 life before her could have been revealed to me at a glance, 
 and so revealed as that a child could fully comprehend it, and 
 if her preservation could have depended on a motion of my 
 hand , I ought to have held it up to save her. There has been 
 a time since — I do not say it lasted long, but it has been — 
 when I have asked myself the question, would it have been 
 better for little Em'ly to have had the waters close above her 
 head that morning in my sight; and when I have answered 
 Tes, it would have been. 
 
 This may be premature. I have set it down too soon, per- 
 haps. But let it stand. 
 
 We strolled a long way, and loaded ourselves with things 
 that we thought curious, and put some stranded star-fish 
 carefully back into the water — I hardly know enough of the 
 race at this moment to be quite certain whether they had 
 reason to feel obliged to us for doing so , or the reverse — and 
 then made our way home to Mr. Peggotty's dwelling. We 
 stopped under the lee of the lobster-outhouse to exchange an 
 innocent kiss, and went in to breakfast glowing with health 
 and pleasure. 
 
 "Like two young mavishes," Mr. Peggotty said. I knew 
 this meant, in our local dialect, like two young thrushes, and 
 received it as a compliment. 
 
 Of course I was in love with little Em'ly. I am sure I loved 
 that baby quite as truly, quite as tenderly, with greater 
 purity, and more disinterestedness, than can enter into the 
 best love of a later time of life, high and ennobling as it is. I 
 am sure my fancy raised up something round that blue-eyed 
 mite of a child, which etherealised , and made a very angel of 
 
48 
 
 her. If, any sunny forenoon, slie had spread a little pair of 
 wings and llown away before my eyes, I don't think I should 
 have regarded it as much more than I had had reason to 
 expect. 
 
 We used to walk about that dim old flat at Yarmouth in a 
 loving manner, hours and hours. The days sported by us, 
 as if Time had not grown up liimself yet , but were a child too, 
 and always at play. I told Em'ly I adored her, and that 
 unless she confessed she adored me I should be reduced to the 
 necessity of killing myself with a sword. She said she did, 
 and I have no doubt she did. 
 
 As to any sense of Inequality, or youthfulness, or other 
 difficulty in our way, little Em'ly and I had no such trouble, 
 because we had no future. We made no more provision for 
 growing older, than we did for growing younger. We were 
 the admiration of Mrs. Gummldge and Peggotty, who used to 
 whisper of an evening when we sat, lovingly, on our little 
 locker side by side, "Lor 1 wasn't it beautiful 1 " Mr. Peggotty 
 smiled at us from behind his pipe, and Ham grinned all the 
 evening and did nothing else. They had something of the sort 
 of pleasure in us, I suppose, that they might have had in a 
 pretty toy, or a pocket model of the Colosseum. 
 
 I soon found out that Mrs. Gummldge did not always make 
 herself so agreeable as she might have been expected to do, 
 under the circumstances of her residence with Mr. Peggotty. 
 Mrs. Gummidge's was rather a fretful disposition, and she 
 whimpered more sometimes than was comfortable for other 
 parties in so small an establishment. I was very sorry for 
 her; but there were moments when it would have been more 
 agreeable, I thought, if Mrs. Gummldge had had a convenient 
 apartment of her own to retire to, and had stopped there until 
 her spirits revived. 
 
49 
 
 Mr. Peggotty went occasionally to a public-house called 
 The Willing Mind. I discovered this, by his being out on 
 the second or third evening of our visit, and by Mrs. Gura- 
 raidge's looking up at the Dutch clock, between eight and 
 nine, and saying he was there, and that, what was more, she 
 had known in the morning he would go there. 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge had been in a low state all day, and had 
 burst into tears in the forenoon, when the fire smoked. "I 
 am a lone lorn creetur'," were Mrs. Gummidge's words, when 
 that unpleasant occurrence took place, "and even,thlnk goes 
 contrairy with me." 
 
 "Oh, it '11 soon leave off," said Peggotty — I again mean 
 ourPeggotty — "and besides, you know, it 's not more disa- 
 greeable to you than to us." 
 
 "I feel it more," said Mrs. Gummidge. 
 
 It was a verj' cold day, with cutting blasts of wind. Mrs. 
 Gummidge's peculiar corner of the fireside seemed to me to 
 be the warmest and snuggest in the place, as her chair was 
 certainly the easiest , but it didn't suit her that day at all. She 
 was constantly complaining of the cold, and of its occasioning 
 a visitation in her back which she called "the creeps." At 
 last she shed tears on that subject, and said again that she 
 was "a lone lorn creetur' and ever}'think went contrairy 
 with her." 
 
 "It is certainly very cold," said Peggotty. "Everybody 
 must feel it so." 
 
 "I feel it more than other people," saidMi-s, Gummidge. 
 
 So at dinner; when Mrs. Gummidge was always helped 
 iramf'diatfly after me, to whom the preference was given as 
 a visitor of distinction. The fish were small and bony, and 
 the potatoes weie a little burnt. We all acknowledged that 
 we felt this something of a disappointment; but Mrs. Gum- 
 midge said she felt it more than we did, and shed tears 
 David Copperfield. I. 4 
 
50 
 
 again, and made that former declaration with great bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 Accordingly, when Mr. Peggotty came home about nine 
 o'clock, this unfortunate Mrs. Gummidge was knitting in her 
 corner in a very wretched and miserable condition. Peggotty 
 had been working cheerfully. Ham nad been patching up 
 a great pair of water-boots; and I, with little Era'ly by my 
 side* had been reading to them. Mrs. Gummidge had never 
 made any other remark than a forlorn sigh, and had never 
 raised her eyes since tea. 
 
 "Well, Mates," said Mr. Peggotty, taking his seat, "and 
 how are you?" 
 
 We all said something, or looked something, to welcome 
 him, except Mrs. Gummidge, who only shook her head over 
 her knitting. 
 
 "What's amiss," said Mr. Peggotty, with a clap of his 
 hands. "Cheer up, old Mawtherl" (Mr. Peggotty meant 
 old girl.) 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge did not appear to be able to cheer up. 
 She took out an old black silk handkerchief and wiped her 
 eyes; but instead of putting it in her pocket, kept it out, 
 and wiped them again, and still kept it out, ready for use. 
 
 "What 's amiss, dame ! " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "Nothing," returned Mrs. Gummidge. "You've come 
 from The Willing Mind, Dan'l?" 
 
 "Why yes, I 've took a short spell at The Willing Mind 
 to-night," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "I 'm sorryl should drive you there," saidlNIrs. Gummidge. 
 
 "Drivel I don't want no driving," returned Mr. Peggotty 
 with an honest laugh. " I only go too ready." 
 
 "Very ready," said Mrs. Gummidge, shaking her head, 
 and wiping her eyes. "Yes, yes, very ready. I am sorry 
 it should be along of me that you 're so ready." 
 
51 
 
 "Along o* you? It an't along o* you ! " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 "Don't ye believe a bit on it." 
 
 "Yes, yes, it is,*' cried Mrs. Gummidge. "I know what 
 I am. I know that I 'm a lone lorn creetur', and not only 
 that everj^think goes contrairy with me, but that I go con- 
 trairy with everybody. Yes, yes. I feel more than other 
 people do, and I show it more. It 's my misfortun'." 
 
 I really couldn't help thinking, as I sat taking in all this, 
 that the misfortune extended to some other members of that 
 family besides Mrs. Gummidge. But Mr. Peggotty made no 
 such retort, only answering with another entreaty to Mrs. 
 Gr'jmmidge to cheer up. 
 
 "I an't what I could wish myself to be," said Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. "I am far from it. I know what I am. My troubles 
 has made me contrairy. I feel my troubles, and they make 
 me contrairy. I wish I didn't feel 'em, but I do. I wish I 
 could be hardened to 'em, but I an't. I make the house un- 
 comfortable. I don't wonder at it. I 've made your sister so 
 all day, and Master Da^'y." 
 
 Here I was suddenly melted, and roared out "No, you 
 baven'i;, IVIrs. Gummidge," in great mental distress. 
 
 "It 's far from right that I should do it," said Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. "It an't a fit return. I had better go into the house 
 and die. I am a lone lorn creetur', and had much better not 
 make myself contrairy here. If thinks must go contrairy with 
 me, and I must go contrairy myself, let me go contrairy in 
 my parish. Dan'l, I 'd better go into the house, and die and 
 be a riddance!" 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge retired with these words, and betook 
 herself to bed. When she was gone, Mr. Peggotty, who had 
 not exhibited a trace of any feeling but the profoundest sym- 
 pathy, looked round upon us, and nodding his head with a 
 
 4* 
 
52 
 
 lively expression of that sentiment still animating his face, 
 said in a whisper: 
 
 " She 's been thinking of the old 'un I " 
 
 I did not quite understand what old one Mrs. Gummidge 
 was supposed to have fixed her mind upon, until Peggotty, 
 on seeing me to bed, explained that it was the late Mr. 
 Gummidge ; and that her brother always took that for a re- 
 ceived truth on such occasions, and that it always had a 
 moving effect upon him. Some time after he was in his 
 hammock that night, I heard him myself repeat to Ham, 
 "Poor thing! She 's been thinking of the old'unl" And 
 whenever Mrs. Gummidge was overcome in a similar manner 
 during the remainder of our stay (which happened some few 
 times), he always said the same thing in extenuation of the 
 circumstance, and always with the tenderest commiseration. 
 
 So the fortnight slipped away, varied by nothing but the 
 variation of the tide, which altered Mr. Peggotty's times of 
 going out and coming in, and altered Ham's engagements 
 also. When the latter was unemployed, he sometimes walked 
 with us to show us the boats and ships, and once or twice he 
 took us for a row. I don't know why one slight set of impres- 
 sions should be more particularly associated with a place than 
 another, though I believe this obtains with most people, in 
 reference especially to the associations of their childhood. 
 I never hear the name, or read the name , of Yarmouth, but 
 I am reminded of a certain Sunday morning on the beach, the 
 bells ringing for church, little Em'ly leaning on my shoulder. 
 Ham lazily dropping stones into the water, and the sun, away 
 at sea, just breaking through the heavy mist, and showing 
 us the ships, like their own shadows. 
 
 At last the day came for going home. I bore up against 
 the separation from Mr. Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge, but 
 my agony of mind at leaving little Eni'ly was piercing. We 
 
53 
 
 went arm-in-arm to the public-house where the carrier put 
 up, and I promised, on the road, to write to her. (I redeemed 
 that promise afterwards, in characters larger than those in 
 which apartments are usually announced in manuscript, as 
 being to let). We were greatly overcome at parting; and if 
 ever, in my life, I have had a void made in my heart, I had 
 one made that day. 
 
 Now, all the time I had been on my visit, I had been 
 ungrateful to my home again, and had thought little or no- 
 thing about it. But I was no sooner turned towards it, than 
 my reproachful young conscience seemed to point that way 
 with a steady finger; and I felt, all the more for the sinking 
 of my spirits , that it was my nest , and that my mother was my 
 comforter and friend. 
 
 This gained upon me as we went along ; so that the nearer 
 we drew, and the more familiar the objects became that we 
 passed, the more excited I was to get there, and to run into 
 her arms. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these trans- 
 ports, tried to check them (though very kindly), and looked 
 confused and out of sorts. 
 
 Blunderstone Rookery would come, however, in spite of 
 her, when the carrier's horse pleased — and did. How well 
 I recollect it, on a cold grey afternoon, with a dull sky, 
 threatening rain ! 
 
 The door opened, and I looked, half laughing and half 
 crying in my pleasant agitation, for my mother. It was not 
 she, but a strange servant. 
 
 "Why, Peggotty!" I said, ruefully, "isn't she come 
 home!" 
 
 "Yes, yes. Master Dav>'," said Peggotty. "She's come 
 home. Wait a bit, Master Davy, and I'll — I'll tell you 
 something." 
 
54 
 
 Between her agitation, and her natural awkwardness in 
 getting out of the cart, Peggotty was making a most extra- 
 ordinary festoon of herself, but I felt too blank and strange 
 to tell her so. AVhen she had got down, she took me by 
 the hand; led me, wondering, into the kitchen; and shut 
 the door. 
 
 "Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dearl" 
 she answered, assuming an air of sprightliness. 
 
 "Something 's the matter, I 'm sure. Where 's Mama?" 
 
 " Where 's Mama, Master Davy ? " repeated Peggotty. 
 
 "Yes. Why hasn't she come out to the gate, and what 
 have we come in here for? Oh, Peggotty 1" My eyes were 
 full, and I felt as if I were going to tumble down. 
 
 "Bless the precious boy!" cried Peggotty, taking hold of 
 me. "What is it? Speak, my pet!" 
 
 "Not dead, too! Oh, she 's not dead, Peggotty?" 
 
 Peggotty cried out No! with an astonishing volume of 
 voice; and then sat down, and began to pant, and said I 
 had given her a turn. 
 
 I gave her a hug to take away the turn, or to give her 
 another turn in the right direction, and then stood before 
 her, looking at her in anxious inquiry. 
 
 "You see, dear, I should have told you before now," 
 said Peggotty, "but 1 hadn't an opportunity. I ought to 
 have made it, perhaps, but I couldn't azackly" — that was 
 always the substitute for exactly, in Peggotty's militia of 
 words — " bring my mind to it." 
 
 " Go on, Peggotty," said I, more frightened than before. 
 
 "Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with 
 a shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way. 
 "What do you think? You have got a Pa!" 
 
55 
 
 1 trembled , and turned white. Something — I don't know 
 what, or how — connected with the grave In the churchyard, 
 and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an un- 
 wholesome wind. 
 
 "A new one," said Peggotty. 
 
 " A new one ? " I repeated. 
 
 Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something 
 that was very hard, and, putting out her hand, said: 
 
 "Come and see him." 
 
 "I don't want to see him." 
 
 — "And your Mamma," said Peggotty. 
 
 I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best 
 parlour, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my 
 mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped 
 her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly I thought. 
 
 "Now, Clara my dear," said Mr. Murdstone. "Recollect! 
 controul yourself, always controul yourselfl Davy boy, how 
 do you do?" 
 
 I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went 
 and kissed my mother: she kissed me, patted me gently on 
 the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not 
 look at her, I could not look at him, I knew quite well that he 
 was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and 
 looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their 
 heads in the cold. 
 
 As soon as I could creep away, I crept up-stalrs. My old 
 dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. 
 I rambled down-stairs to find anything that was like itself, 
 so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the yard. I very 
 soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was 
 filled up with a great dog — deep mouthed and black-haired 
 like Him — and he vrsm verj' angry at the sight of me, and 
 sprung out to get at me. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I fall into disgrace. 
 
 If the room to which my bed was removed, were a sentient 
 thing that could give evidence, I might appeal to it at this day 
 — who sleeps there now , I wonder ! — to bear witness for me 
 what a hea\y heart I carried to it. I went up there, hearing 
 the dog in the yard bark after me all the way while I climbed 
 the f-tairs ; and, looking as blank and strange upon the room as 
 the room looked upon me, sat down with my small hands 
 crossed, and thought. 
 
 I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, 
 of the cracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the wall, of the 
 flaws in the window-glass making ripples and dimples on the 
 prospect, of the washing-stand being ricketty on its three legs, 
 and having a discontented something about it, which reminded 
 me of Mrs. Gummidge under the influence of the old one. I 
 was cr}ing all the time, but, except that I was conscious of 
 being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thought why I cried. 
 At last in my desolation I began to consider that I was dread- 
 fully in love with little Em'ly, and had been torn away from 
 her to come here where no one seemed to want me , or to care 
 about me, half as much as she did. This made such a very 
 miserable piece of business of it, that I rolled myself up in a 
 comer of the counterpane, and cried myself to sleep. 
 
 I was awoke by somebody saying "Here he is! " and un- 
 covering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to 
 look for me , and it was one of them who had done it. 
 "Davy," said my mother. "What 's the matter?" 
 
57 
 
 I thought it very strange that she should ask me , and an- 
 swered, "Nothing. " I turned over on my face , I recollect, to 
 hide my trembling Up, which answered her with greater 
 truth. 
 
 " Davj', " said my mother. " Davy , my child ! " 
 
 I dare say no words she could have uttered, would have 
 affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid 
 my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my 
 hand, when she would have raised me up. 
 
 "This Is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing!" said my 
 mother. "I have no doubt at all about it. How can you re- 
 concile it to your conscience, I wonder, to prejudice my ov/n 
 boy against me , or against anybody who is dear to me ? What 
 do you mean by it, Peggotty?" 
 
 Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only an- 
 swered, in a sort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated 
 after dinner, "Lord forgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and 
 for what you have said this minute, may you never be truly 
 sorry!" 
 
 "It's enough to distract me," cried my mother. "In my 
 honeymoon, too, when my most inveterate enemy might relent, 
 one would think, and not envy me a little peace of mind and 
 happiness. Davy, you naughty boy! Peggotty, you savage 
 creature! Oh, dear me!" cried my mother, turning from one 
 of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, "what a trouble- 
 some world this is, when one has the most right to expect it to 
 be as agreeable as possible 1 " 
 
 I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor 
 Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was Mr. 
 Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said: 
 
 "What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? — 
 Firmness, my dear!" 
 
58 
 
 *' I am very sorry , Edward," said my mothe'. -'i meant 
 to be very good, but I am so uncomfortable. " 
 
 "Indeed!" he answered. "That's a bad hearing, so 
 soon, Clara." 
 
 "I say it 's very hard I should be made so now, " returned 
 my mother , pouting ; " and it is — very hard — isn't it? " 
 
 He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. 
 I knew as well, when I saw my mother's head lean down upon 
 his shoulder, and her arm touch his neck — I knew as well that 
 he could mould her pliant nature into any form he chose, as I 
 know , now , that he did it. 
 
 "Go you below, my love," said Mr. Murdstone. "David 
 and I will come down, together. My friend," turning a 
 darkening face on Peggotty , when he had watched my mother 
 out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile ; " do you know 
 your mistress's name ? " 
 
 "She has been my mistress a long time, Sir," answered 
 Peggotty. "I ought to do it. " 
 
 "That 's true," he answered. "But I thought I heard 
 you, as I came up-stairs, address her by a name that is not 
 hers. She has taken mine, you know. Will you remember 
 that?" 
 
 Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed her- 
 self out of the room without replying; seeing, I suppose, that 
 she was expected to go, and had no excuse for remaining. 
 AVhen we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on 
 a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily 
 into my eyes. I felt my own attracted , no less steadily, to his. 
 As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem again 
 to hear my heart beat fast and high. 
 
 "David," he said, making his lips thm, by pressing them 
 together, "if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, 
 what do you think I do ? " 
 
59 
 
 " I don't know, " 
 
 "I beat him." 
 
 1 had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, 
 in my silence , that my breath was shorter now. 
 
 "I make him wince, and smart. I say to myself, 'I '11 con- 
 quer that fellow; ' and if it were to cost him all the blood he 
 had, I should do it. What is that upon your face? " 
 
 "Dirt," I said. 
 
 He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he 
 had asked the question twenty times, each time with twenty 
 blows, I believe my baby heart would have burst before I 
 would have told him so. 
 
 "You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow, " 
 he said, with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you 
 understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, Sir, and come 
 down with me. " 
 
 He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to 
 be like Mrs. Gummidge, and motioned me with his head to 
 obey him directly. I had little doubt then, and I have less 
 doubt now, that he would have knocked me down without the 
 least compunction, if I had hesitated. 
 
 "Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, 
 and he walked me into the parlour, with his hand still on my 
 arm; "you will not be made uncomfortable any more, I hope. 
 We shall soon improve our youthful humours. " 
 
 God help me, I might have been improved for ra} whole 
 life, I might have been made another creature perhaps, for 
 life, by a kind word at that season. A word of encouragement 
 and explanation, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome 
 home, of reassurance to me that it was home, might have made 
 me dutiful to him in my heart henceforth , instead of in my 
 hypocritical outside, and might have made me respect instead 
 of hate him. I thought my mother was sorry to see me stand- 
 
60 
 
 ing in the room so scared and strange, and that, presently, 
 when I stole to a chair, she followed me with her eyes more 
 sorrowfully still — missing, perhaps, some freedom in my 
 childish tread — but the word was not spoken, and the time 
 for it was gone. 
 
 We dined alone, we three together. He seemed to be 
 very fond of my mother — I am afraid I liked him none the 
 better for that — and she was very fond of him. I gathered 
 from what they said, that an elder sister of his was coming to 
 stay with them, and that she was expected that evening. I am 
 not certain whether I found out then, or afterwards, that, 
 without being actively concerned in any business, he had some 
 share in, or some annual charge upon the profits of, a wine- 
 merchant's house in London, with which his family had been 
 connected from his great-grand-father's time, and in which his 
 sister had a similar interest; but I may mention it in this place, 
 whether or no. 
 
 After dinner, when we were sitting by the fire, and I was 
 meditating an escape to Peggotty without having the hardi- 
 hood to slip away, lest it should ofi'end the master of the house, 
 a coach drove up to the garden-gate, and he went out to re- 
 ceive the visitor. My mother followed him. I was timidly 
 following her, when she turned round at the parlour-door, in 
 the dusk, and taking me in her embrace as she had been used 
 to do , whispered me to love my new father and be obedient to 
 him. She did this hurriedly and secretly , as if it were wrong, 
 but tenderly; and, putting out her hand behind her, held 
 mine in it, until we came near to where he was standing in the 
 garden, where she let mine go, and drew hers through his 
 arm. 
 
 It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy- 
 looking lady she was; dark, like her brother, whom she 
 greatly resembled in face and voice; and with very heavy 
 
61 
 
 eyebrows, nearly meeting over her large nose, as if, being 
 disabled by the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers, she 
 had carried them to that account. She brought with her, two 
 uncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the lids 
 in hard brass nails. When she paid the coachman she took 
 her money out of a hard steel purse , and she kept the purse in 
 a very jail of a bag which hung upon her arm by a heavy chain, 
 and shut up like a bite. I had never, at that time, seen such a 
 metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was. 
 
 She was brought into the parlour with many tokens of wel- 
 come , and there formally recognised my mother as a new and 
 near relation. Then she looked at me, and said: 
 "Is that your boy, sister-in-law?'' 
 My mother acknowledged me. 
 
 " Generally speaking, " said Miss Murdstone , "I don't like 
 boys. How d'ye do, boy?" 
 
 Under these encouraging circumstances , I replied that I 
 was very well, and that I hoped she was the same; with such 
 an indifferent grace, that Miss Murdstone disposed of me in 
 two words : 
 
 " Wants manner ! " 
 
 Having uttered which, with great distinctness, she begged 
 the favour of being shown tolierroom, which became to me 
 from that time forth a place of awe and dread, wherein the two 
 black boxes were never seen open or known to be left un- 
 locked, and where (for I peeped in once or twice when she was 
 out) numerous little steel fetters and rivets, with which Miss 
 Murdstone embellished herself when she was dressed, gene- 
 rally hung upon the looking-glass in formidable array. 
 
 As well as I could make out, she had come for good, and 
 had no intention of ever going again. She began to "help" 
 my mother next morning, and was in and out of the store- 
 closet all day, putting things to rights, and making havoc in 
 
62 
 
 the old arrangements. Almost the first remarkable thing I 
 observed in Miss Murdstone was, her being constantly haunted 
 by a suspicion that the servants had a man secreted some- 
 where on the premises. Under the influence of this delusion, 
 she dived into the coal-cellar at the most untimely hours , and 
 scarcely ever opened the door of a dark cupboard without 
 clapping it to again, in the belief that she had got him. 
 
 Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone. 
 she was a perfect Lark in point of getting up. She was up 
 (and, as I believe to this hour, looking for that man) before 
 anybody in the house was stirring. Peggott)'^ gave it as her 
 opinion that she even slept with one eye open ; but I could not 
 concur in this idea; for I tried it myself after hearing the 
 suggestion thrown out, and found it couldn't be done. 
 
 On the very first morning after her arrival she was up and 
 ringing her bell at cock-crow. When my mother came down 
 to breakfast and was going to make the tea, Miss Murdstone 
 gave her a kind of peck on the cheek, which was her nearest 
 approach to a kiss , and said : 
 
 "Now, Clara, my dear, I am come here, you know, to re- 
 lieve you of all the trouble I can. You 're much too pretty 
 and thoughtless" — my mother blushed but laughed, and 
 seemed not to dislike this character — "to have any duties im- 
 posed upon you that can be undertaken by me. If you '11 be 
 so good as give me your keys , my dear, I '11 attend to all this 
 sort of thing in future. " 
 
 From that time. Miss Murdstone kept the keys in her own 
 little jail all day, and under her pillow all night, and my mother 
 had no more to do with them than I had. 
 
 My mother did not suffer her authority to pass from her 
 without a shadow of protest. One night when Miss Murdstone 
 had been developing certain household plans to her brother, 
 of which he signified his approbation, my mother suddenly 
 
63 
 
 began to cry, and said she thought she might have been 
 consulted. 
 
 "Clara! " said Mr. Murdstone sternly. " Clara ! I wonder 
 at you." 
 
 "Oh, it's very well to say you wonder, Edward!" cried 
 my mother, " and it 's very well for you to talk about firmness, 
 but you wouldn't like it yourself." 
 
 Firmness , I may observe , was the grand quality on which 
 both Mr. and Miss Murdstone took their stand. However I 
 might have expressed my comprehension of it at that time, if 
 I had been called upon, I nevertheless did clearly comprehend 
 in my own way, that it was another name for t}Tanny ; and for 
 a certain gloomy, arrogant, devil's humour, that was in them 
 both. The creed, as I should state it now, was this. Mr. 
 Murdstone was firm; nobody in his world was to be so firm as 
 Mr. Murdstone; nobody else in his world was to be firm at all, 
 for everybody was to be bent to his firmness. Miss ^lurdstone 
 was an exception. She might be firm, but only by relation- 
 ship , and in an inferior and tributary degree. My mother 
 was another exception. She might be firm, and must be; 
 but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing there 
 was no other firmness upon earth. 
 
 "It 's very hard," said my mother, "that in my own 
 house — " 
 
 "iJfj/ own house?" repeated Mr. Murdstone. "Clara!" 
 "Owr own house, I mean," faltered my mother, evidently 
 frightened — "I hope you must know what I mean, Edward — 
 it 's very hard that in your own house I may not have a word to 
 say about domestic matters. I am sure I managed very well 
 before we were married. There 's evidence," said my mother, 
 robbing; "ask Peggotty if I didn't do very well when I wasn't 
 interfered with!" 
 
64 
 
 "Edward," said Miss Murdstone, "let there be an end 
 of this. I go to-morrow." 
 
 "Jane Murdstone," said her brother, "be silent! How 
 dare you to insinuate that you don't know my character better 
 than your words imply? " 
 
 "I am sure," my poor mother went on, at a grievous dis- 
 advantage, and with many tears, "I don't want anybody to 
 go. I should be very miserable and unhappy if anybody was 
 to go. I don't ask much. I am not unreasonable. I only 
 want to be consulted sometimes. I am very much obliged to 
 anybody who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as a 
 mere form, sometimes. I thought you were pleased, once, 
 with my being a little inexperienced and girlish, Edward — 
 I am sure you said so — but you seem to hate me for it now, 
 you are so severe." 
 
 "Edward," said Miss Murdstone, again, "let there be an 
 end of this. I go to-morrow." 
 
 "Jane Murdstone," thundered Mr. Murdstone. "Will you 
 be silent? How dare you? " 
 
 Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, and held it before her eyes. 
 
 "Clara," he continued, looking at my mother, "you sur- 
 prise me 1 You astound me ! Yes , I had a satisfaction in the 
 thought of marrying an inexperienced and artless person, and 
 forming her character, and infusing into it some amount of 
 that firmness and decision of which it stood in need. But 
 when Jane Murdstone is kind enough to come to my assistance 
 in this endeavour, and to assume, for my sake, a condition 
 something like a housekeeper's, and when she meets with a 
 base return — " 
 
 "Oh, pray, pray, Edward," cried my mother, "don't 
 accuse me of being ungrateful. I am sure I am not ungrateful. 
 
65 
 
 No one ever said I was, before. I have many faults , but not 
 that. Oh, don't, my dear 1" 
 
 "When Jane Murdstone meets, I say," he went on, after 
 waiting until my mother was silent, "with a base return, that 
 feeling of mine is chilled and altered." 
 
 "Don't, my love, say that!" implored my mother, very 
 piteously. "Oh, don't, Edward! I can't bear to hear it. 
 Whatever I am, I am affectionate. I know I am affectionate. 
 I wouldn't say it, if I wasn't certain that I am. Ask Peggotty. 
 I am sure she '11 tell you I 'm affectionate." 
 
 "There is no extent of mere weakness, Clara," saidMr. 
 Murdstone in reply, "that can have the least weight with me. 
 You lose breath." 
 
 "Pray let us be friends," said my mother, "I couldn't 
 Jive under coldness or unkindness. I am so sorry. I have 
 a great many defects, I know, and it's very good of you, 
 Edward, with your strength of mind, to endeavour to correct 
 them for me. Jane, I don't object to anjthing. I should be 
 quite broken-hearted if you thought of leaving — " My mother 
 was too much overcome to go on. 
 
 "Jane Murdstone," said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, "any 
 harsh words between us are, I hope, uncommon. It is not 
 my fault that so unusual an occurrence has taken place to- 
 night. I was betrayed into it by another. Nor is it your fault. 
 You were betrayed into it by another. Let us both try to 
 forget it. And as this," he added, after these magnanimous 
 words, "is not a fit scene for the boy — David, go to bed!" 
 
 I could hardly find the door, through the tears that stood 
 in my eyes. I was so sorry for my mother's distress; but I 
 groped my way out, and groped my way up to my room in the 
 dark, without even having the heart to say good night to 
 Peggotty, or to get a candle from her. When her coming up 
 to look for me, an hour or so afterwards, awoke me, she 
 David Copperfield. I. 5 
 
66 
 
 said that my mother had gone to bed poorly, and that Mr. and 
 Miss Murdstone were sitting alone. 
 
 Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, I 
 paused outside the parlour-door, on hearing my mother's voice. 
 She was very earnestly and humbly entreating Miss Murd- 
 stone's pardon, which that lady granted, and a perfect recon- 
 ciliation took place. I never knew my mother afterwards to 
 give an opinion on any matter, without first appealing to Miss 
 Murdstone , or without having first ascertained , by some sure 
 means, what Miss Murdstone's opinion was; and I never saw 
 Miss Murdstone, when out of temper (she was infirm that 
 way) , move her hand towards her bag as if she were going to 
 take out the keys and oflTer to resign them to my mother, with- 
 out seeing that my mother was in a terrible fright. 
 
 The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, 
 darkened the Murdstone religion, which was austere and 
 wrathful. I have thought, since, that its assuming that character 
 was a necessary consequence of Mr. Murdstone's firmness, 
 which wouldn't allow him to let any body ofi" from the utmost 
 weight of the severest penalties he could find any excuse for. 
 Be this as it may, I well remember the tremendous visages 
 with which we used to go to church, and the changed air of 
 the place. Again, the dreaded Sunday comes round, and I 
 file into the old pew first, like a guarded captive brought to a 
 condemned service. Again, Miss Murdstone, in a black 
 velvet gown, that looks as if it had been made out of a pall, 
 follows close upon me; then my mother; then her husband. 
 There is no Peggotty now, as in the old time. Again, I listen 
 to Miss Murdstone mumbling the responses, and emphasising 
 all the dread words with a cruel relish. Again, I see her 
 dark eyes roll round the church when she says "miserable 
 sinners," as if she were calling all the congregation names. 
 Again, I catch rare glimpses of my mother, moving her lips 
 
67 
 
 tiialdly between the two, with one of them muttering at each 
 ear like low thunder. Again, I wonder with a sudden fear 
 whether it is likely that our good old clergA-man can be wrong, 
 and Mr. and Miss Murdstone right, and that all the angels in 
 Heaven can be destro^-ing angels. Again, if I move a finger 
 or relax a muscle of my face, ^liss Murdstone pokes me with 
 her prayer-book, and makes my side ache. 
 
 Yes , and again , as we walk home , I note some neighbours 
 looking at my mother, and at me, and whispering. Again, 
 as the three go on arm-in-arm, and I linger behind alone, 
 I follow some of those looks, and wonder if my mother's step 
 be reallj not so light as I have seen it, and if the gaiety of her 
 beauty be really almost worried away. Again, I wonder 
 whether any of the neighbours call to mind, as I do, how we 
 used to walk home together, she and I ; and I wonder stupidly 
 about that, all the dreary dismal day. 
 
 There had been some talk on occasions of my going to 
 boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, 
 and my mother had of course agreed with them. Nothing, 
 however, was concluded on the subject yet. In the meantime, 
 I learnt lessons at home. 
 
 Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided 
 over nominally by my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone 
 and his sister, who were always present, and found them a 
 favourable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that 
 miscalled fii-mness, which was the bane of both our lives. 
 I believe I was kept at home, for that purpose. I had been 
 apt enough to learn, and willing enough, when my mother 
 and I had lived alone together. I can faintly remember learn- 
 ing the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look upon 
 the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of 
 their shapes, and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S, 
 seem to present themselves again before me as they used to 
 
 5* 
 
68 
 
 do. But they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On 
 the contrary, I seem to have walked along a path of flowers 
 as far as the crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the 
 gentleness of my mother's voice and manner all the way. But 
 these solemn lessons which succeeded those, I remember as 
 the death-blow at my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery 
 and misery. They were very long, very numerous, very 
 hard — perfectly unintelligible, some of them, to me — and 
 I was generally as much bewildered by them as I believe my 
 poor mother was herself. 
 
 Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morn- 
 ing back again. 
 
 I come into the second-best parlour after breakfast , with 
 my books, and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is 
 ready for me at her writing-desk, but not half so ready as 
 Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window (though he 
 pretends to be reading a book), or as Miss Murdstone, sitting 
 near my mother stringing steel beads. The very sight of these 
 two has such an influence over me, that I begin to feel the 
 words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, all 
 sliding away, and going I don't know where. I wonder where 
 they do go, by-the-by? 
 
 I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it Is a gram- 
 mar, perhaps a history, or geography. I take a last drowning 
 look at the page as I give it into her hand, and start ofi" aloud 
 at a racing pace while I have got it fresh. I trip over a word. 
 Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over another word. Miss 
 Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over half-a-dozen 
 words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book 
 if she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly : 
 
 "Oh, Davy, Davy!" 
 
 "Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, '*be firm with the 
 
69 
 
 boy. Don't say 'Oh, Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He 
 knows his lesson, or he does not know it." 
 
 "He does not know it," Miss Murdstone interposes awfully. 
 
 *' I am really afraid he does not ," says my mother. 
 
 "Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you 
 should just give him the book back , and make him know it." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend 
 to do, my dear Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't 
 be stupid." 
 
 I obey the first clause of the injunction by tr^inp; once 
 more, but am not so successful with the second, for I am very 
 stupid. I tumble down before I get to the old place, at a 
 point where I was all right before, and stop to think. But I 
 can't think about the lesson. I think of the number of yards 
 of net in Miss Murdstone's cap, or of the price of Mr. Murd- 
 Btone's dressing-gown, or any such ridiculous problem that I 
 have no business with, and don't want to have anything at all 
 to do with. Mr. Murdstone makes a movement of ini])atience 
 which I have been expecting for a long time. Miss Murdstone 
 does the same. My mother glances submissively at them, 
 shuts the book, and lays it by as an arrear to be worked out 
 when my other tasks are done. 
 
 There is a pile of these arrears very soon, and it swells like 
 a rolling snowball. The bigger it gets, the more stupid / get. 
 The case is so hopeless , and I feel that I am wallowing in such 
 a bog of nonsense, that I give up all idea of getting out, and 
 abandon myself to my fate. The despairing way in which my 
 mother and I look at each other, as I blunder on, is truly 
 melancholy. But the greatest effect in these miserable lessons 
 is when my mother (thinking nobody is observing her) tries 
 to give me the cue by the motion of her lips. At that instant, 
 Miss Murdstone, who has been lying in wait for nothing else 
 all along, says in a deep warning voice: 
 
"Clara! 
 
 My mother starts, colours, and smiles faintly. Mr. Murd- 
 stone comes out of his chair, takes the book, throws it at me 
 or boxes my ears with it, and turns me out of the room by the 
 shoulders. 
 
 Even when the lessons are done, the worst is yet to happen, 
 in the shape of an appalling sum. This is invented for me, 
 and delivered to me orally by Mr. Murdstone, and begins, 
 *'If I go into a cheesemonger's shop, and buy five thousand 
 double-Gloucester cheeses at fourpence-halfpenny each , pre- 
 sent payment" — at which I see Miss Murdstone secretly 
 overjoyed. I pore over these cheeses without any result or 
 enlightenment until dinner-time; when, having made aMulatto 
 of myself by getting the dirt of the slate into the pores of 
 my skin, I have a slice of bread to help me out with the 
 cheeses, and am considered in disgrace for the rest of the 
 evening. 
 
 It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my un- 
 fortunate studies generally took this course. I could have 
 done very well if I had been without the Murdstones ; but the 
 influence of the Murdstones upon me was like the fascination 
 of two snakes on a wretched young bird. Even when I did get 
 through the morning with tolerable credit, there was not much 
 gained but dinner; for Miss Murdstone never could endure to 
 see me untasked, and if I rashly made any show of being 
 unemployed, called her brother's attention to me by saying, 
 "Clara, my dear, there *s nothing like work — give your boy 
 an exercise;" which caused me to be clapped down to some 
 new labour, there and then. As to any recreation with other 
 children of my age, I had very little of that; for the gloomy 
 theolog}' of the Murdstones made all children out to be a 
 swarm of little vipprs (though there was a child once set in the 
 
71 
 
 midst of the Disciples), and held that they contaminated one 
 another. 
 
 The natural result of this treatment, continued, I suppose, 
 for some six months or more, was to make me sullen, dull, 
 and dogged. I was not made the less so, by my sense of 
 being daily more and more shut out and alienated from my 
 mother. I believe I should have been almost stupified but for 
 one circumstance. 
 
 It was this. My father had left a small collection of books 
 in a little room up-stairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined 
 my own) and which nobody else in our house ever troubled. 
 From that blessed little room, Roderick Random, Peregrine 
 Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, The Vicar of Wake- 
 field, Don Quixote, Gil Bias, and Robinson Crusoe, came 
 out, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive 
 my fancy, and my hope of something beyond that place and 
 time, — they, and the Arabian Nights, and the Tales of the 
 Genii, — and did me no harm ; for whatever harm was in some 
 of them was not there for me ; / knew nothing of it. It is 
 astonishing to me now , how I found time , in the midst of my 
 porings and blunderings over heavier themes, to read those 
 books as I did. It is curious to me how I could ever have 
 consoled myself under my small troubles (which were great 
 troubles to me) , by impersonating my favourite characters in 
 them — as I did — and by putting ]Mr. and Miss Murdstone 
 into all the bad ones — which I did too. I have been Tom 
 Jones (a child's Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for a week 
 together. I have sustained my own idea of Roderick Random 
 for a month at a stretch, I verily believe. I had a greedy 
 relish for a few volumes of Voyages and Travels — I forget 
 what, now — that were on those shelves; and for days and 
 days I can remember to have gone about my region of our 
 house, armed with the centre-piece out of an old set of boot- 
 
72 
 
 trees — the perfect realisation of Captain Somebody, of the 
 Royal British Navy, in danger of being beset by savages, and 
 resolved to sell his life at a great price. The Captain never 
 lost dignity, from having his ears boxed with the Latin Gram- 
 mar. I did; but the Captain was a Captain and a hero, in 
 despite of all the grammars of all the languages in the world, 
 dead or alive. 
 
 This was my only and my constant comfort. When I think 
 of it, the picture always rises in my mind, of a summer even- 
 ing, the boys at play in the churchyard, and I sitting on my 
 bed, reading as if for life. Every barn in the neighbourhood, 
 every stone in the church , and every foot of the churchyard, 
 had some association of its own, in my mind, connected with 
 these books, and stood for some locality made famous in them. 
 I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-steeple; 
 I have watched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping 
 to rest himself upon the wicket-gate; and I know that Com- 
 modore Trunnion held that club with Mr. Pickle, in the parlour 
 of our little village alehouse. 
 
 The reader now understands as well as I do , what I was 
 when I came to that point of my youthful history to which I am 
 now coming again. 
 
 One morning when I went into the parlour with my books, 
 I found my mother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking 
 firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round the bottom 
 of a cane — a lithe and limber cane , which he left off binding 
 when I came in , and poised and switched in the air. 
 
 "I tell you, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "I have been 
 often flogged myself." 
 
 "To be sure; of course," said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear Jane," faltered my mother, meekly. 
 "But — but do you think it did Edward good? " 
 
73 
 
 "Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara?" asked Mr, 
 Murdstone, gravely. 
 
 *' That 's the point I " said his sister. 
 
 To this my mother returned, " Certainly, my dear Jane," 
 and said no more. 
 
 I felt apprehensive that I was personally interested in this 
 dialogue, and sought Mr. Murdstone's eye as it lighted on 
 mine. 
 
 "Now, David," he said — and I saw that cast again, as he 
 said it — "you must be far more careful to-day than usual." 
 He gave the cane another poise, and another switch; and 
 having finished his preparation of it, laid it down beside him, 
 with an expressive look , and took up his book. 
 
 This was a good freshener to my presence of mind, as a 
 beginning. I felt the words of my lessons slipping off, not one 
 by one, or line by line, but by the entire page. I tried to lay 
 hold of them; but they seemed, if I may so express it, to have 
 put skates on, and to skim away from me with a smoothness 
 there was no checking. 
 
 We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with 
 an idea of distinguishing myself rather, conceiving that I wag 
 very well prepared; but it turned out to be quite a mistake. 
 Book after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss 
 Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And 
 when we came at last to the five thousand cheeses (canes he 
 made it that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying. 
 
 " Clara ! " said Miss Murdstone , in her warning voice. 
 
 "I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think," said my 
 mother. 
 
 I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, 
 taking up the cane: 
 
 "Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with 
 perfect firmness, the worry and torment that David has oc- 
 
74 
 
 casioned her to-day. That would be stoical. Clara is greatly 
 strengthened and improved, but we can hardly expect bo 
 much from her. David, you and I will go up-stairs, boy.'* 
 
 As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. 
 Miss Murdstone said, "Clara! are you a perfect fool?" and 
 interfered. I saw my mother stop her ears then, and I heard 
 her crj'ing. 
 
 He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely — I am 
 certain he had a delight in that formal parade of executing 
 justice — and when we got there, suddenly twisted my head 
 under his arm. 
 
 "Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray 
 don't beat me! I have tried to learn. Sir, but I can't learn 
 while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't indeed 1 " 
 
 "Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try 
 that." 
 
 He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him some- 
 how, and stopped him for a moment, entreating him not to 
 beat me. It was only for a moment that I stopped him , for he 
 cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in the same instant 1 
 caught the hand with which he held me in my mouth , between 
 my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to 
 think of it. 
 
 He beat me then , as if he would have beaten me to death. 
 Above all the noise we made, I heard them running up the 
 stairs, and crying out — I heard my mother crying out — and 
 Peggotty. Then he was gone ; and the door was locked out- 
 side; and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, and sore, 
 and raging in my puny way, upon the floor. 
 
 How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an un- 
 natural stillness seemed to reign through the whole house 1 
 How well I remember, when my smart and passion began to 
 cool, how wicked I began to feel I 
 
75 
 
 I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. 
 I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so 
 swollen, red, and ugly, that it almost frightened me. My 
 stripes were sore and stiff, and made me crj- afresh, when I 
 moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay 
 heavier on my breast than if I had been a most atrocious crimi- 
 nal, I dare say. 
 
 It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I 
 had been lying, for the most part, with my head upon the sill, 
 by turns crj^ing, dozing, and looking listlessly out), when the 
 key was turned, and Miss Murdstone came in with some bread 
 and meat, and milk. These she put down upon the table 
 without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary 
 firmness, and then retired, locking the door after her. 
 
 Long after it was dark I sat there, wondering whether 
 anybody else would come. When this appeared improbable 
 for that night, I undressed, and went to bed; and, there, I 
 began to wonder fearfully what would be done to me. 
 Whether it was a criminal act that I had committed? WTi ether 
 I should be taken into custody, and sent to prison? WTiether 
 I was at all in danger of being hanged? 
 
 I never shall forget the waking, next morning; the being 
 cheerful and fresh for the first moment, and then the being 
 weighed down by the stale and dismal oppression of remem- 
 brance. Miss Murdstone reappeared before I was out of bed ; 
 told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk in the 
 garden for half an hour and no longer; and retired, leaving 
 the door open , that I might avail myself of that permission. 
 
 I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, 
 which lasted five days. If I could have seen my mother alone, 
 I should have gone down on my knees to her and besought her 
 forgiveness; but I saw no one. Miss Murdstone excepted, 
 during the whole time — except at evening prayers In the 
 
76 
 
 parlour; to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after 
 everybody else was placed; where I was stationed, a young 
 outlaw, all alone by myself near the door; and whence I was 
 solemnly conducted by my jailer, before any one arose from 
 the devotional posture. I only observed that my mother was 
 as far off from me as she could be, and kept her face another 
 way so that I never saw it; and that Mr. Murdstone's hand was 
 bound up in a large linen wrapper. 
 
 The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to 
 any one. They occupy the place of years in my remembrance. 
 The way in which I listened to all the incidents of the house 
 that made themselves audible to me; the ringing of bells, the 
 opening and shutting of doors , the murmuring of voices , the 
 footsteps on the stairs ; to any laughing, whistling, or singing, 
 outside, which seemed more dismal than anything else to me 
 in my solitude and disgrace — the uncertain pace of the hours, 
 especially at night, when I would wake thinking it was morn- 
 ing, and find that the family were not yet gone to bed, and 
 that all the length of night had yet to come — the depressed 
 dreams and nightmares I had — the return of day, noon, 
 afternoon, evening, when the boys played in the churchyard, 
 and I watched them from a distance within the room, being 
 ashamed to show myself at the window lest they should know 
 I was a prisoner — the strange sensation of never hearing my- 
 self speak — the fleeting intervals of something like cheer- 
 fulness, which came with eating and drinking, and went away 
 with it — the setting in of rain one evening, with a fresh smell, 
 and its coming down faster and faster between me and the 
 church, until it and gathering night seemed to quench me in 
 gloom, and fear, and remorse — all this appears to have gone 
 round and round for years instead of days , it is so vividly and 
 strongly stamped on ray remembrance. 
 
 On the last night of my restraint, I was awakened by hear- 
 
77 
 
 ing my own name spoken in a whisper. I started up in bed, 
 and putting out my arras in the dark, said : 
 
 "Is that you, Peggotty ? " 
 
 There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard ray 
 name again, in a tone so very mysterious and awful, that I 
 think I should have gone into a fit, if it had not occurred to me 
 that it must have come through the keyhole. 
 
 I groped my way to the door, and putting my own lips to 
 the keyhole, whispered: 
 
 "Is that you, Peggotty, dear?" 
 
 "Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft 
 asaraouse, or the Cat '11 hear us." 
 
 I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and was 
 sensible of the urgency of the case ; her room being close by. 
 
 "How's Mama, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with 
 me?" 
 
 I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the key- 
 hole, as I was doing on mine, before she answered. "No. Not 
 very." 
 
 "Wliat is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear? Do 
 you know?" 
 
 "School. Near London," was Peggotty's answer. I was 
 obliged to get her to repeat it, for she spoke it the first time 
 quite down my throat, in consequence of my having forgotten 
 to take my mouth away from the keyhole and put my ear there ; 
 and though her words tickled me a good deal, I didn't hear 
 them. 
 
 "When, Peggotty?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes 
 out of my drawers?" which she had done, though I have for- 
 gotten to mention it. 
 
 "Yes," said Peggotty. "Box." 
 
78 
 
 "Shan't I see Mama?" 
 
 "Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning," 
 
 Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and 
 delivered these words through it with as much feeling and 
 earnestness as a keyhole has ever been the medium of commu- 
 nicating, I will venture to assert: shooting in each broken little 
 sentence in a convulsive little burst of its own. 
 
 "Davy, dear. If I ain't ben azackly as intimate with you. 
 Lately, as I used to be. It ain't becase I don't love you. 
 Just as well and more, my pretty poppet. It's because I 
 thought it better for you. And for some one else besides. 
 Davy, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear? " 
 
 "Ye — ye — ye — yes, Peggotty ! " I sobbed. 
 
 "My own ! " said Peggotty, with infinite compassion. "What 
 I want to say, is. That you must never forget me. For I '11 
 never forget you. And I '11 take as much care of your Mama, 
 Davy. As ever I took of you. And I won't leave her. The 
 day may come when she '11 be glad to lay her poor head. On 
 her stupid, cross old Peggotty's arm again. And I '11 write 
 to you, my dear. Though I ain't no scholar. And I '11 — 
 I '11 — " Peggotty fell to kissing the keyhole, as she couldn't 
 kiss me. 
 
 "Thank you, dear Peggotty I" said I. "Oh, thank you! 
 Thank you ! Will you promise me one thing, Peggotty? Will 
 you write and tell Mr. Peggotty and little Em'ly and Mrs. 
 Gummidgc and Ham, that I am not so bad as they might sup- 
 pose , and that I sent 'em all my love — especially to little 
 Em'ly? Will you, if you please, Peggotty?" 
 
 The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the key- 
 hole with the greatest affection — I patted it with my hand , I 
 recollect, as if it had been her honest face — and parted. 
 From that night there grew up in my breast, a feeling for 
 Peggotty, which I cannot very well define. She did not re- 
 
79 
 
 place my mother; no one could do that; but she came into a 
 vacancy in my heart, which closed upon her, and I felt towards 
 her something I have never felt for any other human being. It 
 was a sort of comical affection too ; and yet if she had died, I 
 cannot think what I should have done, or how I should have 
 acted out the tragedy it would have been to me. 
 
 In the morning MissMurdstone appeared as usual, an<l told 
 me I was going to school; which was not altogether such news 
 to me as she supposed. She also informed me that when I was 
 dressed, I was to come down-stairs into the parlour, and have 
 my breakfast. There , I found my mother, very pale and with 
 red eyes : into whose amis I ran, and begged her pardon from 
 my suffering soul. 
 
 "Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt any one I 
 love! Try to be better, pray to be better! I forgive you ; but 
 I am so grieved, Davy, that you should have such bad passions 
 in your heart." 
 
 They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she 
 was more sorry for that, than for my going away. I felt it sorely. 
 I tried to eat my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon 
 my bread-and-butter, and trickled into my tea. I saw my 
 mother look at me sometimes, and then glance at the watchful 
 Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or look away. 
 
 "Master Copperfield's box there!" said Miss Murdstone, 
 when wheels were heard at the gate. 
 
 I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she ; neither she nor 
 Mr. Murdstone appeared. My former acquaintance, the 
 carrier, was at the door ; the box was taken out to his cart , and 
 lifted in. 
 
 " Clara I " said Miss Murdstone , in her warning note. 
 "Ready, my dear Jane," returned my mother. " Good bye, 
 Davy. You are going for your own good. Grood bye, my 
 
80 
 
 child. You will come Lome in the holidays, and be a better 
 boy." 
 
 " Clara 1 " "Miss Murdstone repeated. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear Jane," replied my mother, who 
 was holding me. "I forgive you, my dear boy. God bless 
 you!" 
 
 " Clara ! " Miss Murdstone repeated. 
 
 Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the 
 cart, and to say on the way that she hoped I would repent, be- 
 fore I came to a bad end; and then I got into the cart, and the 
 lazy horse walked ofF with it. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 I am sent away from home. 
 
 We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket- 
 handkerchief was quite wet through , when the carrier stopped 
 short. 
 
 Looking out to ascertain what for, I saw, to my amazement, 
 Peggotty burst from a hedge and climb into the cart. She took 
 me in both her arms, and squeezed me to her stays until the 
 pressure on my nose was extremely painful , though I never 
 thought of that till afterwards when I found it very tender. Not 
 a single word did Peggotty speak. Releasing one of her arms, 
 she put it down in her pocket to the elbow, and brought out 
 some paper bags of cakes which she crammed into my pockets, 
 and a purse which she put into my hand, but not one word did 
 she say. After another and a final squeeze with both arms, she 
 got down from the cart and ran away; and, my belief is, and has 
 always been, without a solitary button on her gown. I picked 
 up one, of several that were rolling about, and treasured it as a 
 Iceepsake for a long time. 
 
 The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were 
 coming back. I shook my head, and said I thought not. **Then 
 come up," said the carrier to the lazy horse; who came up ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could , I be- 
 gan to think it was of no use crying any more , especially as 
 neither Roderick Random, nor that Captain in the Royal 
 British Navy, had ever cried, that I could remember, in trjing 
 situations. The carrier, seeing me in this resolution , proposed 
 thnt my pocket-handkerchief should be spread upon the 
 David Copper field. I. 
 
82 
 
 horse's back to dry. I thanked him , and assented ; aind parti- 
 cularly small it looked, under those circumstances. 
 
 I had now leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff 
 leather purse, with a snap, and had three bright shillings in it, 
 which Peggotty had evidently polished up with whitening, for 
 my greater delight. But its most precious contents were two 
 half-crowns folded together in a bit of paper, on which was 
 written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my love." I 
 was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to be so good 
 as reach me my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he 
 thought I had better do without it; and I thought I really had ; 
 so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stopped myself. 
 
 For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous 
 emotions, I was still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. 
 After we had jogged on for some little time, I asked the carrier 
 if he was going all the way. 
 
 "All the way where?*' inquired the carrier. 
 
 "There," I said. 
 
 "Where 's there?" inquired the carrier. 
 
 "Near London? " I said. 
 
 "Why that horse," said the carrier, jerking the rein to 
 point him out, "would be deader than pork afore he got over 
 half the ground." 
 
 "Are you only going to Yarmouth then?" 1 asked. 
 
 "That 's about it," said the carrier. "And there I shall 
 take you to the stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that '11 take 
 you to — wherever it is." 
 
 As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was 
 Mr. Barkis) to say — he being, as I observed in a former 
 chapter, of a phlegmatic temperament, and not at all conver- 
 sational — I offered him a cake as a mark of attention, which he 
 ate at one gulp, exactly Uke an elephant, and which made no 
 
83 
 
 more impression on his big face than it would have done on an 
 elephant's. 
 
 "Did she make 'em, now? " said Mr. Barkis, always leaning 
 forward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with 
 an arm on each knee. 
 
 "Peggotty, do you mean, Sir?" 
 
 " Ah 1 " said Mr. Barkis. " Her." 
 
 "Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our 
 cooking." 
 
 "Do she though?" said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn't 
 whistle. He sat looking at the horse's ears, as if he saw some- 
 thing new there ; and sat so , for a considerable time. By-and- 
 by, he said: 
 
 "No sweethearts, I b'lieve?" 
 
 "Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?" For I thought he 
 wanted something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that 
 description of refreshment. 
 
 "Hearts," said Mr. Barkis. "Sweet hearts; no person 
 walks with her! " 
 
 "With Peggotty?" 
 
 "Ahl"he8aid. "Her." 
 
 " Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart." 
 
 "Didn't she though 1 " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't 
 whistle , but sat looking at the horse's ears. 
 
 "So she makes," said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval 
 of reflection, "all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, 
 do she?" 
 
 I replied that such was the fact. 
 
 "Well. I '11 tell you what," said Mr. Barkis. "P'raps you 
 might be writin to her? " 
 
 "I shall certainly write to her," I rejoined, 
 
 6* 
 
84 
 
 "Ah I" he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. "Weill 
 If you was writin'to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say thatBar- 
 kis was willin' ; would you." 
 
 " That Barkis is willing," I repeated, innocently. "Is that 
 all the message?" 
 
 "Ye — es," he said, considering. "Ye — es. Barkis is 
 willin'." 
 
 "But you will be at Blunderstone again to-morrow, Mr. 
 Barkis,"! said, faltering a little at the idea of my being far 
 away from it then, "and could give your own message so much 
 better." 
 
 As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of 
 his head, and once more confirmed his previous request by 
 saying, with profound gravity, "Barkis Is willin'. That 's the 
 message," I readily undertook its transmission. While I was 
 waiting for the coach in the hotel at Yarmouth that very after- 
 noon, I procured a sheet of paper and an inkstand, and wrote a 
 note to Peggotty which ran thus : " My dear Peggotty . I have 
 come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to Mama. Yours 
 affectionately. P. S. He says he particularly wants you to 
 know — Barkis is willing,''' 
 
 When I had taken this commission onmyself prospectively, 
 Mr. Barkis relapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite 
 worn out by all that had happened lately, lay down on a sack in 
 the cart and fell asleep. I slept soundly until we got to Yar- 
 mouth ; which was so entirely new and strange to me in the inn- 
 yard to which we drove, that I at once abandoned a latent hope 
 I had had of meeting with some of Mr.Peggotty's family there, 
 perhaps even with little Em'ly herself. 
 
 Tlie coach was in the yard, shining very much all over, but 
 without any horses to it as yet; and it looked in that state as if 
 nothing was more unlikely than Its ever going to London. I 
 ■was thinking this, and wondering what would ultimately be- 
 
85 
 
 come of my box, which Mr. Barkis had put down on the yard- 
 pavement by the pole (he having driven up the yard to turn his 
 cart), and also what would ultimately become of me, when a 
 lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints 
 of meat were hanging up , and said : 
 
 "Is that the little gentleman from Blunderstone?" 
 
 ♦'Yes, Ma'am," I said. 
 
 *' What name? " inquired the lady. 
 
 "Copperfield, Ma'am," I said. 
 
 •♦That won't do," returned the lady. ♦♦Nobody's dinner 
 is paid for here, in that name." 
 
 ♦'Is it Murdstone, Ma'am?" I said. 
 
 ♦'If you 're Master Murdstone," said the lady, ♦♦why do 
 you go and give another name, first?" 
 
 I explained to the lady how it was, who then rang a bell, 
 and called out, ♦♦William! show the coffee-room 1 " upon 
 which a waiter came running out of a kitchen on the opposite 
 side of the yard to show it, and seemed a good deal surprised 
 when he found he was only to show it to me. 
 
 It was a Urge long room with some large maps in it. I 
 doubt if I could have felt much stranger if the maps had been 
 real foreign countries, and I cast away in the middle of them. 
 I felt it was taking a liberty to sit down, with my cap in my 
 hand, on the corner of the chair nearest the door; and when 
 the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set of 
 castors on it, I think I must have turned red all over with 
 modesty. 
 
 He brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the 
 covers off in such a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must 
 have given him some offence. But he greatly relieved my 
 mind by putting a chair for me at the table, and saying, very 
 affably, ♦♦Now, six-foot! come on!" 
 
 I thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it 
 
86 
 
 extremely difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything 
 like dexterity, or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, 
 while he was standing opposite , staring so hard, and making 
 me bkish in the most dreadful manner every time I caught 
 his eye. After watching me into the second chop, he said: 
 
 "There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it 
 now?" 
 
 I thanked him, and said ''Yes." Upon which he poured 
 it out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the 
 light, and made it look beautiful. 
 
 "Myeyel" he said. "It seems a good deal, don't it?" 
 
 "It does seem a good deal," I answered with a smile. For 
 it was quite delightful to me, to find him so pleasant. He 
 was a twinkling-eyed, pimple-faced man, with his hair stand- 
 ing upright all over his head; and as he stood with one arm 
 a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, 
 he looked quite friendly. 
 
 "There was a gentleman here, yesterday," he said — "a 
 stout gentleman, by the name of Topsawyer — perhaps you 
 know him I" 
 
 "No," I said, "I don't think— " 
 
 "In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, greycoat, 
 speckled choaker," said the waiter. 
 
 "No," I said bashfully, "I haven't the pleasure — " 
 
 "He came in here," said the waiter, looking at the light 
 through the tumbler, "ordered a glass of this ale — would 
 order it — I told him not — drank it, and fell dead. It was 
 too old for him. It oughtn't to be drawn ; that 's the fact." 
 
 I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy 
 accident, and said I thought I had better have some water. 
 
 "Why you see," said the waiter, still looking at the light 
 through the tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, "our 
 people don't like things being ordered and left. It offends 'ein. 
 
87 
 
 But / '11 drink it, if you like. I 'm used to it, and use is even-- 
 thing. I don't think it '11 hurt me, if I throw my head back, 
 and take it off quick. Shall I? " 
 
 I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if 
 he thought he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. 
 When he did throw his head back , and take it off quick, I had 
 a horrible fear, I confess, of seeing him meet the fate of the 
 lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall lifeless on the carpet. But 
 it didn't hurt him. On the contrary, I thought he seemed 
 the fresher for it. 
 
 "What have we got here?" he said, putting a fork into 
 my dish. *'Not chops?" 
 
 "Chops," I said. 
 
 "Lord bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "1 didn't know 
 they were chops. Why, a chop 's the very thing to take off 
 the bad effects of that beer! Ain't it lucky?" 
 
 So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in 
 the other, and ate away with a very good appetite, to my ex- 
 treme satisfaction. He afterwards took another chop, and 
 another potato; and after that, another chop and another 
 potato. When we had done, he brought me a pudding, and 
 having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become 
 absent in his mind for some moments. 
 
 "How's the pie?" he said, rousing himself, 
 
 "It's a pudding," I made answer. 
 
 "Pudding!" he exclaimed. "Why, bless me, so it is! 
 What I" looking at it nearer "You don't mean to say it 's a 
 batter-pudding." 
 
 "Yes, it is indeed." 
 
 "Why, a batter-pudding," he said, taking up a table- 
 spoon, "is my favourite pudding! Ain't that lucky? Come on, 
 little 'un, and let 's see who '11 get most." 
 
 The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more 
 
88 
 
 than once to come in and win, but what with his table-ppoon 
 to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite 
 to my appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and 
 had no chance with him. 1 never saw any one enjoy a pudding 
 so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if 
 his enjoyment of it lasted still. 
 
 Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was 
 then that I asked for the pen and ink and paper, to write to 
 Peggotty. He not only brought it immediately, but was good 
 enough to look over me while I wrote the letter. When I had 
 finished it, he asked me where I was going to school. 
 
 I said, "Near London," which was all I knew. 
 
 "Oh, my eyel" he said, looking very low-spirited, "I am 
 sorry for that.'* 
 
 "Why?" I asked him. 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" he said, shaking his head, "that's the 
 school where they broke the boy's ribs — two ribs — a little 
 boy he was. I should say he was — let me see — how old are 
 you, about?" 
 
 I told him between eight and nine. 
 
 "That 's just his age," he said. "He waS eight years and 
 six months old when they broke his first rib; eiglit years 
 and eight months old when they broke his second, and did 
 for him." 
 
 I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that 
 this was an uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it 
 was done. His answer was not cheering to my spirits, for it 
 consisted of two dismal words, "AV'ith whopping." 
 
 The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a season- 
 able diversion, which made me get up and hesitatingly in- 
 quire, in the mingled pride and diffidence of having a purse 
 (which I took out of my pocket), if there were anything 
 to pay. 
 
89 
 
 "There's a sheet of ietter-paper," he returned. "Did 
 you ever buy a sheet of letter-paper?" 
 
 I could not remember that I ever had. 
 
 "It's dear," he said, "on account of the duty. Three- 
 pence. That 's the way we *re taxed in this country. There *s 
 nothing else except the waiter. Never mind the ink. / 
 lose by that." 
 
 "What should you — what should I — how much ought I 
 to — what would it be right to pay the waiter, if you please?" 
 1 stammered, blushing. 
 
 "If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cowpock," 
 said the waiter, "I wouldn't take a sixpence. If I didn't 
 support a aged pairint, and a lovely sister," — here the waiter 
 was greatly agitated — "I wouldn't take a farthing. If I had 
 a good place, and was treated well here, I should beg ac- 
 ceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. But I live on 
 broken wittles - and I sleep on the coals" — here the waiter 
 burst into tears. 
 
 I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt 
 that any recognition short of ninepence would be mere 
 brutality and hardness of heart. Therefore I gave him one 
 of my three bright shillings, which he received with much 
 humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, directly 
 afterwards, to try the goodness of. 
 
 It was a little disconcerting to me, to find, when I was 
 being helped up behind the coach, that I was supposed to 
 have eaten all the dinner without any assistance. I discovered 
 this, from overhearing the lady in the bow-window, say to the 
 guard, "Take care of that child, George, or he '11 burst!'* 
 and from observing that the women-servants who were about 
 the place came out to look and giggle at me as a young pheno- 
 menon. My unfortunate friend the waiter, who had quite 
 recovered his spirits, did not appear to be disturbed by this, 
 
90 
 
 but Joined in the general admiration without being at all con- 
 fused. If I had any doubt of him, I suppose this half- 
 awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that with the simple 
 confidence of a child, and the natural reliance of a child upon 
 superior years (qualities I am very soit}' any children should 
 prematurely change for worldly wisdom), I had no serious 
 mistrust of him on the whole, even then. 
 
 I felt it rather hard, I must own, to be made, without 
 deserving it, the subject of jokes between the coachman and 
 guard as to the coach drawing heavy behind, on account ol 
 my sitting there, and as to the greater expediency of my 
 travelling by waggon. The story of my supposed appetite 
 getting wind among the outside passengers , they were merry 
 upon it likewise; and asked me whether I was going to be paid 
 for, at school, as two brothers or three, and whether I was 
 contracted for, or went upon the regular terms; with other 
 pleasant questions. But the worst of it was, that I knew I 
 should be ashamed to eat am-thing, when an opportunity 
 offered, and that, after a rather light dinner, I should remain 
 hungry all night — for I had left my cakes behind, at the 
 hotel, in my hurry. My apprehensions were realised. When 
 we stopped for supper I couldn't muster courage to take any, 
 though I should have liked it very much, but sat by the fire 
 and said I didn't want anything. This did not save me from 
 more jokes, either; for a husky-voiced gentleman with a 
 rough face, who had been eating out of a sandwich-box nearly 
 all the way, except when he had been drinking out of a bottle, 
 said I was like a boa constrictor who took enough at one meal 
 to last him a long time ; after which , he actually brought a 
 rash out upon himself with boiled beef. 
 
 We had started from Yarmouth at three o'clock in the 
 afternoon, and we were due in London about eight next 
 morning. It was Midsummer weather, and the evening was 
 
91 
 
 very pleasant. When we passed through a village, I pictured 
 to myself what the insides of the houses were like, and what 
 the inhabitants were about; and when boys came running 
 after us , and got up behind and swung there for a little way, I 
 wondered whether their fathers were alive, and whether they 
 were happy at home. I had plentj' to think of, therefore, 
 besides my mind running continually on the kind of place I 
 was going to — which was an awful speculation. Sometimes, 
 I remember, I resigned myself to thoughts of home and Peg- 
 gotty; and to endeavouring, in a confused blind way, to 
 recall how I had felt, and what sort of boy I used to be, 
 before I bit Mr. Murdstone: which I couldn't satisfy myself 
 about by any means, I seemed to have bitten him in such a 
 remote antiquity. 
 
 The night was not so pleasant as the evening, for it got 
 chilly; and being put between two gentlemen (the rough- 
 faced one and another) to prevent my tumbling off the coach, 
 I was nearly smothered by their falling asleep , and completely 
 blocking me up. They squeezed me so hard sometimes, that 
 I could not help crying out, "Oh! If you please!" — which 
 they didn't like at all, because it woke them. Opposite me 
 was an elderly lady in a great fur cloak, who looked in the 
 dark more like a haystack than a lady, she was wrapped up to 
 such a degree. This lady had a basket with her, and she 
 hadn't known what to do with it, for a long time, until she 
 found that on account of my legs being short, it could go 
 underneath me. It cramped and hurt me so , that it made me 
 perfectly miserable; but If I moved in the least, and made 
 a glass that was in the basket rattle against something else (as 
 it was sure to do), she gave me the cruellest poke with her 
 foot, and said, "Come, don't you fidget. Your bones are 
 young enough, / 'm sure! " 
 
 At last the sun rose, and then my companions seemed to 
 
92 
 
 fcileep easier. The difficulties under which they had laboured 
 all night, and which had found utterance in the most terrific 
 gasps and snorts, are not to be conceived. As the sun got 
 higher, their sleep became lighter, and so they gradually one 
 by one awoke. I recollect being very much surprised by the 
 feint ever}'body made, then, of not having been to sleep at all, 
 and by the uncommon indignation with which every one 
 repelled the charge. I labour under the same kind of astonish- 
 ment to this day, having invariably observed that of all human 
 weaknesses, the one to which our common nature is the least 
 disposed to confess (I cannot imagine why) is the weakness of 
 having gone to sleep in a coach. 
 
 What an amazing place London was to me when I saw it in 
 the distance, and how I believed all the adventures of all my 
 favourite heroes to be constantly enacting and re-enacting 
 there, and how I vaguely made it out in my own mind to be 
 fuller of wonders and wickedness than all the cities of the 
 eartli, I need not stop here to relate. We approached it by 
 degrees, and got, in due time, to the inn in the Whitechapel 
 district, for which we were bound. I forget whether it was 
 the Blue Bull, or the Blue Boar; but I know it was the Blue 
 Something, and that its likeness was painted up on the back 
 of the coach. 
 
 The guard's eye lighted on me as he was getting down, and 
 he said at the booking-office door: 
 
 "Is there anybody here for a yoongster booked in the 
 name of Murdstone, from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, to be 
 left till called for?" 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 "Try Copperfield, if you please. Sir," said I, looking 
 helplessly down. 
 
 "Is there anybody here for a yoongster, booked in the 
 name of Murdstone, from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, but, 
 
93 
 
 owning to the name of Copperlield , to be left till called for? " 
 said the guard. " Come! Is there anybody? " 
 
 No. There was nobody. Hooked anxiously around; but 
 the inquiry made no impression on any of the bystanders, if I 
 except a man In gaiters, with one eye, who suggested that 
 they had better put a brass collar round my neck, and tie me 
 up in the stable. 
 
 A ladder was brought, and I got down after the lady, who 
 was like a haystack: not daring to stir, until her basket was 
 removed. The coach was clear of passengers by that time, 
 the luggage was very soon cleared out, the horses had been 
 taken out before the luggage, and now the coach itself was 
 wheeled and backed off by some hostlers, out of the way. 
 Still, nobody appeared, to claim the dusty youngster from 
 Blunderstone, Suffolk. 
 
 More solltar}- than Robinson Crusoe, who had nobody to 
 look at him and see that he was solitarj-, I went into the 
 booking-office, and, by invitation of the clerk on duty, 
 passed behind the counter, and sat down on the scale at which 
 they weighed the luggage. Here, as I sat looking at the 
 parcels, packages, and books, and inhaling the smell of 
 stables (ever since associated with that morning), a proces- 
 sion of most tremendous considerations began to march 
 through my mind. Supposing nobody should ever fetch me, 
 how long would they consent to keep me there? Would they 
 keep me long enough to spend seven shillings? Should I sleep 
 at night In one of those wooden binns with the other luggage, 
 and wash myself at the pump in the yard in the morning; or 
 should I be turned out every night, and expected to come 
 again to be left till called for, when the office opened next 
 day? Supposing there was no mistake in the case, and Mr. 
 Murdstonehad devised this plan to get rid of me, what should 
 I do? If they allowed me to remain there until my seven 
 
94 
 
 shillings were spent, I couldn't hope to remain there when I 
 began to starve. That would obviously be inconvenient and 
 unpleasant to the customers, besides entailing on the Blue 
 Whatever-it-was, the risk of funeral expenses. Ifl started off 
 at once, and tried to walk back home, how could I ever find 
 my way, how could I ever hope to walk so far, how could I 
 make sure of any one but Peggotty, even ifl got back? If I 
 found out the nearest proper authorities , and offered myself 
 to go for a soldier, or a sailor, I was such a little fellow that it 
 was most likely they wouldn't take me in. These thoughts, 
 and a hundred other such thoughts , turned me burning hot, 
 and made me giddy with apprehension and dismay. I was in 
 the height of my fever when a man entered and whispered to 
 the clerk, who presently slanted me off the scale, and pushed 
 me over to him, as ifl were weighed, bought, delivered, and 
 paid for. 
 
 As I went out of the office, hand in hand with this new 
 acquaintance, I stole a look at him. He was a gaunt, sallow 
 young man, with hollow cheeks, and a chin almost as black 
 as Mr. Murdstone's; but there the likeness ended, for his 
 whiskers were shaved off, and his hair, instead of being 
 glossy, was rusty and dry. He was dressed in a suit of black 
 clothes which were rather rusty and dry too , and rather short 
 in the sleeves and legs; and he had a white neck-kerchief on 
 that was not over-clean. I did not, and do not, suppose that 
 this neck-kerchief was all the linen he wore, but it was all he 
 showed or gave any hint of. 
 
 "You 're the new boy ? " he said. 
 
 "Yes, Sir," I said. 
 
 I supposed I was. I didn't know. 
 
 "I 'm one of the masters at Salem House," he said. 
 
 I made him a bow and felt very much overawed. I was so 
 asLaraed to allude to a common-place thing like my box, to a 
 
95 
 
 scholar and a master at Salem House, that we had gone some 
 little distance from the yard before I had the hardihood to 
 mention it. We turned back, on my humbly insinuating that 
 it might be useful to me hereafter; and he told the clerk that 
 the carrier had instructions to call for it at noon. 
 
 "If you please, Sir," I said, when we had accomplished 
 about the same distance as before, "is it far? " 
 
 "It 's down by Blackheath ," he said. 
 
 ''Is that {sLT, Sir?" I diffidently asked. 
 
 "It 's a good step," he said. "We shall go by the stage- 
 coach. It 's about six miles." 
 
 I was so faint and tired, that the idea of holding out for six 
 miles more, was too much for me. I took heart to tell him 
 that I had had nothing all night, and that if be would allow me 
 to buy something to eat, I should be very much obliged to 
 him. He appeared surprised at this — I see him stop and look 
 at me now — and after considering for a few moments, said he 
 wanted to call on an old person who lived not far ofi", and that 
 the best way would be for me to buy some bread , or whatever 
 I liked best that was wholesome, and make my breakfast at 
 her house , where we could get some milk. 
 
 Accordingly we looked in at a baker's window, and after I 
 had made a series of proposals to buy everything that was 
 bilious in the shop , and he had rejected them one by one , wc 
 decided in favour of a nice little loaf of brown bread, which 
 cost me threepence. Then, at a gi-ocer's shop, we bought an 
 egg and a slice of streaky bacon ; which still left what I thought 
 a good deal of change, out of the second of the bright shi 
 lings, and made me consider London a very cheap place. 
 These provisions laid in, we went on through a great noise 
 and uproar that confused my weary head Deyond description, 
 and over a bridge which, no doubt, was London Bridge 
 (indeed I think he told me so , but I was half asleep) , until we 
 
96 
 
 came to the poor person's house, which was a part of some 
 ahns-houses, as I knew by their look , and by an inscription on 
 a stone over the gate, which said tliey were established for 
 twenty-five poor women. 
 
 The Master at Salem House lifted the latch of one of a 
 number of little black doors that were all alike, and had each 
 a little diamond-paned window on one side , and another little 
 diamond-paned window above; and we went into the little 
 house of one of these poor old women , who was blowing a fire 
 to make a little saucepan boil. On seeing the master enter, 
 the old woman stopped with the bellows on her knee, and said 
 something that I thought sounded like "My Charley ! " but on 
 seeing me come in too, she got up, and rubbing her hands 
 made a confused sort of half curtsey. 
 
 "Can you cook this young gentleman's breakfast for him, 
 if you please?" said the Master at Salem House. 
 
 "Can I?" said the old woman. "Yes can I, sure!" 
 
 "How's Mrs. Fibbitson to-day?" said the Master, looking 
 at another old woman in a large chair by the fire, who was 
 such a bundle of clothes that I feel grateful to this hour for not 
 having sat upon her by mistake. 
 
 "Ah, she 's poorly," said the first old woman. "It's one 
 of her bad days. If the fire was to go out, through any acci- 
 dent, I verily believe she 'd go out too, and never come to 
 life again." 
 
 As they looked at her, I looked at her also. Although it 
 was a warm day, she seemed to think of nothing but the fire. 
 I fancied she was jealous even of the saucepan on it; and I 
 have reason to know that she took its impressment into the 
 service of boiling my egg and broiling my bacon, in dudgeon; 
 for I saw her, with my own discomfited eyes, shake her fist at 
 me once, when those culinary operations were going on, and 
 no one else was looking. The sun streamed in at the little 
 
97 
 
 window, but she sat with her own back and the back of the 
 large chair towards it, screening the lire as if she were sedu- 
 lously keeping ?Y warm , instead of it keeping her warm, and 
 watching it in a most distrustful manner. The completion of 
 the preparations for my breakfast, by relieving the fire, gave 
 her such extreme joy that she laughed aloud — and a very un- 
 melodious laugh she had, I must say. 
 
 I sat down to my brown loaf, my egg, and my rasher of 
 bacon, with a bason of milk besides, and made a most de- 
 licious meal. While I was yet in the full enjoyment of it, the 
 old woman of the house said to the Master: 
 
 '* Have you got your flute with you ? '* 
 
 "Yes," he returned. 
 
 "Have a blow at it," said the old woman, coaxingly. 
 "Do!" 
 
 The Master, upon this , put his hand underneath the skirts 
 of his coat, and brought out his flute in three pieces, which 
 he screwed together, and began immediately to play. My 
 impression is, after many years of consideration, that there 
 never can have been anybody in the world who played worse. 
 He made the most dismal sounds I have ever heard produced 
 by any means, natural or artificial. I don't know what the 
 tunes were — if there were such things in the performance at 
 all, which I doubt — but the influence of the strain upon me 
 was, first, to make me think of all my sorrows until I could 
 hardly keep my tears back; then to take away my appetite; 
 and lastly to make me so sleepy that I couldn't keep my eyes 
 open. They begin to close again, and I begin to nod, as the 
 recollection rises fresh upon me. Once more the little room 
 with its open corner cupboard, and its square-backed chairs, 
 and its angular little staircase leading to the room above , and 
 its three peacock's feathers displayed over the mantelpiece — 
 I remember wf-nderlng when I first went in, what that peacock 
 David Crpperfielit. f. 7 
 
98 
 
 would have thought if he had known what his finery was 
 doomed to come to — fades from before me, and I nod, and 
 sleep. The flute becomes inaudible, the wheels of the coach 
 are heard instead, and I am on my journey. The coach jolts, 
 I wake with a start, and the flute has come back again, and 
 the Master at Salem House is sitting with his legs crossed, 
 playing it dolefully , while the old woman of the house looks 
 on delighted. She fades in her turn, and he fades, and all 
 fades, and there is no flute, no Master, no Salem House, no 
 David Copperfield, no anything but heavy sleep. 
 
 I dreamed, I thought, that once while he was blowing into 
 this dismal flute, the old woman of the house, who had gone 
 nearer and nearer to him in her ecstatic admiration, leaned 
 over the back of his chair and gave him anafi'ectionate squeeze 
 round the neck, which stopped his playing for a moment. I 
 was in the middle state between sleeping and waking, either 
 then or immediately afterwards; for, as he resumed — it was 
 a real fact that he had stopped playing — I saw and heard the 
 same old woman ask Mrs. Fibbitson if it wasn't delicious 
 (meaning the flute), to which Mrs. Fibbitson replied, "Ay, 
 ay ! Yes ! " and nodded at the fire : to which , I am persuaded, 
 she gave the credit of the whole performance. 
 
 When I seemed to have been dozing a long while, the 
 Master at Salem House unscrewed his flute into the three 
 pieces , put them up as before , and took me away. We found 
 the coach very near at hand, and got upon the roof; but I was 
 so dead sleepy, that when we stopped on the road to take up 
 somebody else, they put me inside where there were no pas- 
 sengers, and where I slept profoundly, until I found the 
 coach going at a footpace up a steep hill among green leaves. 
 Presently, it stopped, and had come to its destination. 
 
 A short walk brought us — I mean the Master and me — to 
 Salem House, which was enclosed with a high brick wall, and 
 
99 
 
 looked very dull. Over a door in this wall was a board with 
 Salem House upon it; and through a grating in this door we 
 were surveyed when we rang the bell by a surly face, which I 
 found, on the door being opened, belonged to a stout man 
 with a bull-neck, a wooden leg, overhanging temples, and 
 his hair cut close all round his head. 
 
 *' The new boy ," said the Master. 
 
 The man with the wooden leg eyed me all over — it didn't 
 take long, for there was not much of me — and locked the 
 gate behind us , and took out the key. We were going up to 
 the house, among some dark heavy trees, when he called 
 after my conductor. 
 
 "Hallo!" 
 
 We looked back, and he was standing at the door of 
 a little lodge, where he lived, with a pair of boots in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Here! The cobbler's been," he said, "since you 've 
 been out, Mr. Mell, and he says he can't mend 'em any more. 
 He says there an't a bit of the original boot left, and he 
 wonders you expect it." 
 
 With these words he threw the boots towards Mr. Mell, 
 who went back a few paces to pick them up, and looked at 
 them (very disconsolately, I was afraid), as we went on 
 together, I observed then, for the first time, that the 
 boots he had on were a good deal the worse for wear, and 
 that his stocking was just breaking out in one place, like 
 a bud. 
 
 vSalem House was a square brick building with wings ; of 
 a bare and unfurnished appearance. All about it was so very 
 quiet, that I said to Mr. Mell I supposed the boys were out; 
 but he seemed surprised at my not knowing that it was 
 holiday-time. That all the boys were at their several homes. 
 That Mr. Creakle. the proprietor, was down by the sea-side 
 
100 
 
 with Mrs. and Miss Creakle; and that I was sent in holiday- 
 time as a punishment for my misdoing, all of which he ex- 
 plained to me as we went along. 
 
 I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me, as 
 the most forlorn and desolate place I had ever seen. I see it 
 now. A long room with three long rows of desks , and six 
 of forms, and bristling all round with pegs for hats and slates. 
 Scraps of old copybooks and exercises, litter the dirty floor. 
 Some silkworms' houses, made of the same materials, are 
 scattered over the desks. Two miserable little white mice, 
 left behind by their owner, are running up and down in a 
 fusty castle made of paste-board and wire, looking in all the 
 corners with their red eyes for anything to eat. A bird, In 
 a cage a very little bigger than himself, makes a mournful 
 rattle now and then in hopping on his perch , two inches high, 
 or dropping from it; but neither sings nor chirps. There 
 is a strange unwholesome smell upon the room, like mildewed 
 curduroys, sweet apples wanting air, and rotten books. 
 There could not well be more ink splashed about it, if it had 
 been roofless from its first construction, and the skies had 
 rained, snowed, hailed, and blown ink through the varying 
 seasons of the year. 
 
 Mr. Mell having left me while he took his irreparable 
 boots up-stairs, I went softly to the upper end of the room, 
 observing all this as I crept along. Suddenly I came upon 
 a pasteboard placard, beautifully written, which was lying 
 on the desk, and bore these words — '^Take care of him. 
 He bites.'" 
 
 I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least 
 a great dog underneath. But, though I looked all round with 
 anxious eyes, I could see nothing of him. I was still engaged 
 in peering about, when Mr. Mell came back, and asked me 
 what I did up there. 
 
101 
 
 **I beg your pardon, Sir," says I, "if you please, I'm 
 looking for tbe do^." 
 
 "Dog?" says he. "What dog?" 
 
 "Isn't it a dog, Sir?" 
 
 "Isn't what a dog?" 
 
 " That 's to be taken care of, Sir; that bites." 
 
 "No, Copperfiefd," says he gravely, "that's not a dog. 
 That 's a boy. My instructions are, Copperfield, to put this 
 placard on your back. I ara sorry to make such a beginning 
 with you, but I must do it." 
 
 With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which 
 was neatly constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like 
 a knapsack; and wherever I went, afterwards, I had the con- 
 solation of carr}'ing it. 
 
 What I suffered from that placard, nobody can imagine. 
 Whether it was possible for people to see me or not, I always 
 fancied that somebody was reading it. It was no relief to 
 turn round and find nobody; for wherever my back was, there 
 I imagined somebody always to be. That cruel man with the 
 wooden leg, aggravated my sufferings. He was in authority ; 
 and if he ever saw me leaning against a tree, or a wall, or the 
 house, he roared out from liis lodge-door in a stupendous 
 voice, "Hallo, you Sir! You Copperfield! Show that badge 
 conspicuous, or I'll report you!" The playground was a 
 bare gravelled yard, open to all the back of the house and 
 the offices; and I knew that the servants read it, and the 
 butcher read it, and the baker read it; that everybody, in 
 a word, who came backwards and forwards to the house, 
 of a morning when I was ordered to walk there, read that 
 I was to be taken care of, for I bit. I recollect that I posi- 
 tively began to have a dread of myself, as a kind of wild boy 
 who did bite. 
 
102 
 
 There was an old door in this playground, on which the 
 boys had a custom of carving their names. It was completely 
 covered with such inscriptions. In my dread of the end of 
 the vacation and their coming back, I could not read a boy's 
 name, without inquiring in what tone and with what emphasis 
 le would read, "Take care of him. He bites." There was 
 one boy — a certain J, Steerforth — who cut his name very 
 deep and very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a 
 rather strong voice, and afterwards pull my hair. There 
 was another boy, one Tommy Traddles, who I dreaded would 
 make game of it, and pretend to be dreadfully frightened of 
 me. There was a third, George Demple, who I fancied 
 would sing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, 
 at that door, until the owners of all the names — there were 
 five-and-forty of them in the school then, Mr. Mell said — 
 seemed to send me to Coventry by general acclamation, 
 and to cry out, each in his own way, "Take care of him. 
 He bites ! " 
 
 It was the same with the places at the desks and forms. 
 It was the same with the groves of deserted bedsteads I 
 peeped at, on my way to, and when I was in, my own bed. 
 I remember dreaming night after night, of being with my 
 mother as she used to be, or of going to a party at Mr. Peg- 
 gotty's, or of travelling outside the stage-coach, or of dining 
 again with my unfortunate friend the waiter, and in all these 
 circumstances making people scream and stare, by the un- 
 happy disclosure that I had nothing on but my little night- 
 shirt, and that placard. 
 
 In the monotony of my life , and in my constant apprehen- 
 sion of the reopening of the school, it was such an insup- 
 portable affliction! I had long tasks every day to do with 
 Mr. Mell ; but I did them , there being no Mr. and Miss Murd- 
 stone here, and got through them without disgrace Before, 
 
103 
 
 and after them, I walked about — supervised, as I have 
 mentioned, by the man with the wooden leg. How vividly 
 I call to mind the damp about the house, the green cracked 
 flag-stones in the court, an old leaky water-butt, and the dis- 
 coloured trunks of some of the grim trees, which seemed to 
 have dripped more in the rain than other trees, and to have 
 blown less in the sun I At one we dined, Mr. Mell and I, 
 at the upper end of a long bare dining-room, full of deal 
 tables, and smelling of fat. Then, we had more tasks until 
 tea, which Mr. Mell drank out of a blue teacup, and I out 
 of a tin pot. All day long, and until seven or eight in the 
 evening, Mr. Mell, at his own detached desk in the school- 
 room, worked hard with pen, ink, ruler, books, and writing- 
 paper, making out the bills (as I found) for last half-year. 
 When he had put up his things for the night he took out his 
 flute, and blew at it, until I almost thought he would gradually 
 blow his whole being into the large hole at the top, and ooze 
 away at the keys. 
 
 I picture my small self In the dimly-lighted rooms, sitting 
 with my head upon my hand, listening to the doleful per- 
 formance of Mr. Mell, and conning to-morrow's lessons. I 
 picture myself with my books shut up, still listening to the 
 doleful performance of Mr. Mell, and listening through it to 
 what used to be at home, and to the blowing of the wind on 
 Yarmouth flats, and feeling very sad and solitary. I picture 
 myself going up to bed, among the unused rooms, and sitting 
 on my bed-side crying for a comfortable word from Peggotty. 
 I picture myself coming down stairs in the morning, and 
 looking through a long ghastly gash of a staircase-window, 
 at the school-bell hanging on the top of an outhouse, with a 
 weathercock above it; and dreading the time when it shall 
 ring J. Steerforth and the rest to work : which is only second, 
 in my foreboding apprehensions, to the time when the man 
 
104 
 
 with the wooden leg shall unlock the rusty gate to give ad- 
 mission to the awful Mr. Creakle. I cannot think I was a very 
 dangerous character in any of these aspects, but in all of 
 them I carried the same warning on my back. 
 
 Mr. Mell never said much to me, but he was never harsh 
 to me. I suppose we were company to each other, without 
 talking. I forgot to mention that he would talk to himself 
 sometimes, and grin, and clench his fist, and grind his teeth, 
 and pull his hair in an unaccountable manner. But he had 
 these peculiarities: and at first they frightened me, though I 
 soon got used to them. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I enlarge my circle of acquaintance. 
 
 I HAD led thle life about a month, when the man with the 
 wooden leg began to stump about with a mop and a bucket of 
 water, from which I inferred that pre])arations were making to 
 receive Mr. Creakle and the boys. I was not mistaken; for 
 the mop came into the schoolroom before long, and turned 
 out Mr. Mell and me, who lived where we could, and got on 
 how we could, for some days, during which we were always 
 in tlie way of two or three young women, who had rarely 
 shown themselves before, and were so continually in the midst 
 of dust that I sneezed almost as much as if Salem House had 
 been a great snuff-box. 
 
 One day I was informed by Mr. Mell, that Mr. Creakle 
 would be home that evening. In the evening, after tea, I 
 heard that he was come. Before bed-time, I was fetched by 
 the man with the wooden leg to appear before him. 
 
 Mr. Creakle's part of tlie house was a good deal more 
 comfortable than ours, and he had a snug bit of garden that 
 looked pleasant after the dusty playground, which was such 
 a desert in miniature, that I thought no one but a came), or 
 a dromedary, could have felt at home in it. It seemed to 
 me a bold thing even to take notice tliat the passage looked 
 comfortable, as I went on my way, trembling, to Mr. Creakle's 
 presence: wliich so abashed me, when I was ushered into it, 
 that I hardly saw Mrs. Creakle or Miss Creakle (who were 
 both there, in the parlour), or anything but Mr. Creakle, a 
 stout gentleman with a bunch of watch-chain and seals, in an 
 arm-chair, with a tumbler and bottle beside him. 
 
106 
 
 "So! " said Mr. Creakle. "This is the young gentleman 
 whose teeth are to be filed I Turn him round." 
 
 The wooden-legged man turned me about so as to exhibit 
 the placard; and having afforded time for a full survey of it, 
 turned me about again, with my face to Mr. Creakle, and 
 posted himself at Mr. Creakle's side. Mr. Creakle's face was 
 fiery, and his eyes were small, and deep in his head; he had 
 thick veins in his forehead, a little nose, and a large chin. 
 He was bald on the top of his head ; and had some thin wet- 
 looking hair that was just turning grey, brushed across each 
 temple, so that the two sides interlaced on his forehead. But 
 the circumstance about him which impressed me most, was, 
 that he had no voice, but spoke in a whisper. The exertion 
 this cost him, or the consciousness of talking in that feeble 
 way, made his angry face so much more angry, and his thick 
 veins so much thicker, when he spoke, that I am not sur- 
 prised, on looking back, at this peculiarity striking me as his 
 chief one. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Creakle. "What's the report of this 
 boy?" 
 
 "There's nothing against him yet," returned the man 
 with the wooden leg. " There has been no opportunity." 
 
 I thought Mr. Creakle was disappointed. I thought 
 Mrs. and Miss Creakle (at whom I now glanced for the 
 first time, and who were, both, thin and quiet) were not 
 disappointed. 
 
 " Come here, Sir ! " said Mr. Creakle, beckoning to me. 
 
 "Come here!" said the man with the wooden leg, re- 
 peating the gesture. 
 
 "I have the happiness of knowing your father-in-law," 
 whispered Mr. Creakle, taking me by the ear; "and a worthy 
 man he i? , and a man of a strong character. He knows me. 
 
107 
 
 and I know him. Do you know me? Hey?" said Mr. Creakle, 
 pinching my ear with ferocious playfulness. 
 
 "Not yet, Sir," I said, flinching with the pain. 
 
 "Not yet? Hey?" repeated Mr. Creakle. • "But you will 
 soon. Hey?" 
 
 "You will soon. Hey?" repeated the man with the 
 wooden leg. I afterwards found that he generally acted, 
 with his strong voice, as Mr. Creakle's interpreter to the 
 boys. 
 
 I was very much frightened, and said, I hoped so, if he 
 pleased. I felt, all this while , as if my ear were blazing; he 
 pinched it so hard. 
 
 "I '11 tell you what I am," whispered Mr. Creakle, letting 
 it go at last, with a screw at parting that brought the water 
 into my eyes. "I 'm a Tartar." 
 
 " A Tartar," said the man with the wooden leg. 
 
 "When I say I '11 do a tiling, I do it," said Mr. Creakle; 
 "and when I say I will have a thing done, I will have it 
 done." 
 
 " — Will have a thing done, I will have It done," repeated 
 the man with the wooden leg. 
 
 "I am a determined character," said Mr. Creakle. "That's 
 what I am. I do my duty. That 's what / do. My flesh and 
 blood " — he looked at Mrs. Creakle as he said this — " when 
 It rises against me, is not my flesh and blood. I discard it. 
 Has that fellow," to the man with the wooden leg, "been here 
 again?" 
 - "No," was the answer. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Creakle. "He knows better. He knows 
 me. Let him keep away. I say let him keep away," said 
 Mr. Creakle, striking his hand upon the table, and looking at 
 Mrs. Creakle, "for he knows me. Now you have begun to 
 
lOS 
 
 know me too, my young friend, and you may go. Take him 
 away." 
 
 I was very glad to be ordered away , for Mrs. and Miss 
 Creakle were both wiping their eyes, and I felt as uncom- 
 fortable for them, as I did for myself. But I had a petition 
 on my mind which concerned me so nearly, that I couldn't 
 help saying, though I wondered at my own courage: 
 
 "If you please, Sir — " 
 
 Mr. Creakle whispered, "Hah? What's this?" and bent 
 his eyes upon me, as if he would have burnt me up with 
 them. 
 
 "If you please, Sir," I faltered, "if I might be allowed 
 (I am very sorry indeed. Sir, for what I did) to take this 
 writing off, before the boys come back — " 
 
 Whether Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or whether he only 
 did it to frighten me I don't know, but he made a burst out of 
 his chair, before which I precipitately retreated, without 
 waiting for the escort of the man with the wooden leg, and 
 never once stopped until I reached my own bedroom, where, 
 findingi was not pursued, I went to bed, as it was time, and 
 lay quaking, for a couple of hours. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Sharp came back. Mr. Sharp wa? the 
 first master, and superior to Mr. Mell. Mr. Mell took his 
 meals with the boys , but Mr. Sharp dined and supped at Mr. 
 Creakle's table. He was a limp, delicate-looking gentleman, 
 I thought, with a good deal of nose, and a way of carrying his 
 head on one side, as if it were a little too heavy for him. His 
 hair was very smooth and wavy; but T was informed by the 
 very first boy who came back that it was a wig (a second-hand 
 one he said) , and that Mr. Sharp went out every Saturday 
 afternoon to get it curled. 
 
 It was no other than Tommy Traddles who gave me this 
 piece of intelligence He was the first boy who returned. He 
 
109 
 
 introduced himself by informing me that I should find his 
 name on the right-hand corner of the gate, over the top bolt; 
 upon that I said, "Traddles?" to which he rephed, "The 
 same," and then he asked me for a full account of myself and 
 family. 
 
 It was a happy circumstance for me that Traddles came 
 back first. He enjoyed my placard so much, that he saved 
 me from the embarrassment of either disclosure or conceal- 
 ment, by presenting me to every other boy who came back, 
 great or small, immediately on his arrival, in this form of in- 
 troduction, "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily, too, 
 the greater part of the boys came back low-spirited, and were 
 not so boisterous at my expense as I had expected. Some of 
 them certainly did dance about me like wild Indians, and the 
 greater part could not resist the temptation of pretending that 
 I was a dog, and patting and smoothing me lest I should bite, 
 and saying, "Lie down, Sir!" and calling me Towzer. This 
 was naturally confusing, among so many strangers, and cost 
 me some tears, but on the whole it was much better than I had 
 anticipated. 
 
 I was not considered as being formally received into the 
 school, however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this 
 boy, who was reputed to be a great scholar, and was very 
 good-looking, and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I 
 was carried as before a magistrate. He inquired, under a 
 shed In the playground, into the particulars of my punish- 
 ment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was "a 
 jolly shame ; " for which I became bound to him ever after- 
 ward «:. 
 
 "What money have you got, Copperfield?" he said, 
 walking aside with me when he had disposed of my affair in 
 these terms. 
 
 I told him seven shillings. 
 
110 
 
 "You Lad better give it tt) me to take care of," he said. 
 "At least, you can if you like. You needn't if you don't 
 like." 
 
 I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and 
 opening Peggotty's purse, turned it upside down into his 
 hand. 
 
 "Do you want to spend anything now? " he asked me. 
 
 "No, thank you," I replied. 
 
 "You can if you like, you know," said Steerforth. "Say 
 the word." 
 
 "No, thank you. Sir," I repeated. 
 
 "Perhaps you'd like to spend a couple of shillings or so, 
 in a bottle of currant wine by-and-by, up in the bedroom?" 
 eaid Steerforth. "You belong to my bedroom, I find." 
 
 It certainly had not occurred to me before , but I said , Yes, 
 I should like that. 
 
 "Very good," said Steerforth. "You '11 be glad to spend 
 another shilling or so , in almond cakes , I dare say ? " 
 
 I said. Yes, I should like that, too. 
 
 "And another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in 
 fruit, eh?" said Steerforth. "I say, young Copperfield, 
 you 're going it!" 
 
 I smiled because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in 
 my mind, too. 
 
 "Well!" said Steerforth. "We must make it stretch as 
 for as we can; that's all. I '11 do the best in my power for 
 you. I can go out when I like, and I '11 smuggle the prog in." 
 WiLh tliese words he put the money in his pocket, and kindly 
 told me not to make myself uneasy; he would take care it 
 should be all right. 
 
 He was as good as his word , if that were all right which 1 
 bad a secret misgiving was nearly all wrong — for I feared it 
 was a waste of mv mother's two half-crowns — though I had 
 
Ill 
 
 preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped In : which was 
 a precious saving. WTien we went up-stairs to bed, he pro- 
 duced the whole seven shillings' worth, and laid it out on my 
 bed in the moonlight, saying: 
 
 "There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread 
 you 've got!" 
 
 I couldn't think of doing the honours of the feast, at my 
 time of Hfe, while he was by; my hand shook at the very 
 thought of it. I begged him to do me the favour of presiding ; 
 and my request being seconded by the other boys who were 
 in that room, he acceded to It, and sat upon my pillow, 
 handing round the viands — with perfect fairness, I must 
 say — and dispensing the currant wine in a little glass without 
 a foot, which was his own property. As to me, I sat on his 
 left hand, and the rest were grouped about us , on the nearest 
 beds and on the floor. 
 
 How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers ; 
 or their talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather 
 to say ; the moonlight falling a little way into the room, through 
 the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and the 
 greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth dipped 
 a match into a phosphorous-box, when he wanted to look for 
 anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was 
 gone directly! A certain mysterious feeling, consequent on 
 the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in 
 which everything was said, steals over me again, and I listen 
 to all they tell me with a vague feeling of solemnity and awe, 
 which makes me glad that they are all so near, and frightens 
 me (though I feign to laugh) when Traddles pretends to see a 
 ghost in the comer. 
 
 I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belong- 
 ing to it. I heard that Mr. Creakle had not preferred his claiin 
 to being a Tartar without reason ; that he was the sternest and 
 
112 
 
 most severe of masters ; that he laid about bim, right and left, 
 every day of his life, charging in among the boys like atrooper, 
 and slashing away, unmercifully. That he knew nothing 
 himself, but the art of slashing, being more ignorant (J. 
 Steerforth said) than the lowest boy in the school; that he 
 had been, a good many years ago, a small hop-dealer in the 
 Borough, and had taken to the schooling business after being 
 bankrupt in hops, and making away with Mrs. Creakle's 
 money. With a good deal more of that sort, which I won- 
 dered how they knew. 
 
 I heard that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was 
 Tungay,was an obstinate barbarian who had formerly assisted 
 in the hop business, but had come into the scholastic line with 
 Mr. Creakle, in consequence, as was supposed among the 
 boys, of his having broken his leg in Mr. Creakle's service, 
 and having done a deal of dishonest work for liim, and 
 knowing his secrets. I heard that with the single exception of 
 Mr. Creakle, Tungay considered the whole establishment, 
 masters and boys, as his natural enemies, and that the only 
 delight of his life was to be sour and malicious. I heard that 
 Mr. Creakle had a son, who had not been Tungay's friend, 
 and who, assisting in the school, had once held some remon- 
 strance with his father on an occasion when its discipline was 
 very cruelly exercised, and was supposed, besides, to have 
 protested against his father's usage of his mother. I heard 
 that Mr. Creakle had turned him out of doors, in conse- 
 quence ; and that Mrs- and Miss Creakk had been in a sad 
 way, ever since. 
 
 But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, 
 there being one boy in the school on whom he never ventured 
 to lay a hand, and that boy being J. Steerforth. Steerforth 
 himself confirmed this when it was stated, and said that he 
 should like to begin to see him do it. On being asked by a 
 
113 
 
 mild boy (not me) how he would proceed if he did begin to see 
 him do it, he dipped a match into his phosphorous-box on 
 purpose to shed a glare over his reply, and said he would com- 
 mence by knocking him down with a blow on the forehead 
 from the seven-and-sixpenny ink-bottle that was always on 
 the mantelpiece. We satin the dark for some time, breath- 
 less. 
 
 I heard that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both supposed 
 to be wretchedly paid ; and that when there was hot and cold 
 meat for dinner at Mr. Creakle's table , Mr. Sharp was always 
 expected to say he preferred cold; which was again corro- 
 borated by J. Steerforth, the only parlour-boarder. I heard 
 that Mr. Sharp's wig didn't fit him; and that he needn't be 
 so "bounceable" — somebody else said "bumptious" — 
 about it, because his own red hair was verj' plainly to be seen 
 behind. 
 
 I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchant's son, 
 came as a set-oflf against the coal-bill, and was called on that 
 account "Exchange or Barter" — a name selected from the 
 arithmetic-book as expressing this arrangement. I heard that 
 the table-beer was a robbery of parents, and the pudding an 
 imposition. I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the 
 school in general as being in love with Steerforth; and I am 
 sure, as I sat in the dark, thinking of his nice voice, and his 
 fine face , and his easy manner, and his curling hair , I thought 
 it very likely. I heard that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of 
 fellow, but hadn't a sixpence to bless himself with; and that 
 there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell, his mother, was as 
 poor as Job. I thought of my breakfast then, and what had 
 sounded like "My Charley ! " but I was, I am glad to remem- 
 ber, as mute as a mouse about it. 
 
 The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted 
 the banquet some time. The greater part of the guests had 
 David Copperfield. I. 8 
 
114 
 
 gone to bed as soon as the eating and drinking were over; and 
 we, who had remained whispering and listening half undress- 
 ed, at last betook ourselves to bed, too. 
 
 "Goodnight, young Copperfield,'* said Steerforth, "I'll 
 take care of you," 
 
 "You *re very kind," I gratefully returned. "I am very 
 much obliged to you." 
 
 "You haven't got a sister, have you?'' said Steerforth, 
 yawning. 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 " That 's a pity," said Steerforth. "If you had had one, I 
 should think she would have been a pretty, timid, little, 
 bright-eyed sort of girl. I should have liked to know her. 
 Good night, young Copperfield." 
 
 "Goodnight, Sir," I replied. 
 
 I thought of him very much after I went to bed, and raised 
 myself, I recollect, to look at him where he lay in the moon- 
 light,- with his handsome face turned up, and his head recli- 
 ning easily on his arm. He was a person of great power in my 
 eyes; that was of course the reason of my mind running on 
 him. No veiled future dimly glanced upon him in the moon- 
 beams. There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps, in 
 the garden that I dreamed of walking in all night. 
 
CHAPTER ^ai. 
 
 My *' first half" at Salem House. 
 
 School began in earnest next day. A profound impres- 
 sion was made upon me, I remember, by the roar of voices in 
 the schoolroom suddenly becoming hushed as death when Mr. 
 Creakle entered after breakfast, and stood in the doorway' 
 looking round upon us like a giant in a stor^'-book survepng 
 his captives. 
 
 Tungay stood at Mr. Creakle's elbow. He had no occasion, 
 I thought, to cry out "Silence 1 " so ferociously, for the boys 
 were all struck speechless and motionless. 
 
 Mr. Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to 
 this effect. 
 
 "Now, boys, this is a new half. Take care what you 're 
 about, in this new half. Come fresh up to the lessons, I ad- 
 vise you, for I come fresh up to the punishment. I won't 
 flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing yourselves ; you won't 
 rub the marks out that I shall give you. Now get to work, 
 ever)' boy ! " 
 
 When this dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had 
 stumped out again, Mr. Creakle came to where I sat, and 
 told me that if I were famous for biting, he was famous for 
 biting, too. He tlien showed me the cane, and tasked me 
 what I thought of that, for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth, 
 hey? Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a deep prong, hey? 
 Did it bite , hey? Did it bite? At every question he gave me 
 a fleshy cut with it that made me writhe; so I was very soon 
 made free of Salem House (as Steerforth said), and very soon 
 in tears also. 
 
 8' 
 
116 
 
 Not tbttt I mean to say these were special marks of distinc- 
 tion, which only I received. On the contrary, a large majority 
 of the boys (especially the smaller ones) were visited with 
 similar instances of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of 
 the schoolroom. Half the establishment was writhing and 
 crying, before the day's work began; and how much of it had 
 writhed and cried before the day's work was over, I ain really 
 afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate. 
 
 I should think there never can have been a man who en- 
 joyed his profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a 
 delight in cutting at the boys, which was like the satisfaction 
 of a craving appetite. I am confident that he couldn't resist a 
 chubby boy, especially; that there was a fascination in such 
 a subject, which made him restless in his mind, until he had 
 scored and marked him lor the day. I was chubby myself, 
 and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow now, 
 my blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation 
 I should feel if I could have known all about him without 
 having ever been in his power; but It rises hotly, because 
 I know him to have been an incapable brute, who had no 
 more right to be possessed of the great trust he held, than to 
 be Lord High Admiral , or Commander-in-chief : in either of 
 which capacities, it is probable that he would have done in- 
 iinitely less mischief. 
 
 Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless Idol, how 
 abject we were to him 1 what a launch in life I think it now , on 
 looking back, to be so mean and servile to a man of such parts 
 and pretensions! 
 
 Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye — humbly 
 watching his eye , as he rules a cypherlng-book for another 
 victim whose hand^ have just been flattened by that identical 
 ruler, and who is trying to wipe the sting out with a pocket- 
 handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don't watch his eye in 
 
117 
 
 idleness, but because I am morbidly attracted to it, in a 
 dread desire to know what he will do next, and whether it will 
 be my turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A lane of small 
 boys beyond me, with the same interest in his eye, watch it 
 too. I think he knows it, though he pretends he don't. He 
 makes dreadful mouths as he rules the cyphering-book; and 
 now he throws his eye sideways down our lane, and we all 
 droop over our books and tremble. A moment afterwards 
 we are again eyeing him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty 
 of imperfect exercise, approaches at his command. The 
 culprit falters excuses, and professes a determination to do 
 better to-morrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he beats 
 him, and we laugh at it, — miserable little dogs, we laugh, 
 with our visages as white as ashes , and our hearts sinking into 
 our boots. 
 
 Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer after- 
 noon. A buzz and hum go up around me, as if the boys 
 were so many blue-bottles. A cloggy sensation of the luke- 
 warm fat of meat is upon me (we dined an hour or two ago), 
 and my head is as heavy as so much lead. I would give the 
 world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on Mr. Creakle, 
 blinking at him like a young owl; when sleep overpowers me 
 for a minute, he still looms through my slumber, ruling those 
 cyphering-books; until he softly comes behind me and wakes 
 me to plainer perception of him, with a red ridge across my 
 back. 
 
 Here I am in the playground, with my eye still fascinated 
 by him, though I can't see him. The window at a little 
 distance from which I know he is having his dinner, stands for 
 him, and I eye that instead. If he shows his face near it, 
 mine assumes an imploring and submissive expression. If he 
 looks out through the glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth 
 excepted) stops in the middle of a shout or yell, and becomei 
 
118 
 
 contemplative. One day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy 
 in the world) breaks that window accidentally, with a ball. 
 I shudder at this moment with the tremendous sensation of 
 seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has bounded on to 
 Mr. Creakle's sacred head. 
 
 Poor Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his 
 arms and legs like German sausages , or roly-poly puddings, 
 he was the merriest and most miserable of all the boys. He 
 was always being caned — I think he was caned every day 
 that half-year, except one holiday Monday when he was only 
 rulerM on both hands — and was always going to write to his 
 uncle about it, and never did. After laying his head on the 
 desk for a little while, he would cheer up, somehow, begin 
 to laugh again, and draw skeletons all over his slate, before 
 his eyes were dry. I used at first to wonder what comfort 
 Traddles found in drawing skeletons ; and for some time 
 looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself 
 by those symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last for 
 ever. But I believe he only did it because they were easy, 
 and didn't want any features. 
 
 He was very honourable, Traddles was; and held it as a 
 solemn duty in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered 
 for this on several occasions; and particularly once, when 
 Steerforth laughed in church, and the Beadle thought it was 
 Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going away ia 
 custody, despised by the congregation. He never said who 
 was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and 
 was imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole 
 churchyard-full of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dic- 
 tionar}\ But he had his reward. Steerforth said there was 
 nothhig of the sneak in Traddles, and we all felt that to be 
 the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone through 
 
119 
 
 a good deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles, and 
 nothing like so old) to have won such a recompense. 
 
 To see Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm 
 with Miss Creakle, was one of the great sights of my life. 
 I didn't think Miss Creakle equal to little Em'ly in point of 
 beauty, and I didn't love her (I didn't dare); but I thought 
 her a young lady of extraordinary- attractions , and in point of 
 gentility not to be surpassed. When Steerforth, in white 
 trousers, carried her parasol for her, I felt proud to know 
 him; and believed that she could not choose but adore him 
 with all her heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable 
 personages in my eyes ; but Steerfortli was to them what the 
 sun was to two stars. 
 
 Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved a 
 very useful friend : since nobody dared to annoy one whom he 
 honoured with his countenance. He couldn't — or at all 
 events, he didn't — defend me from Mr. Creakle, who was 
 very severe with me; but whenever I had been treated worse 
 than usual, he always told me that I wanted a little of his 
 pluck, and that he wouldn't have stood it himself; which I 
 felt he intended for encouragement, and considered to be 
 ve^^' kind of him. There was one advantage, and only one 
 that I know of, in Mr. Creakle's severity. He found my 
 placard in his way, when he came up or down behind the form 
 on which I sat , and wanted to make a cut at me in passing ; for 
 this reason it was soon taken off, and I saw it no more. 
 
 An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy be- 
 tween Steerforth and me, in a manner that inspired me with 
 great pride and satisfaction, though it sometimes led to in- 
 convenience. It liappened on one occasion, when he was 
 doing me the honour of talking to me in the playground , that 
 I hazarded the observation that something or somebody — 
 I forget what now — was like something or somebody in 
 
120 
 
 Peregrine Pickle. He said nothing at tbe time; but when 
 I was going to bed at night, asked me if I had got that 
 book. 
 
 I told him no , and explained how it was that I had read it, 
 and all those other books of which I have made mention. 
 
 "And do you recollect them?" Steerforth said. 
 
 '*Ohyes," I replied; I had a good memory, and I believed 
 I recollected them very well. 
 
 "Then I tell you what, young Copperfield," said Steer- 
 forth, "you shall tell 'em to me. I can't get to sleep very 
 early at night, and I generally wake rather early in the morn- 
 ing. We '11 go over 'em one after another. We '11 make some 
 regular Arabian Nights of it." 
 
 I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement , and we 
 commenced carrying it into execution that very evening. 
 What ravages I committed on my favourite authors in the 
 course of my interpretation of them, I am not in a condition 
 to say, and should be very unwilling to know; but I had a 
 profound faith in them, and I had, to the best of my belief, 
 a simple , earnest manner of narrating what I did narrate ; and 
 these qualities went a long way. 
 
 The drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out 
 of spirits and indisposed to resume the story; and then it was 
 rather hard work, and It must be done; for to disappoint or 
 displease Steerforth was of course out of the question. In the 
 morning, too, when I felt weary and should have enjoyed 
 another hour's repose very much, it was a tiresome thing to 
 be roused, like the Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a 
 long story before the getting-up bell rang; but Steerforth 
 was resolute; and as he explained to me, In return, my sums 
 and exercises, and anything In my tasks that was too hard for 
 me, I was no loser by the transaction. Let me do myself 
 justice, however. I was moved by no interested or selfish 
 
121 
 
 motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admire<l and loved 
 him, and his approval was return enough. It was so precious 
 to me that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching 
 heart. 
 
 Steerforth was considerate , too ; and showed his con- 
 sideration , in one particular instance , in an unflinching 
 manner that was a little tantalising, I suspect, to poorTraddles 
 and the rest. Peggotty's promised letter — what a com- 
 fortable letter it was! — arrived before "the half* was many 
 weeks old; and with it a cake in a perfect nest of oranges, 
 and two bottles of cowslip wine. This treasure, as in duty 
 bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to 
 dispense. 
 
 "Now, I'll tell you what, young Copperfield," said he: 
 "the wine shall be kept to wet your whistle when you are 
 story-telling." 
 
 I blushed at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, 
 not to think of it. But he said he had observed I was some- 
 times hoarse — a little roopy was his exact expression — and 
 it should be, every drop, devoted to the purpose he had 
 mentioned. Accordingly, it was locked up in his box, and 
 drawn off" by himself in a phial, and administered to me 
 through a piece of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to 
 be in want of a restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more 
 sovereign specific, he was so kind as to squeeze orange juice 
 into it, or to stir it up with ginger, or dissolve a peppermint 
 drop in it; and although I cannot assert that the flavour was 
 improved by these experiments, or that it was exactly the 
 compound one would have chosen for a stomachic, the last 
 thing at night and the first thing in the morning, I drank it 
 gratefully and was very sensible of his attention. 
 
 We seem, to me, to have been months over Peregrine, 
 and months more over the other stories. The institution 
 
122 
 
 never flagged for want of a story , I am certain ; and the wine 
 lasted out almost as well as the matter. Poor Traddles — 
 I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to 
 laugn, and with tears in my eyes — was a sort of chorus, in 
 general; and affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic 
 parts, and to be overcome with fear when there was any 
 passage of an alarming character in the narrative. This rather 
 put me out, very often. It was a great jest of his , I recollect, 
 to pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering, 
 whenever mention was made of an Alguazil in connexion with 
 the adventures of Gil Bias; and I remember, when Gil Bias 
 met the captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker 
 counterfeited such an ague of terror, that he was overheard 
 by Mr. Creakle, who was prowling about the passage, 
 and handsomely flogged for disorderly conduct in the bed- 
 room. 
 
 Whatever I had within me that was romantic and dreamy, 
 was encouraged by so much story-telling in the dark ; and in 
 that respect the pursuit may not have been very profitable to 
 me. But the being cherished as a kind of plaything in my 
 room, and the consciousness that this accomplishment of 
 mine was bruited about among the boys, and attracted a good 
 deal of notice to me though I was the youngest there, stimu- 
 lated me to exertion. In a school carried on by sheer cruelty, 
 whether it is presided over by a dunce or not, there is not 
 likely to be much learnt. I believe our boys were, generally, 
 as ignorant a set as any schoolboys in existence ; they were 
 too much troubled and knocked about to learn; they could no 
 more do that to advantage, than any one can do anything to 
 advantage in a life of constant misfortune, torment, and 
 worry. But my little vanity, and Steerforth's help, urged 
 me on somehow; and without saving me from much, if 
 anything, in the way of punishment, made me, for the time I 
 
123 
 
 was there, an exception to the general body, insomuch that I 
 did steadily pick up some crumbs of knowledge. 
 
 In this I was much assisted by Mr. Mell , who had a liking 
 for me that I am grateful to remember. It always gave me 
 pain to observe that Steerforth treated him with systematic 
 disparagement, and seldom lost an occasion of wounding his 
 feelings, or inducing others to do so. This troubled me the 
 more for a long time , because I had soon told Steerforth, from 
 whom I could no more keep such a secret, than I could keep a 
 cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old 
 women Mr. Mell had taken me to see; and I was always afraid 
 that Steerforth would let it out, and twit him with it. 
 
 We little thought any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my 
 breakfast that first morning, and went to sleep under the 
 shadow of the peacock's feathers to the sound of the flute, 
 what consequences would come of the introduction into those 
 alms-houses of my insignificant person. But the visit had 
 its unforeseen consequences; and of a serious sort, too, in 
 their way. 
 
 One day when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposi- 
 tion, which naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, 
 there was a good deal of noise in the course of the morning's 
 work. The great relief and satisfaction experienced by the 
 boys made them difficult to manage; and though the dreaded 
 Tungay brought his wooden leg in twice or thrice, and took 
 notes of the principal offenders' names, no great impression 
 was made by it, as they were pretty sure of getting into trouble 
 to-morrow do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, 
 to enjoy themselves to-day. 
 
 It was, properly, a half-holiday ; being Saturday. But as 
 the noise in the playground would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, 
 and the weather was not favourable for going out walking, we 
 were ordered into school in the afternoon, and set some 
 
124 
 
 lighter tasks than usual, which were made for the occasion. It 
 was the day of the week on which Mr. Sharp went out to get his 
 wig curled; so Mr. Mell, who always did the drudgery, what- 
 ever it was , kept school by himself. 
 
 If I could associate the idea of a bull or a bear with any one 
 so mild as Mr. Mell, I should think of him, in connexion with 
 that afternoon when the uproar was at its height, as of one of 
 those animals, baited by a thousand dogs. I recall him bend- 
 ing his aching head, supported on his bony hand, over the 
 book on his desk, and wretchedly endeavouring to get on with 
 his tiresome work, amidst an uproar that might have made the 
 Speaker of the House of Commons giddy. Boys started in 
 and out of their places, playing at puss in the corner with other 
 boys; there were laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys, 
 dancing boys, howling boys; boys shuffled with their feet, 
 boys whirled about him, grinning, making faces, mimicking 
 him behind his back and before his eyes: mimicking his 
 poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother, everything belong- 
 ing to him that they should have had consideration for. 
 
 "Silence!" cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and 
 striking his desk with the book. " What does this mean ! It 's 
 impossible to bear it. It 's maddening. How can you do it to 
 me, boys?'* 
 
 It was my book that he struck his desk with ; and as I stood 
 beside him, following his eye as it glanced round the room, I 
 saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised, some half 
 afraid, and some sorry perhaps. 
 
 Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the 
 opposite end of the long room. He was lounging with his back 
 against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and looked at 
 Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when 
 Mr. Mell looked at him. 
 
 "Silence, Mr. SteerforthI" said Mr. Mell. 
 
125 
 
 "Silence yourself," said Steerforth , turning red. "Whom 
 are you talking to? " 
 
 "Sit down," said Mr. Mell. 
 
 "Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and mind your 
 business." 
 
 There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was 
 so white, that silence immediately succeeded; and one boy, 
 who had darted out behind hira to imitate his mother 
 again, changed his mind, and pretended to want a pen 
 mended. 
 
 "If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, "that! am not 
 acquainted with the power you can establish over any mind 
 here" — he laid his hand, without considering what he did 
 (as I supposed), upon my head — " or that I have not observed 
 you, within a few minutes, urging your juniors on to every 
 sort of outrage against me, you are mistaken." 
 
 "I don't give myself the trouble of thinking at all about 
 you," said Steerforth, coolly; "so I'm not mistaken, as it 
 happens." 
 
 "And when you make use of your position of favouritism 
 here, Sir," pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very 
 much, " to insult a gentleman — " 
 
 "A what? — where is he? " said Steerforth. 
 
 Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too 
 bad! " It was Traddles ; whom Mr. Mell instantly discomfited 
 by bidding him hold his tongue. 
 
 — "To insult one who is not fortunate in life. Sir, and 
 who never gave you the least offence , and the many reasons 
 for not insulting whom you are old enough and wise enough to 
 understand," said Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling more 
 and more, "you commit a mean and base action. You 
 can sit down or stand up as you please, Sir. Copperfield. 
 go on." 
 
126 
 
 "Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward up 
 the room, "stop a bit. I tell you -what, Mr. Mell, once for 
 all. When you take the liberty of calling me mean or base, or 
 anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You are 
 always a beggar, you know; but when you do that, you are 
 an impudent beggar." 
 
 I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or 
 Mr. Mell was going to strike him, or there was any such inten- 
 tion on either side. I saw a rigidity come upon the whole 
 school as if they had been turned into stone, and found Mr. 
 Creakle in the midst of us , with Tungay at his side, and Mrs. 
 and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were 
 frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his 
 face in his hands, sat, for some moments, quite still. 
 
 "Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the 
 arm; and his whisper was so audible now, that Tungay felt it 
 unnecessary to repeat his words; "you have not forgotten 
 yourself, I hope?" 
 
 "No, Sir, no," returned the Master, showing his face, 
 and shaking his head, and rubbing his hands in great agita- 
 tion. "No, Sir. No. I have remembered myself, I — no, 
 Mr. Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I — I have re- 
 membered myself. Sir. I — I — could wish you had remem- 
 bered me a little sooner, Mr. Creakle. It — it — would have 
 been more kind. Sir, more just. Sir. It would have saved 
 me something, Sir." 
 
 Mr. Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on 
 Tuugay's shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, 
 and sat upon the desk. After still looking hard at Mr. Mell 
 from this throne, as he shook his head, and rubbed his hands, 
 and remained in the same state of agitation, Mr. Creakle 
 turned to Steerforth , and said : 
 
127 
 
 "Now, Sir, as he don't condescend to tell me, what 
 is this?" 
 
 Steerforth evaded the question for a little while ; looking 
 in scorn and anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I 
 could not help thinking even in that interval, I remember, 
 what a noble fellow he was in appearance, and how homely 
 and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him. 
 
 "What did he mean by talking about favourites, then I" 
 said Steerforth at length. 
 
 "Favourites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins 
 in his forehead swelling quickly. "Who talked about 
 favourites?" 
 
 "He did," said Steerforth. 
 
 "And pray, what did you mean by that. Sir?" demanded 
 !Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant. 
 
 "Imeant, Mr. Creakle," he returned in a low voice, "as 
 I said ; that no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position 
 of favouritism to degrade me." 
 
 "To degrade 7/ow?" said Mr. Creakle. "My stars! But 
 give me leave to ask you , iMr. What's-your-name ; " and here 
 Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane and all, upon liis chest, 
 and made such a knot of his brows that his little eyes were 
 hardly visible below them; "whether, when you talk about 
 favourites, you showed proper respect tome? Tome, Sir," 
 said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly, and 
 drawing it back again, "the principal of this establishment, 
 and your employer." 
 
 "It was not judicious. Sir, I am willing to admit," 
 said Mr. Mell. "I should not have done so, if I had been 
 cool." 
 
 Here Steerforth struck in. 
 
 "Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, 
 and then 1 called him a beggar If /had been cool, perhaps 
 
128 
 
 I shouldn't have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am 
 ready to take the consequences of it." 
 
 Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any 
 consequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this 
 gallant speech. It made an impression on the boys too, 
 for there was a low stir among them, though no one spoke 
 A word. 
 
 "I am surprised, Steerforth — although your candor 
 does you honour," said Mr. Creakle, "does you honour, 
 certainly — I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you 
 should attach such an epithet to any person employed and 
 paid in Salem House, Sir." 
 
 Steerforth gave a short laugh. 
 
 "That's not an answer, Sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to 
 my remark. I expect more than that, from you, Steer- 
 forth." 
 
 If Mr. Mell looked homely, in my eyes , before the hand- 
 some boy , it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. 
 Creakle looked. 
 
 " Let him deny it ," said Steerforth. 
 
 "Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Mr. 
 Creakle. " Why , where does he go a begging?" 
 
 "If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one,'* 
 said Steerforth. "It 's all the same." 
 
 He glanced at me, and Mr. Mell's hand gently patted me 
 upon the shoulder. I looked up, with a flush upon my face 
 and remorse in my heart, but Mr. Mell's eyes were fixed on 
 Steerforth. He continued to pat me kindly on the shoulder, 
 but he looked at him. 
 
 "Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," 
 said Steerforth, "and to say what I mean, — what I have 
 to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an alms- 
 house." 
 
129 
 
 Mr. Mell still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on 
 the shoulder, and said to himself, in a whisper, if I heard 
 right: "Yes, Ithoughtso.*' 
 
 Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant, with a severe frown 
 and laboured politeness. 
 
 "Now, you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. MeU. 
 Have the goodness, if you please , to set him right before the 
 assembled school." 
 
 "He is right. Sir, without correction," returned Mr. 
 Mell, in the midst of a dead silence; "what he has said, is 
 true." 
 
 "Be so good then as declare publicly, will you," said Mr. 
 Creakle, putting his head on one side, and rolling his eyes 
 round the school, "whether it ever came to my knowledge 
 until this moment? " 
 
 "I believe not directly," he returned. 
 
 "Why, you know not," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, 
 man?" 
 
 "I apprehend you never supposed my worldly circum- 
 stances to be verj- good," replied the assistant. "You know 
 what my position is, and always has been, here." 
 
 "I apprehend, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, 
 with his veins swelling again bigger than ever, "that you 've 
 been in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for a 
 charity school. Mr. Mell, we '11 part If you please. The 
 sooner the better." 
 
 "There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the 
 present." 
 
 "Sir, toyoul" said Mr. Creakle. 
 
 "I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," 
 
 faidMr. Mell, glancing round the room, and again patting 
 
 me gently on the shoulder. "James Steerforth , the best 
 
 wish I can leave you Is that you may come to be ashamed of 
 
 David Copperftcl'l. 1. » 
 
130 
 
 what you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to see 
 you anything rather than a friend, to me, or to any one in 
 whom I feel an interest." 
 
 Once more he laid his hand upon my shoulder; and then 
 taking his flute and a few books from his desk, and leaving 
 the key in it for his successor, he went out of the school, with 
 his property under his arm. Mr. Creakle then made a speech, 
 through Tungay , in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting 
 (though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respecta- 
 bility of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking 
 hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers — I did 
 not quite know what for, but I supposed for Steerforth , and 
 so joined in them ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. 
 Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in 
 tears, instead of cheers, on account of Mr. Mell's departure ; 
 and went back to his sofa, or his bed, or wherever he had 
 come from. 
 
 We were left to ourselves now, and looked very blank, I 
 recollect, on one another. For myself, I felt so much self- 
 reproach and contrition for my part in what had happened, 
 that nothing would have enabled me to keep back my tears 
 but the fear that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I saw, 
 might think it unfriendly — or, I should rather say, consi- 
 dering our relative ages, and the feeling with which I regarded 
 him, undutiful — if I showed the emotion which distressed 
 me. He was very angry with Traddles, and said he was glad 
 he had caught it. 
 
 Poor Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his 
 head upon the desk, and was relieving himself as usual with 
 a burst of skeletons, said he didn't care. Mr. Mell was 
 ill-used. 
 
 "Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth. 
 
 "Why, you have," returned Traddles. 
 
131 
 
 "What have I done?" said Steerforth. 
 
 "What have you done?" retorted Traddles. "Hurt his 
 feelings, and lost him his situation." 
 
 "His feelings!" repeated Steerforth disdainfully. "His 
 feelings will soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His 
 feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situa- 
 tion — which was a precious one, wasn't it? — do you suppose 
 I am not going to write home, and take care that he gets some 
 money? Polly?" 
 
 We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose 
 mother was a widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, 
 it was said, that he asked her. We were aU extremely glad 
 to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the 
 skies: especially when he told us, as he condescended to do, 
 that what he had done had been done expressly for us, and 
 for our cause ; and that he had conferred a great boon upon 
 us by unselfishly doing it. 
 
 But I must say that when I was going on with a story in the 
 dark that night, Mr. Mell's old flute seemed more than once 
 to sound mournfully in my ears; and that when at last Steer- 
 forth was tired, and I lay down in my bed, I fancied it playing 
 so sorrowfully somewhere , that I was quite wretched. 
 
 I soon forgot him in the contemplation of Steerforth, who, 
 in an easy amateur way, and without any book (he seemed to 
 me to know everything by heart), took some of his classes 
 until a new master was found. The new master came from a 
 grammar-school; and before he entered on his duties, dined 
 in the parlour one day to be introduced to Steerforth. Steer- 
 forth approved of him highly, and told us he was a Brick. 
 Without exactly understanding what learned distinction was 
 meant by this, I respected him greatly for it, and had no 
 doubt whatever of his superior knowledge: though he never 
 
132 
 
 took the pains with me — not that / was anybody — that Mr. 
 Mell had taken. 
 
 There was only one other event in this half-year, out of 
 the daily school-life, that made an impression on me which 
 still survives. It survives for many reasons. 
 
 One afternoon, when we were all harassed into a state of 
 dire confusion, and Mr. Creakle was laying about him dread- 
 fully, Tungay came in, and called out in his usual strong 
 way : "Visitors for Copperfield ! ' ' 
 
 A few words were interchanged between him and Mr. 
 Creakle, as, who the visitors were , and what room they were 
 to be shown into; and then I, who had, according to custom, 
 stood up on the announcement being made, and felt quite 
 faint with astonishment, was told to go by the back stairs and 
 get a clean frill on, before I repaired to the dining-room. 
 These orders I obeyed, in such a flutter and hurry of my 
 young spirits as I had never known before; and when I got 
 to the parlour-door, and the thought came into my head that it 
 might be my mother — I had only thought of Mr. or Miss 
 Murdstone until then — I drew back my hand from the lock, 
 and stopped to have a sob before I went in. 
 
 At first I saw nobody; but feeling a pressure against the 
 door, I looked round it, and there, to my amazement, were 
 Mr. Peggotty and Ham , ducking at me with their hats , and 
 squeezing one another against the wall. I could not help 
 laughing; but it was much more in the pleasure of seeing 
 them, than at the appearance they made. We shook hands 
 in a very cordial way; and I laughed and laughed, until I 
 pulled out my pocket-handkerchief and wiped my eyes. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty (who never shut his mouth once, I remem- 
 ber, during the visit) showed great concern when he saw me 
 do this , and nudged Ham to say something. 
 
133 
 
 " Cheer up , Mas*r Davy bo' ! '* said Ham , in his simpering 
 way. "Why, how youhavegrowedl" 
 
 " Am I grown ? " I said , drj-ing my eyes. I was not crying 
 at anything particular that I know of; but somehow it made 
 me cry to see old friends. 
 
 "Growed, Mas 'r Davy bo'? Ain't he growed!" said 
 Ham. 
 
 "Ain't he growed I " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 They made me laugh again by laughing at each other, 
 and then we all three laughed until I was in danger of crying 
 again. 
 
 "Do you know how Mama is, Mr. Peggotty? '* I said. 
 "And how my dear, dear, old Peggotty is?" 
 
 "Oncommon," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 . "And little Em'ly, and Mrs. Gummidge?" 
 
 " On — common ," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 
 There was a silence. Mr. Peggotty, to relieve it, took 
 two prodigious lobsters, and an enormous crab, and a large 
 canvas bag of shrimps, out of his pockets, and piled them up 
 in Ham's arms. 
 
 "You see," said Mr. Peggotty, "knowing as you was 
 partial to a little relish with your wittles when you was along 
 >vith us, we took the liberty. The old Mawther biled 'em, 
 she did. Mrs. Gummidge biled 'em. Yes," said Mr. Peg- 
 gotty slowly, who I thought appeared to stick to the subject 
 on account of having no other subject ready, "Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, I do assure you, she biled 'em." 
 
 I expressed my thanks; and Mr. Peggotty, after looking 
 at Ham, who stood smiling sheepishly over the shell-fish, 
 without making any attempt to help him , said : 
 
 "We come, you see, the wind and tide making in our 
 favour, in one of our Yarmouth lugs to Gravesen'. My sister 
 she wrote to me the name of this here place, and wrote to me 
 
134 
 
 as if ever I chanced to come to Gravcsen', 1 was to come over 
 and inquire for Mas'r Davy and give her dooty, humbly 
 wishing him well and reporting of the fam'ly as they was on- 
 common toe-be-sure. Little Em'ly, you see, she 'II write to 
 my sister when I go back, as I see you and as you was similarly 
 oncommon, and so we make it quite a merry-go-rounder.'* 
 
 I was obliged to consider a little before I understood what 
 Mr. Peggotty meant by this figure , expressive of a complete 
 circle of intelligence. I then thanked him heartily; and said, 
 ivith a consciousness of reddening, that I supposed Little 
 Em'ly was altered too, since we used to pick up shells and 
 pebbles on the beach? 
 
 " She 's getting to be a woman, that 's wot she 's getting to 
 be," said Mr. Peggotty. "Ask him." 
 
 He meant Ham, who beamed with delight and assent over 
 the bag of shrimps. 
 
 "Her pretty face!" said Mr. Peggotty, with his own 
 shining like a light. 
 
 "Her learning! " said Ham. 
 
 "Her writing!" said Mr. Peggotty. "Why, it 's as black 
 as jet! And so large it is, you might see it anywheres." 
 
 It was perfectly delightful to behold with what enthusiasm 
 Mr. Peggotty became inspired when he thought of his little 
 favourite. He stands before me again, his bluff hairy face 
 irradiating with a joyful love and pride, for which I can find 
 no description. His honest eyes fire up, and sparkle, as if 
 their depths were stirred by something bright. His broad 
 chest heaves with pleasure. His strong loose hands clench 
 themselves, in his earnestness; and he emphasises what he 
 says with a right arm that shows, in my pigmy view, like a 
 sledge hammer. 
 
 Ham was quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would 
 have said much more about her, if they had not been abashed 
 
1S5 
 
 by the unexpected coming in of Steerforth , who, seeing me 
 in a corner speaking with two strangers, stopped in a song he 
 was singing, and said: "I didn't know rou Avere here, young 
 Copperfield!" (for it was not the usual visiting room), and 
 crossed by us on his way out. 
 
 I am not sure whether it was In the pride of having such a 
 friend as Steerforth, or in the desire to explain to him howl 
 came to have such a friend as Mr. Peggotty, 'hat I called to 
 him as he was going away. But I said, modestly — Good 
 Heaven, how it all comes back to me this long time after- 
 wards! — 
 
 "Don't go, Steerforth, If you please. These are two 
 Yarmouth boatmen — very kind, good people — who are 
 relations of my nurse, and have come from Gravesend to 
 see me." 
 
 *'Aye, aye?" said Steerforth, returning. "I am glad to 
 see them. How are you both?" 
 
 There was an ease in his manner — a gay and light manner 
 it was, but not swaggering — which I still believe to have 
 borne a kind of enchantment with it. I still believe him, in 
 virtue of this carriage, his animal spirits , his delightful voice, 
 his handsome face and figure, and, for aught I know, of 
 some mbom power of attraction besides (which 1 think a few 
 people possess), to have carried a spell with him to which it 
 was a natural weakness to yield, and which not many persons 
 could withstand. I could not but see how pleased they were 
 with him, and how they seemed to open their hearts to him in 
 a moment. 
 
 "You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr. 
 Peggotty," I said, "when that letter is sent, that Mr. Steer- 
 forth is ven,' kind to me, and that I don't know what I should 
 ever do here without him.' 
 
136 
 
 "Nonsense I" said Steerforth, laughing. "You mustn't 
 tell them anything of the sort.'* 
 
 "And if Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk or Suffolk, 
 IMr. Peggotty," I said, "while I am there, you may depend 
 upon it I shall bring him to Yarmouth , if he will let me, to sec 
 your house. You never saw such a good house, Steerforth. 
 It 's made out of a boat ! " 
 
 "Made out of a boat, is it?" said Steerforth. "It's the 
 right sort of house for such a thorough-built boatman." 
 
 "So 't is, Sir, so 't is. Sir," said Ham, grinning. "You 're 
 right, young gen'lm'n. Mas'r Davy bo', gen'lm'n 's right. 
 A thorough-built boatman! Hor, hor! That 's what he is, 
 tool" 
 
 Mr. Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though 
 his modesty forbade him to claim a personal compliment so 
 vociferously. 
 
 "Well, Sir," he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking 
 in the ends of his neckerchief at his breast, "I thankee, Sir, 
 I thankee! I do my endeavours in my line of life. Sir." 
 
 "The best of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty," said 
 Steerforth. He had got his name already. 
 
 "I '11 pound it, it 's wot you do yourself. Sir," said Mr. 
 Peggotty, shaking his head, "and wot you do well — right 
 well! I thankee. Sir. I 'm obleeged to you. Sir, for your 
 welcoming manner of me. I'm rough, Sir, but I'm ready — 
 leastways, 1 hope I''m. ready, you understand. My house 
 ain't much for to see. Sir, but it 's hearty at your service if 
 ever you should come along with Mas'r Davy to see it. I 'm a 
 reg'lar Dodman, I am," said Mr. Peggotty; by which he 
 meant snail, and this was in allusion to his being slow to go, 
 for he had attempted to go after every sentence, and had 
 somehow or other come back again; "but I wish you both 
 well, and I wish you happy I " 
 
137 
 
 Ham echoed this sentiment, and we parted with them in the 
 heartiest manner. I was ahuost tempted that evening to tell 
 Steerforth about pretty little Em'ly, but I was too timid of 
 mentioning her name, and too much afraid of his laughing at 
 me. I remember that I thought a good deal , and in an uneasy 
 sort of way, about Mr. Peggotty having said that she was 
 getting on to be a woman; but I decided that was non- 
 sense. 
 
 We transported the shell-fish, or the "relish" as Mr. 
 Peggotty had modestly called it, up into our room unobserved, 
 and made a great supper that evening. But Traddles couldn't 
 get happily out of it. He was too unfortunate even to come 
 through a supper like anybody else. He was taken ill in the 
 night — quite prostrate he was — inconsequence of Crab; 
 and after being drugged with black draughts and blue pills , to 
 an extent which Demple (whose father was a doctor) said was 
 enough to undermine a horse's constitution, received a caning 
 and six chapters of Greek Testament for refusing to confess. 
 
 The rest of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection of 
 the daily strife and struggle of our lives; of the waning 
 summer and the changing season; of the frosty mornings 
 when we were rung out of bed, and the cold, cold smell of the 
 dark nights when we were rung into bed again; of the evening 
 schoolroom dimly lighted and indifferently warmed, and the 
 morning schoolroom which was nothing but a great shivering- 
 machine; of the alternation of boiled beef with roast beef, and 
 boiled mutton with roast mutton; of clods of bread-and- 
 butter, dog's-eared lesson-books, cracked slates, tear-blotted 
 copy-books, canings, rulerings, hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, 
 suet puddings, and a dirty atmosphere of ink surround- 
 ing all. 
 
 I well remember though, how the distant idea of the 
 holidays , after seeming for an immense time to be a stationary 
 
138 
 
 speck, began to come towards us, and to grow and grow. 
 How, from counting months, we came to weeks, and then to 
 days; and howl then began to be afraid that I should not be 
 sent for, and, when I learnt from Steerforth that I had been 
 sent for and was certainly to go home, had dim forebodings 
 that I might break my leg first. How the breaking-up day 
 changed its place fast, at last, from the week after next to next 
 week, this week, the day after to-morrow, to-morrow, to 
 day, to-night — when I was inside the Yarmouth mail, and 
 going home. 
 
 I had many a broken sleep inside the Yarmouth mail, and 
 many an incoherent dream of all these things. But when I 
 awoke at intervals, the ground outside the window was not the 
 playground of Salem House, and the sound in my ears was not 
 the sound of Mr. Creakle giving it to Traddles, but the sound 
 of the coachman touching up the horses. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 My holidays. Especially one happy afternoon. 
 
 When we arrived before day at the inn where the mail 
 stopped, which was not the inn where my friend the waiter 
 lived, I was shown up to a nice little bedroom, with Dolphin 
 painted on the door. Very cold I was I know, notwithstanding 
 the hot tea they had given me before a large lire down-stairs; 
 and very glad I was to turn into the Dolphin's bed, pull the 
 Dolphin's blankets round my head, and go to sleep. 
 
 Mr. Barkis the carrier was to call for me in the morning at 
 nine o'clock. I got up at eight, a little giddy from the short- 
 ness of my night's rest, and was ready for him before the ap- 
 pointed time. He received me exactly as if not live minutes 
 had elapsed since we were last together, and I had only been 
 into the hotel to get change for sixpence, or something of 
 that sort. 
 
 As soon as I and my box were in the cart, and the carrier 
 seated, the lazy horse walked away with us all at his accus- 
 tomed pace. 
 
 "You look very well, Mr. Barkis," I said, thinking he 
 would like to know it. 
 
 Mr. Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then looked 
 at his cuff as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon it; 
 but made no other acknowledgment of the compliment. 
 
 "I gave your message, Mr, Barkis," I said; "I wrote to 
 Peggotty." 
 
 "Ah 1 '* said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Mr. Barkis seemed gruff, and answered drily. 
 
 "Wasn't it right, Mr. Barkis?" I asked, after a little 
 hesitation. 
 
140 
 
 "Why , no , " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 "Not the message? " 
 
 "The message was right enough, perhaps," said Mr. 
 Barkis ; " but it come to an end there. " 
 
 Not understanding what he meant, I repeated inquisitively: 
 "Came to an end, Mr. Barkis?'* 
 
 "Nothing come of it," he explained, looking at me side- 
 ways. " No answer. " 
 
 "There was an answer expected, was there, Mr. Barkis?" 
 said I, opening my eyes. For this was a new light to me. 
 
 "When a man says he 's willin'," said Mr. Barkis, turning 
 his glance slowly on me again, "it 's as much as to say, that 
 man 's a waitin' for a answer. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Barkis?" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Barkis, carrying his eyes back to his 
 horse's ears; "that man 's been a waitin' for a answer ever 
 since. " 
 
 "Have you told her so. Mr. Barkis? " 
 
 "N— no," growled Mr. Barkis, reflecting about it. "I 
 ain't got no call to go and tell her so. I never said six words 
 to her myself. / ain't a goin' to tell her so. " 
 
 "Would you like me to do it, Mr. Barkis?" said 1, doubt- 
 fuUy. 
 
 "You might tell her, if you would," said Mr. Barkis, with 
 another slow look at me, "that Barkis was a waitin' for a an* 
 gwer. Says you — what name is it?" 
 
 "Her name?" 
 
 "Ah 1 " said Mr. Barkis, with a nod of his head. 
 
 "Peggotty." 
 
 " Chrisen name? Or nat'ral name?" said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 "Oh, it 's not her christian name. Her christian name is 
 Clara." 
 
 "Is it though ! " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
141 
 
 He seemed to find an Immense fund of reflection in this 
 circumstance, and sat pondering and Inwardly whistling for 
 some time. 
 
 "Well!" he resumed at length. "Says you, 'Peggottyl 
 Barkis is a waitin' for a answer.' Says she, perhaps, 'Answer 
 to what?' Says you, 'To what I told you.' 'What is that?' 
 says she. 'Barkis is willin',' says you." 
 
 This extremely artful suggestion, Mr. Barkis accompanied 
 with a nudge of his elbowthat gave me quite a stitch in my side. 
 After that, he slouched over his horse in his usual manner; and 
 made no other reference to the subject except, half an hour 
 afterwards, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, and writing 
 up, inside the tilt of the cart, " Clara Pcggotty " — apparently 
 as a private memorandum. 
 
 Ah, what a strange feeling It was to be going home when it 
 was not home, and to find that ever}- object I looked at, re- 
 minded me of the happy old home, which was Uke a dream I 
 could never dream again 1 The days when my mother and I 
 and Peggotty were all in all to one another, and there was no 
 one to come between us, rose up before me so sorrowfully on 
 the road, that I am not sure I was glad to be there — not sure 
 but that 1 would rather have remained away, and forgotten it in 
 Steerforth's company. But there I was ; and soon I was at our 
 house, where the bare old elm trees wrung their many hands in 
 the bleak wintry air, and shreds of the old rooks' nests drifted 
 away upon the wind. 
 
 The carrier put my box down at the garden gate, and left 
 me. I walked along the path towards the house, glancing at the 
 windows, and fearing at every step to see Mr. Murdstone or 
 Miss Murdstone lowering out of one of them. No face ap- 
 peared, however; and being come to the house, and knowing 
 how to open the door, before dark, without knocking, Iwent in 
 with a quiet, timid step. 
 
142 
 
 God knows how infantine the memory may have been, that 
 was awakened within me by the sound of my mother's voice in 
 the old parlour, when I set foot in the hall. She was singing in a 
 low tone. I think I must have lain in her arms , and heard her 
 singing so to me when I was but a baby. The strain was new to' 
 me, and yet it was so old that it filled my heart brim-full; like a 
 friend come back from a long absence. 
 
 I believed, from the solitary and thoughtful way In which 
 my mother murmured her song, that she was alone. And I 
 went softly into the room. She was sitting by the fire, suckling 
 an infant, whose tiny hand she held against her neck. Her eyes 
 were looking down upon its face, and she sat singing to it. I 
 was so far right, that she had no other companion. 
 
 I spoke to her, and she started, and cried out. But seeing 
 me, she called me her dear Davy, her own boy! and coming 
 half across the room to meet me, kneeled down upon the 
 ground and kissed me, and laid my head down on her bosom 
 near the little creature that was nestling there, and put its hand 
 up to my lips. 
 
 I wish I had died. I wish I had died then, with that feeling 
 in my heart I I should have been more fit for Heaven than I 
 ever have been since. 
 
 "He is your brother," said my mother, fondling me. "Davy, 
 my pretty boyl My poor child!" Then she kissed me more 
 and more, and clasped me round the neck. This she was 
 doing when Peggotty came running in , and bounced down on 
 the ground beside us, and went mad about us both for a 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 It seemed that I had not been expected so soon, the carrier 
 being much before his usual time. It seemed, too, that Mr. 
 and Miss Murdstone had gone out upon a visit in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and would not return before night. I had never 
 hoped for this. I had never thought it possible that we three 
 
143 
 
 could be logether undisturbed, once more; and 1 felt, for the 
 time, as if the old days were come back. 
 
 We dined together by the fireside. Peggotty was in atten- 
 dance to wait upon us, but my mother wouldn't let her do it, 
 and made her dine with us. I had my own old plate , with a 
 brown view of a man-of-war in full sail upon it, which Peggotty 
 had hoarded somewhere all the time I had been away, and 
 would not have had broken, she said, for a hundred pounds. I 
 had my own old mug with David on it, and my own old httle 
 knife and fork that wouldn't cut. 
 
 While wc were at table, I thought it a favourable occasion 
 to tell Peggotty about Mr. Barkis, who, before I had finished 
 what 1 had to tell her, began to laugh, and threw her apron 
 over her face. 
 
 "Peggotty!" said my mother. "What 's the matter?" 
 
 Peggotty only laughed the more, and held her apron tight 
 over her face when my mother tried to pull it away, and sat as if 
 her head were in a bag. 
 
 "What are you doing, you stupid creature?" said my 
 mother, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, drat the man!" cried Peggotty. "He wants to 
 roarry me." 
 
 "It would be a very good match for you; wouldn't it? "said 
 my mother. 
 
 "Oh I I don't know," said Peggotty. "Don't ask me. I 
 wouldn't have him if he was made of gold. Nor I wouldn't 
 have anybody." 
 
 "Then, why don't you tell him so, you ridiculous thing?" 
 said my mother. 
 
 "Tell him so," retorted Peggotty, looking out of her a})ron. 
 " He has never said a word to me about it. He knows better. If 
 he was to make so bold as say a word to me, I should slap his 
 face." 
 
144 
 
 Her own was as red as ever I saw it, or any other face, I 
 think; but she only covered it again, for a few moments at 
 a time, when she was taken with a violent fit of laughter; 
 and after two or three of those attacks, went on with her 
 dinner. 
 
 I remarked that my mother, though she smiled when Peg- 
 gotty looked at her, became more serious and thoughtful. I 
 had seen at first that she was changed. Her face was very 
 pretty still, but it looked careworn, and too delicate ; and her 
 hand was so thin and white that it seemed to me to be almost 
 transparent. But the change to which I now refer was super- 
 added to this: it was in her manner, which became anxious and 
 fluttered. At last she said, putting out her hand , and laying it 
 affectionately on the hand of her old servant, 
 
 "Peggotty, dear, you are not going to be married? " 
 
 " Me , Ma'am ? " returned Peggotty, staring. " Lord bless 
 you, no!" 
 
 "Not just yet? " said my mother, tenderly. 
 
 "Never! " cried Peggotty. 
 
 My mother took her hand, and said: 
 
 "Don't leave me, Peggotty. Stay with me. It will not be 
 for long , perhaps. What should I ever do without you ! " 
 
 "Me leave you, my precious ! "cried Peggotty. "Not for all 
 the world and his wife. Why, what 's put that in your silly little 
 head?" — For Peggotty had been used of old to talk to my 
 mother sometimes like a child. 
 
 But my mother made no answer, except to thank her, and 
 Peggotty went running on in her own fashion. 
 
 "Me leave you? I think I see myself. Peggotty go away 
 from you? I should like to catch her at it! No, no, no," said 
 Peggotty, shaking her head, and folding her arms; "not she, 
 my dear. It isn't that there ain't some Cats that would be well 
 enough pleased if she did, but they shan't be pleased. They 
 
145 
 
 sliall be aggravated. I '11 stay with you till I am a cross cranky 
 old woman. And when I 'm too deaf, and too lame, and too 
 blind, and too mumbly for want of teeth, to be of any use at all, 
 even to be found fault with, then I shall go to my Davy, and ask 
 him to take me in." 
 
 "And, Peggotty," says I, "I shall be glad to see you, and 
 I '11 make you as welcome as a queen." 
 
 "Bless your dear heartl" cried Peggotty. "I know you 
 will!" And she kissed me beforehand, in grateful acknow- 
 ledgment of my hospitality. After that, she covered her head 
 up with her apron again, and had another laugh about Mr. 
 Barkis. After that, she took the baby out of its little cradle, 
 and nursed it. After that, she cleared the dinner-table; after 
 that, came in with another cap on , and her work-box, and the 
 yard-measure, and the bit of wax candle, all just the same 
 as ever. 
 
 We sat round the fire, and talked delightfully. I told them 
 what a hard master Mr. Creakle was, and they pitied me very 
 much. I tcld them what a fine fellow Steerforth was, and what 
 a patron of mine, and Peggotty said she would walk a score of 
 miles to see him. I took the little baby in my arms when it was 
 awake, and nursed it lovingly. When it was asleep again, I 
 crept close to my mother's side according to my old custom, 
 broken now a long time, and sat with my arms embracing her 
 waist, and my little red cheek on her shoulder, and once more 
 felt her beautiful hair drooping over me — like an angel's 
 wing as I used to think, I recollect — and was very happy 
 indeed. 
 
 While I sat thus, looking at the fire, and seeing pictures in 
 
 the red-hot coals, I almost believed that I had never been 
 
 away; that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were such pictures, and 
 
 would vanish when the fire got low; and that there was 
 
 Daviu Coii}>er(icld.l. 10 
 
146 
 
 nothing real in all that I remembered, save my mother, Peg- 
 gotty, and I. 
 
 Peggotty darned away at a stocking as long as she could 
 see, and then sat with it drawn on her left hand like a glove, 
 and her needle in her right, ready to take another stitch when- 
 ever there was a blaze. I cannot conceive whose stockings 
 they can have been that Peggotty was always darning, or 
 where such an unfailing supply of stockings in want of darning 
 can have come from. From my earliest infancy she seems to 
 have been always employed in that class of needlework, and 
 never by any chance in any other. 
 
 "I wonder," said Peggotty, who was sometimes seized with 
 a fit of wondering on some most unexpected topic, "what's be- 
 come of Davy's great-aunt?" 
 
 "Lor, Peggotty I" observed my mother, rousing herself 
 from a reverie, "what nonsense you talk 1 " 
 
 "Well, but I really do wonder, Ma'am," said Peggotty. 
 
 "What can have put such a person in your head ?" inquired 
 my mother. "Is there nobody else in the world to come 
 there?" 
 
 "I don't know how it is," said Peggotty, "unless it's on ac- 
 count of being stupid, but my head never can pick and choose 
 its people. They come and they go, and they don't come and 
 they don't go, just as they like. I wonder what 's become of 
 her?" 
 
 "How absurd you are, Peggotty," returned my mother. 
 " One would suppose you wanted a second visit from her." 
 
 "Lord forbid! " cried Peggotty. 
 
 "Well then, don't talk about such uncomfortable things, 
 there 's a good soul," said my mother. "Miss Betsey is shut up 
 in her cottage by the sea, no doubt, and will remain there. At 
 all events, she is not likely ever to trouble us again." 
 
14: 
 
 "Nol " mused Pcggotty. ''No, that ain't likely at all. — 1 
 wonder, if she was to die, whether she'd leave Davy any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Good gracious me, Pcggotty," returned my mother, 
 "what a nonsensical woman you are I when you know that 
 she took offence at the poor dear boy's ever being born 
 at all!" 
 
 "I suppose she wouldn't be inclined to forgive him now," 
 hinted Peggotty. 
 
 " Why should she be inclined to forgive him now? " said my 
 mother, rather sharply. 
 
 "Now that he 's got a brother, I mean," said Peggotty. 
 
 My mother immediately began to cry, and wondered how 
 Peggotty dared to say such a thing. 
 
 "As if this poor little innocent in its cradle had ever done 
 any harm to you or anybody else, you jealous thing!" said she. 
 " You had much better go and marry Mr. Barkis , the carrier. 
 Why don't you?" 
 
 "I should make Miss Murdstone happy, if I was to," said 
 Peggotty. 
 
 "What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty!' returned 
 my mother. "You are as jealous of Miss Murdstone as it is 
 possible for a ridiculous creature to be. You want to keep the 
 keys yourself, and give out all the things, I suppose? I 
 shouldn't be surprised if you did. When you know that she 
 only does it out of kindness and the best intentions ! You know 
 she does, Peggotty — you know it well." 
 
 Peggotty muttered something to the effect of "Bother the 
 best intentions!" and something else to the effect that there 
 was a little too much of the best intentions going on. 
 
 *' I know what you mean, you cross thing," said my mother. 
 "I understand you, Peggotty, perfectly. You know I do, 
 and I wonder you 'don't colour up like fire. But one point at a 
 
 10' 
 
148 
 
 time. Miss Murdstone is the point now, Peggotty, and you 
 sha'n't escape from it. Haven't you heard her say, over 
 and over again, that she thinks I am too thoughtless and 
 too — a — a — '* 
 
 "Pretty/* suggested Peggotty. 
 
 "Well," returned my mother, half laughing, "and if she 
 Is so silly as to say so , can I be blamed for it ? " 
 
 "No one says you can," said Peggotty. 
 
 "No, I should hope not, Indeed!" returned my mother. 
 "Haven't you heard her say, over and over again, that on 
 this account she wishes to spare me a great deal of trouble, 
 which she thinks I am not suited for, and which I really don't 
 know myself that I am suited for; and isn't she up early and 
 late, and going to and fro continually — and doesn't she do all 
 sorts of things, and grope into all sorts of places, coal-holes 
 and pantries and I don't know where, that can't be very 
 agreeable — and do you mean to insinuate that there is not a 
 sort of devotion In that? '* 
 
 "I don't Insinuate at all," said Peggotty. 
 
 "You do, Peggotty," returned my mother. "You never 
 do anything else, except your work. You are always in- 
 sinuating. You revel in it. And when you talk of Mr. 
 Murdstone's good Intentions — " 
 
 "I never talked of *em," said Peggotty. 
 
 "No, Peggotty,'* returned my mother, "but you in- 
 sinuated. That 's what I told you just now. That *s the 
 worst of you. You will insinuate. I said, at the moment, 
 that I understood you, and you see I did. When you talk of 
 Mr. Murdstone's good intentions, and pretend to slight them 
 (for I don't believe you really do, in your heart, Peggotty), 
 you must be as well convinced as I am how good they are, and 
 how they actuate him In everything. If he seems to have been 
 at all stern with a certain person, Peggotty — you understands 
 
149 
 
 nnd so I am sure does Davy, that 1 am not alluding to any body 
 present — it is solely because he is satisfied that it is for a 
 certain person's benefit. He naturally loves a certain person, 
 on my account; and acts solely for a certain person's good. 
 He is better able to judge of it than I am; fori very well know 
 that I am a weak, light, girlish creature, and that he is a firm, 
 grave, serious man. And he takes," said my mother, with 
 the tears which were engendered in her affectionate nature, 
 stealing down her face, "he takes great pains with me; and I 
 ought to be very thankful to him , and yery submissive to him 
 even in my thoughts ; and when I am not, Peggotty, I worry 
 and condemn myself , and feel doubtful of my own heart, and 
 don't know what to do." 
 
 Peggotty sat with her chin on the foot of the stocking, 
 looking silently at the fire. 
 
 "There, Peggotty," said my mother, changing her tone, 
 "don't let us fall out with one another, for I couldn't bear it. 
 You are my true friend, I know, if I have any in the world. 
 When I call you a ridiculous creature , or a vexatious thing, or 
 anything of that sort, Peggotty, 1 only mean that you are my 
 true friend, and always have been, ever since the night when 
 Mr. Copperfield first brought me home here, and you came 
 out to the gate to meet me." 
 
 Peggotty was not slow to respond, and ratified the treaty 
 of friendship by giving me one of her best hugs. I think I had 
 some glimpses of the real character of this conversation at the 
 time; but I am sure, now, that the good creature originated 
 it, and took her part in it, merely that my mother might com- 
 fort herself with the little contradictory summary in which she 
 had indulged. The design was efficacious; for I remember 
 that my mother seemed more at ease during the rest of the 
 evening, and that Peggotty observed her less. 
 
150 
 
 When we had had our tea, and the ashes were thrown up, 
 and the candles snuffed, I read Peggotty a chapter out of the 
 Crocodile Book, in remembrance of old times — she took it 
 out of her pocket : I don't know whether she had kept it there 
 ever since — and then we talked about Salem House, which 
 brought me round again to Steerforth, who was my great 
 subject. We were very happy; and that evening, as the last 
 of its race, and destined evermore to close that volume of my 
 life, will never pass out of my memory. 
 
 It was almost ten o'clock before we heard the sound of 
 wheels. We all got up then; and my mother said hurriedly 
 that, as it was so late, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone approved 
 of early hours for young people, perhaps I had better go to 
 bed. I kissed her, and went up-stairs with my candle directly, 
 before they came in. It appeared to my childish fancy, as I 
 ascended to the bedroom where I had been imprisoned, that 
 they brought a cold blast of air into the house which blew 
 away the old familiar feeling like a feather. 
 
 I felt uncomfortable about going down to breakfast in the 
 morning, as I had never set eyes on Mr. Murdstone since the 
 day when I committed my memorable offence. However, as 
 it must be done, I went down, after two or three false starts 
 half-way, and as many runs back on tiptoe to my own room, 
 and presented myself in the parlour. 
 
 He was standing before the fire with his back to it, while 
 Miss Murdstone made the tea. He looked at me steadily as I 
 entered, but made no sign of recognition whatever. 
 
 I went up to him, after a moment of confusion, and said: 
 "I beg your pardon. Sir. I am very sorry for what I did, and 
 I hope you will forgive me.'* 
 
 "I am glad to hear you are sorry, David," he replied. 
 
 The hand lie gave me was the hand I had bitten. I could 
 not restrain my eye from resting for an instant on a red spot 
 
151 
 
 upon it; but it was not so red as I turned, when I met that 
 sinister expression in his face. 
 
 "Hot do you do, Ma'am," I said to Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "Ah, dear me!" sighed Miss Murdstone, giving me the 
 tea-caddy scoop instead of her fingers. "How long are the 
 holidays?" 
 
 "A month, Ma'am." 
 
 "Counting from when?" 
 
 "From to-day, Ma'am." 
 
 "Oh!" said Miss Murdstone. "Then here 's one 
 day off.'* 
 
 She kept a calendar of the holidays in this way, and every 
 morning checked a day off in exactly the same manner. She 
 did it gloomily until she came to ten, but when she got into 
 two figures she became more hopeful, and, as the time ad- 
 vanced, even jocular. 
 
 It was on this very first day that I had the misfortune to 
 throw her, though she was not subject to such weaknesses in 
 general, into a state of violent consternation. I came into the 
 room where she and my mother were sitting; and the baby 
 (who was only a few weeks old) being on my mother's lap, I 
 took it very carefully in my arms. Suddenly Miss Murdstone 
 gave such a scream that I all but dropped it. 
 
 "My dear Jane ! " cried my mother. 
 
 "Good heavens, Clara, do you see?" exclaimed Miss 
 Murdstone. 
 
 "See what, my dear Jane?" said my mother; "where?" 
 
 "He 's got it 1 " cried Miss Murdstone. " The boy has got 
 the baby!" 
 
 She was limp with horror; but stiffened herself to make a 
 dart at me, and take it out of my arms. Then, she turned 
 faint; and was so very ill, that they were obliged to give her 
 cherrj'-brandy. I was solemnly interdicted by her, on her 
 
152 
 
 recovery, from touching my brother any more on any pretence 
 whatever; and my poor mother, who, I could see, wished 
 otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict, by saying: "No 
 doubt you are right, my dear Jane." 
 
 On another occasion, when we three were together, this 
 same dear baby — it was truly dear to me, for our mother's 
 sake — was the innocent occasion of MissMurdstone's going 
 into a passion. My mother, who had been looking at its eyes 
 as it lay upon her lap , said: 
 
 "Davy! come here 1" and looked at mine. 
 
 I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down. 
 
 "I declare," said my mother, gently, "they are exactly 
 alike. I suppose they are mine. I think they are the colour of 
 mine. But they are wonderfully alike." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Clara?" said Miss Murd- 
 stone. 
 
 "My dear Jane," faltered my mother, a little abashed by 
 the harsh tone of this inquiry, "I find that the baby's eyes and 
 Davy's are exactly alike." 
 
 "Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, rising angrily, "you are 
 a positive fool sometimes." 
 
 "My dear Jane ," remonstrated my mother. 
 
 "A positive fool," said Miss Murdstone. "Who else 
 could compare my brother's baby with your boy? They are 
 not at all alike. They are exactly unlike. They are utterly 
 dissimilar in all respects. I hope they will ever remain 
 so. I will not sit here, and hear such comparisons made." 
 With that she stalked out, and made the door bang after 
 her. 
 
 In short, I was not a favourite with Miss Murdstone. In 
 short, I was not a favourite there with anybody, not even with 
 myself; for those who did like me could not show it, and those 
 who did not, showed it so plainly that I had a sensitive 
 
153 
 
 consciousness of always appearing constrained, boorish, 
 and dull. 
 
 I felt that I made them as uncomfortable as they made me 
 If I came into the room where they were, and they were talk- 
 ing together and my mother seemed cheerful, an anxious 
 cloud woald steal over her face from the moment of my en- 
 trance. If Mr. Murdstone were in his best humour, I checked 
 him. If Miss Murdstone were in her worst, I intensified it. 
 I had perception enough to know that my mother was the 
 victim always ; that she was afraid to speak to me or be kind to 
 me, lest she should give them some offence by her manner of 
 doing 80, and receive a lecture afterwards; that she was not 
 only ceaselessly afraid of her own offending, but of my of- 
 fending, and uneasily watched their looks If I only moved. 
 Therefore I resolved to keep myself as much out of their way 
 as I could; and many a wintry hour did I hear the church- 
 clock strike, when I was sitting in my cheerless bedroom, 
 wrapped in my little great-coat, poring over a book. 
 
 In the evening, sometimes, I went and sat with Peggotty 
 In the kitchen. There I was comfortable, and not afraid of 
 being myself. But neither of these resources was approved 
 of In the parlour. The tormenting humour which was dominant 
 there stopped them both. I was still held to be necessary to 
 my poor mother's training, and, as one of her trials, could 
 not be suffered to absent myself. 
 
 "David," said Mr. Murdstone, one day after dinner when 
 I was going to leave the room as usual ; "I am sorry to observe 
 that you are of a sullen disposition." 
 
 "As sulky as a bear! " said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 I stood still, and hung my head. 
 
 "Now, David," said Mr. Murdstone, "a sullen olxlnrate 
 disposition Is, of all tempers, llic worst." 
 
154 
 
 "And the boy's is, of all such dispositions that ever I have 
 seen," remarked his sister, "the most confirmed and 
 stubborn. I think, my dear Clara, even you must ob- 
 serve it?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, my dear Jane," said my mother, 
 "but are you quite sure — I am certain you '11 excuse me, my 
 dear Jane — that you understand Davy ? " 
 
 "I should be somewhat ashamed of myself, Clara," re- 
 turned Miss Murdstone, "if I could not understand the boy, 
 or any boy. I don't profess to be profound; but I do lay 
 claim to common sense." 
 
 "No doubt, my dear Jane," returned my mother, "your 
 understanding Is very vigorous — " 
 
 "Oh dear, nol Pray don't say that, Clara," interposed 
 Miss Murdstone , angrily. 
 
 "But I am sure it is," resumed my mother; "and every- 
 body knows it is. I profit so much by it myself , in many ways 
 — at least I ought to — that no one can be more convinced of 
 it than myself; and therefore I speak with great diffidence, 
 my dear Jane , I assure you." 
 
 " We '11 say I don't understand the boy, Clara," returned 
 Miss Murdstone, arranging the little fetters on her wrists. 
 "We '11 agree, if you please, that I don't understand him at 
 all. He Is much too deep for me. But perhaps my brother's 
 penetration may enable him to have some insight into his 
 character. And I believe my brother was speaking on 
 the subject when we — not very decently — interrupted 
 him." 
 
 "I think, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, in a low, grave 
 voice, "that there may be better and more dispassionate 
 judges of such a question than vou." 
 
155 
 
 "Edward," replied my mother, timidly, "you are a far 
 better judge of all questions than I pretend to be. Both you 
 and Jane are. I only said — " 
 
 "You only said something weak and Inconsiderate," he 
 replied. " Trj- not to do it again , my dear Clara , and keep a 
 watch upon yourself." 
 
 My mother's lips moved, as if she answered "Yes, my dear 
 Edward," but she said nothing aloud. 
 
 "I was sorry, Da-vid, I remarked," said Mr. Murdstone, 
 turning his head and his eyes stiffly towards me, "to observe 
 that you are of a sullen disposition. This is not a character 
 that I can sufl'er to develop itself beneath my eyes without an 
 effort at improvement. You must endeavour. Sir, to change 
 it. We must endeavour to change it for you." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Sir," I faltered. "I have never 
 meant to be sullen since I came back." 
 
 "Don't take refuge in a lie. Sir!" he returned so fiercely, 
 that I saw my mother involuntarily put out her trembling hand 
 as if to interpose between us. "You have withdrawn yourself 
 in your sullenuess to your own room. You have kept your 
 own room when you ought to have been here. You know now, 
 once for all, that I require you to be here, and not there. 
 Further, that I require you to bring obedience here. You 
 know me, David. I will have it done." 
 
 Miss Murdstone gave a hoarse chuckle. 
 
 "I will have a respectful, prompt, and ready bearing 
 towards myself," he continued, "and towards Jane Murd- 
 stone, and towards your mother. I will not have this room 
 shunned as if it were infected, at the pleasure of a child. Sit 
 down." 
 
 He ordered me like a dog, and I obeyed like a dog. 
 
 "One thing more," he said. "I observe that you have an 
 attachment to low and common company. You are not to as- 
 
156 
 
 soclate with servants. The kitchen will not improve you, in 
 the many respects in which you need improvement. Of the 
 woman who abets you, I say nothing — since you, Clara," 
 addressing my mother In a lower voice, "from old associa- 
 tions and long-estublished fancies, have a weakness respecting 
 her which Is not yet overcome." 
 
 "A most unaccountable delusion It is 1 " cried Miss Murd- 
 stone. 
 
 "I only say, ' he resumed, addressing me, "that I dis- 
 approve of your preferring such company as Mistress Peg- 
 gotty, and that it is to be abandoned. Now, David, you 
 understand me, and you know what will be the consequence 
 If you fail to obey me to the letter." 
 
 I know well — better perhaps than he thought, as far as 
 ray poor mother was concerned — and I obeyed him to the 
 letter. I retreated to my own room no more; I took refuge 
 withPeggotty no more; but sat wearily in the parlour day after 
 day, looklngforward to night, and bedtime. 
 
 What irksome constraint I underwent, sitting in the same 
 attitude hours upon hours, afraid to move an arm or a leg lest 
 Miss Murdstone should complain (as she did on the least pre- 
 tence) of my restlessness , and afraid to move an eye lest It 
 should light on some look of dislike or scrutiny that would find 
 new cause for complaint in mine ! What intolerable dulness 
 to sit listening to the ticking of the clock; and watching Miss 
 Murdstone's little shiny steel beads as she strung them; and 
 wondering whether she would ever be married, and If so, to 
 what sort of unhappy man ; and counting the divisions in the 
 moulding on the chimney-piece; and wandering away, with 
 my eyes, to the ceiling, among the curls and corkscrews in 
 the paper on the wall ! 
 
 What walks I took alone, down muddy lanes, in the bad 
 winter weather, currying that parlour, andMr. and MissMurd- 
 
157 
 
 etone in it, everywhere: a monstrous load that I was obliged 
 to bear, a daymare that there was no possibility of break- 
 ing in, a weight that brooded on my wits, and blunted 
 them! 
 
 What meals I had in silence and embarrassment, always 
 feeling that there were a knife and fork too many, and that 
 mine; an appetite too many, and that mine; a plate and 
 chair too many, and those mine; a somebody too many, and 
 that I! 
 
 What evenings, when the candles came, and I was ex- 
 pected to employ myself, but, not daring to read an 
 entertaining book, pored over some hard-headed, harder- 
 hearted treatise on arithmetic; when the tables of weights and 
 measures set themselves to tunes, as Rule Britannia, or Away 
 with Melancholy; and wouldn't stand still to be learnt, but 
 would go threading my grandmother's needle through my un- 
 fortunate head, in at one ear and out at the other! 
 
 What yawns and dozes I lapsed into, in spite of all my 
 care; what starts I came out of concealed sleeps with; what 
 answers I never got, to little observations that I rarely made ; 
 what a blank space I seemed, which everybody overlooked, 
 and yet was in everybody's way; what a heavy relief it was to 
 hear Miss Murdetone hail the first stroke of nine at night, and 
 order me to bed! 
 
 Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came 
 when Miss Murdstone said: "Here 's the last day off!" and 
 gave me the closing cup of tea of the vacation. 
 
 I was not sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state; 
 but I was recovering a little and looking forward to Steerforth, 
 albeit Mr. Creakle loomed behind him. Again Mr. Barkis 
 appeared at the gate, and again Miss Murdstone in her warn- 
 ing voice said: "Clara'" wlien my mother bent over me, to 
 bid me farewell 
 
158 
 
 1 kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry 
 then; but not sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was 
 there, and the parting was there, everyday. And it is not so 
 much the embrace she gave me, that lives in my mind, 
 though it was as fervent as could be, as what followed the 
 embrace, 
 
 I was in the carrier's cart when I heard her calling to me. 
 I looked out, and she stood at the garden-gate alone, holding 
 her baby up in her arms for me to see. It was cold still 
 weather; and not a hair of her head, or a fold of her 
 dress, was stirred, as she looked intently at me, holding up 
 her child. 
 
 So I lost her. So I saw her afterwards, in my sleep at 
 school — a silent presence near my bed — looking at me 
 with the same intent face — holding up her baby in her 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I have a memorable birthday. 
 
 I PASS over all that happened at school, until the anni- 
 versary of my birthday came round in March. Except that 
 Steerforth was more to be admired than ever, I remember 
 nothing. He was going away at the end of the half-year, if 
 not sooner, and was more spirited and independent than 
 before in my eyes, and therefore more engaging than 
 before; but beyond this I remember nothing. The great 
 remembrance by which that time is marked in my mind, 
 seems to have swallowed up all lesser recollections, and to 
 exist alone. 
 
 It is even difficult for me to believe that there was a gap of 
 full two months between my return to Salem House and the 
 arrival of that birthday. I can only understand that the fact 
 was so, because I know it must have been so; otherwise I 
 should feel convinced that there was no interval, and that the 
 one occasion trod upon the other's heels. 
 
 How well I recollect the kind of day it was! I smell the 
 fog that hung about the place; I see the hoarfrost, ghostly, 
 through it; I feel my rimy hair fall clammy on my cheek; I 
 look along the dim perspective of the schoolroom, with a 
 sputtering candle here and there to light up the foggy morn- 
 ing, and the breath of the boys wreathing and smoking in the 
 raw cold as they blow upon their fingers, and tap their feet 
 upon the floor. 
 
 It was after breakfast, and we had been summoned in 
 from the playground , when Mr. Sharp entered and said : 
 
160 
 
 "David Copperfield is to go into the parlour." 
 
 I expected a hamper from Peggotty, and brightened at the 
 order. Some of the boys about me put in their claim not to be 
 forgotten in the distribution of the good things, as I got out of 
 my seat with great alacrity. 
 
 "Don't hurry, David," said Mr. Sharp. "There's time 
 enough, my boy, don't hurr)." 
 
 I might have been surprised by the feeling tone in which he 
 spoke, if I had given it a thought; but I gave it none until 
 afterwards. I hurried away to the parlour ; and there I found 
 Mr. Creakle sitting at his breakfast with the cane and a news- 
 paper before him, and Mrs. Creakle with an opened letter in 
 her hand. But no hamper. 
 
 "David Copperfield," said Mrs. Creakle, leading me 
 to a sofa, and sitting down beside me. "I want to speak 
 to you very particularly. I have something to tell you, my 
 child." 
 
 Mr. Creakle, at whom of course I looked, shook his head 
 without looking at me, and stopped up a sigh with a very large 
 piece of buttered toast, 
 
 "You are too young to know how the world changes every 
 day," said Mrs. Creakle, "and how the people in it pass 
 away. But we all have to learn it, David; some of us when 
 we are young, some of us when we are old, some of us at all 
 times of our lives." 
 
 I looked at her earnestly. 
 
 "When you came away from home at the end of the 
 vacation," said Mrs. Creakle, after a pause, "were they 
 all well ? " After another pause , " Was your mama well? " 
 
 I trembled without distinctly knowing why, and still 
 looked at her earnestly, making no attempt to answer. 
 
 "Because," said she, "I grieve to tell you that I hear this 
 morning your mama is very ill." 
 
161 
 
 A raist arose between Mrs. Creakle and me, and her 
 figure seemed to move in it for an instant. Then I felt 
 the burning tears run down my face, and it was steady 
 again. 
 
 " She is very dangerously ill ," she added. 
 
 I knew all now. 
 
 "She is dead." 
 
 There was no need to tell me so. I had already broken 
 out into a desolate cry, and felt an orphan in the wide 
 world. 
 
 She was very kind to me. She kept me there all day, and 
 left me alone sometimes; and I cried, and wore myself to 
 sleep, and awoke and cried again. When I could cry no 
 more, I began to think; and then the oppression on my 
 breast was heaviest, and my grief a dull pain that there was no 
 ease for. 
 
 And yet my thoughts were idle; not intent on the calamity 
 that weighed upon my heart, but idly loitering near it. I 
 thought of our house shut up and hushed. I thought of the 
 little baby, who, Mrs. Creakle said, had been pining away 
 for some time, and who, they believed, would die too. I 
 thought of my father's grave in the churchyard, by our house, 
 and of my mother lying there beneath the tree I knew so well. 
 I stood upon a chair when I was left alone, and looked into 
 the glass to see how red my eyes were, and how sorrowful my 
 face. I considered, after some hours were gone, if my tears 
 were really hard to flow now, as they seemed to be, what, in 
 connexion with my loss, it would aflTcct me most to think of 
 when I drew near home — for I was going home to the funeral. 
 I am sensible of having felt that a dignity attached to me 
 among the rest of the boys, and that I was important in my 
 affliction. 
 
 If ever child were stricken with sincere grief, I was. But 
 David Copperfield. I. 11 
 
162 
 
 I rememher that this Importance was a kind of satisfaction to 
 me, when I walked in the playground that afternoon while 
 the boys were in school. When I saw them glancing at me out 
 of the windows, as they went up to their classes, I felt 
 distinguished, and looked more melancholy, and walked 
 slower. When school was over, and they came out and spoke 
 to me, I felt it rather good In myself not to be proud to any of 
 them, and to take exactly the same notice of them all, as 
 before. 
 
 I was to go home next night; not by the mail, but by the 
 heavy night-coach, which was called the Farmer, and was 
 principally used by country-people travelling short inter- 
 mediate distances upon the road. We had no story-telling 
 that evening, and Traddles Insisted on lending me his pillow. 
 I don't know what good he thought it would do me, for I had 
 one of my own : but it was all he had to lend, poor fellow, ex- 
 cept a sheet of letter-paper full of skeletons ; and that he gave 
 me at parting, as a soother of my sorrows and a contribution 
 to my peace of mind. 
 
 I left Salem House upon the morrow afternoon. I little 
 thought then that I left It, never to return. We travelled 
 very slowly all night, and did not get into Yarmouth before 
 nine or ten o'clock in the morning. I looked out for Mr. 
 Barkis , but he was not there ; and instead of him a fat, short- 
 winded, merry-looking, little old man In black, with rusty 
 little bunches of ribbons at the knees of his breeches, black 
 stockings, and a broad-brimmed hat, came puffing up to the 
 coach window, and said : 
 
 "Master Copperfield?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 "Will you come with me, young Sir, if you please," he 
 said, opening the door, "and I shall have the pleasure of 
 taking you home." 
 
163 
 
 I put my hand In his, wondering who he v/as, and v/e 
 walked away to a shop In a narrow street, on which was vmtten 
 Omer, Draper, Tailor, Haberdasher, Fiineral Fur- 
 nisher, &c. It was a close and stilling little shop; full of all 
 sorts of clothing, made and unmade, including one window 
 full of beaver-hats and bonnets. We went Into a little back- 
 parlour behind the shop, where we found three young women 
 at work on a quantity of black materials, which were heaped 
 upon the table, and little bits and cuttings of which were 
 littered all over the floor. There was a good fire In the room, 
 and a breathless smell of warm black crape — I did not know 
 what the smell was then , but I know now. 
 
 The three young women, who appeared to be very In- 
 dustrious and comfortable, raised their heads to look at me, 
 andthen went on with their work. Stitch, stitch, stitch. At 
 the same time there came from a workshop across a little yard 
 outside the window, a regular sound of hammering that kept 
 a kind of tune: Rat — tat-tat, rat — tat-tat, rat — tat-tat, 
 without any variation. 
 
 "Well!" said my conductor to one of the three young 
 women. "How do you get on, ISIInnie?'* 
 
 "We shall be ready by the trying-on time," she re- 
 plied gaily, without looking up. "Don't you be afraid, 
 father." 
 
 Mr. Omer took off his broad-brimmed hat, and sat down 
 and panted. He was so fat that he was obliged to pant some 
 time before he could say: 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 "Father!" said Minnie, playfully. "What a porpoise 
 ytu do grow!" 
 
 "Well, I don't know how It Is, my dear," he replied, 
 considering about it. "I am rather so." 
 
 11* 
 
164 
 
 "You are such a comfortable man , you see," said Minnie. 
 "You take things so easy." 
 
 "No use taking 'em otherwise, my dear," said Mr. 
 Omer. 
 
 "No, indeed," returned his daughter. " We are all pretty 
 gay here, thank Heaven 1 Ain't we, father?" 
 
 "I liope so, my dear," said Mr. Omer. "As I have got 
 my breath now, I think I '11 measure this young scholar. 
 Would you walk into the shop , Master Copperfield? " 
 
 I preceded Mr. Omer, in compliance with his request; 
 and after showing me a roll of cloth which he said was extra 
 super, and too good mourning for anything short of parents, 
 he took my various dimensions, and put them down in a book. 
 While he was recording them he called my attention to his 
 stock in trade, and to certain fashions which he said had "just 
 come up," and to certain other fashions which he said had 
 "just gone out." 
 
 "And by that sort of thing we very often lose a little mint 
 of money," said Mr. Omer. "But fashions are like human 
 beings. They come in, nobody knows when, why, or how; 
 and they go out, nobody knows when , why, or how. Every- 
 thing is like life , in my opinion , if you look at it in that point 
 of view." 
 
 I was too sorrowful to discuss the question, which would 
 possibly have been beyond me under any circumstances; and 
 Mr. Omer took me back into the parlour, breathing with some 
 difficulty on the way. 
 
 He then called down a little break-neck range of steps 
 behind a door: "Bring up that tea and bread-and-butter!" 
 which , after some time , during which I sat looking about me 
 and thinking, and listening to the stitching in the room and 
 the tune that was being hammered across the yard, appeared 
 on a tray, and turned out to be for me. 
 
165 
 
 "1 have been acquainted with you," said Mr. Omer, after 
 watching me for some minutes , during which I had not made 
 much impression on the breakfast, for the black things de- 
 stroyed my appetite, "I have been accjuainted with vou along 
 time , my young friend." 
 
 "Have you, Sir?" 
 
 "All your life," said Mr. Omer. "I may say before it. I 
 knew your father before you. He was five foot nine and a 
 half, and he lays in five and twen-ty foot of ground." 
 
 "Rat — tat-tat, rat — tat-tat, rat — tat-tat," across 
 tlie yard. 
 
 "He lays in five and twen-ty foot of ground, if he lays in a 
 fraction," said Mr. Omer, pleasantly. "It was either his 
 request or her direction, I forget which." 
 
 "Do you know how my little brother is, Sir?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 Mr. Omer shook his head. 
 
 "Rat — tat-tat, eat — tat-tat, rat — Ut-tat." 
 
 "He is in his mother's arms," said he. 
 
 "Oh, poor little fellow! Is he dead?" 
 
 "Don't mind it more than you can help," said Mr. Omer. 
 "Yes. The baby 's dead." 
 
 My wounds broke out afresh at this intelligence. I left the 
 scarcely-tasted breakfast, and went and rested my head on 
 another table in a corner of the little room, which Minnie 
 hastily cleared, lest I should spot the mourning that was 
 lying there with my tears. She was a pretty good-natured 
 girl, and put my hair away from my eyes with a soft kind 
 touch; but she was ver}- cheerful at having nearly finished 
 her work and being in good time, and was so different 
 from me ! 
 
 Presently the tune left off, and a good-looking young 
 fellow came across the yard into the room. He had a hammer 
 
166 
 
 in his hand, and his mouth was full of little nails, which he 
 was obliged to take out before he could speak. 
 
 "Well, JoramI" said Mr. Omer. *'How do you 
 get on?" 
 
 "All right," said Joram. "Done, Sir." 
 
 Minnie coloured a little, and the other two girls smiled at 
 one another. 
 
 "What! you were at it by candle-light last night, when 1 
 was at the club , then? Were you ? " said Mr. Omer, shutting 
 up one eye. 
 
 "Yes," said Joram. "As you said we could make a little 
 trip of it, and go over together, if it was done, Minnie and 
 me — and you." 
 
 "Ohl I thought you were going to leave me out alto- 
 gether," said Mr. Omer, laughing till he coughed. 
 
 " — As you was so good as to say that," resumed the 
 young man , "why I turned to with a will , you see. Will you 
 give me your opinion of it? " 
 
 "I will," said Mr. Omer, rising. "My dear;" and 
 he stopped and turned to me; "would you like to see 
 your — " 
 
 "No, father," Minnie interposed. 
 
 *'I thought it might be agreeable, my dear," said Mr. 
 Omer. "But perhaps you 're right." 
 
 I cant say how I knew it was my dear, dear mother's 
 coffin that they went to look at. I had never heard one 
 making; I had never seen one that I know of: but it came into 
 ray mind what the noise was, while it was going on ; and when 
 the young man entered, I am sure I knew what he had been 
 doing. 
 
 The work being now finished, the two girls, whose names 
 I had not heard, brushed the shreds and threads from their 
 dres^c- . and went into the shop to put that to rights, and wait 
 
167 
 
 for customers. Minnie stayed behind to fold up what they had 
 made, and pack it in two baskets. This she did upon hei 
 knees, humming a lively little tune the while. Joram, who 1 
 had no doubt was her lover, came in and stole a kiss from her 
 while she was busy (he didn't appear to mind me, at all), and 
 said her father was gone for the chaise, and he must make 
 haste and get himself ready. Then he went out again; and 
 then she put her thimble and scissors in her pocket, and stuck 
 a needle threaded with black thread neatly in the bosom of her 
 gown, and put on her outer clothing smartly, at a little glass 
 behind the door, in which I saw the reflection of her pleased 
 face. 
 
 All this I observed, sitting at the table in the corner with 
 my head leaning on ray hand, and my thoughts running on 
 very different things. The chaise soon came round to the 
 front of the shop , and the baskets being put in first, I was put 
 in next, and those three followed. I remember it as a kind of 
 half chaise-cart, half piano-forte van, painted of a sombre 
 colour, and drawn by a black horse with a long tail. There was 
 plenty of room for us all. 
 
 I do not think I have ever experienced so strange a feeling 
 in my life (I am wiser now, perhaps) as that of being with 
 them , remembering how they had been employed , and seeing 
 them enjoy the ride. I was not angry with them; I was more 
 afraid of them, as if I were cast away among creatures with 
 whom I had no community of nature. They were very cheer- 
 ful. The old man sat in front to drive, and the two young 
 people sat behind him, and whenever he spoke to them leaned 
 forward, the one on one side of his chubby face and the other 
 on the other, and made a great deal of him. They would 
 have talked to me too, but I held back, and moped in my 
 corner; scared by their love-making and hilarity, though it 
 
168 
 
 was far from boisterous, and almost wondering that no judg- 
 ment came upon tliem for their hardness of heart. 
 
 So, when they stopped to bait the horse, and ate and 
 drank and enjoyed themselves, I oculd touch nothing that 
 they touched, but kept my fast unbroken. So, when we 
 reached home , I dropped out of the chaise behind, as quickly 
 as possible, that I might not be in their company before those 
 solemn windows, looking blindly on me like closed eyes once 
 bright. And oh, how little need I had had to think what 
 would move me to tears when I came back — seeing the 
 window of my mother's room, and next It that which, In the 
 better time , was mine I 
 
 I was In Peggotty's arms before I got to the door, and she 
 took me into the house. Her grief burst out when she first 
 saw me; but she controuled It soon, and spoke in whispers, 
 and walked softly, as If the dead could be disturbed. She 
 had not been In bed, I found, for a long time. She sat 
 up at night still, and watched. As long as her poor dear 
 pretty was above the ground, she said, she would never 
 desert her. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went Into the 
 parlour where he was, but sat by the fireside , weeping silently, 
 and pondering In his elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who 
 was busy at her writing-desk, which was covered with 
 letters and papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and 
 asked me, in an Iron whisper, if I had been measured for my 
 mourning. 
 
 I said: "Yes." 
 
 "And your shirts," said Miss Murdstone; "have you 
 brought 'em home? " 
 
 "Yes, Ma'am. I have brought home all my clothes." 
 
 This was all the consolation that her firmness administered 
 to me. I do not doubt that she had a choice pleasure In ex- 
 
169 
 
 hibiting what she called her self-command, and her firmness, 
 and her strength of mind , and her common sense , and the 
 whole diabolical catalogue of her unamiable qualities, on such 
 an occasion. She was particularly proud of her turn for 
 business; and she showed it now in reducing everything to 
 pen and ink, and being moved by nothing. All the rest of 
 that day, and from morning to night afterwards, she sat at 
 that desk; scratching composedly with a hard pen, speaking 
 in the same imperturbable whisper to everybody; never re- 
 laxing a muscle of her face, or softening a tone of her voice, 
 or appearing with an atom of her dress astray. 
 
 Herbrother tooka book sometimes, but never read it that 
 I saw. He would open it and look at it as if he were reading, 
 but would remain for a whole hour without turning the leaf, 
 and then put it down and walk to and fro in the room. I used 
 to sit with folded hands watching him , and counting his foot- 
 steps, hour after hour. He very seldom spoke to her, and 
 never to me. He seemed to be the only restless thing, except 
 the clocks, in the whole motionless house. 
 
 In these days before the funeral, I saw but little of Peg- 
 gotty, except that, in passing up or down stairs, I always 
 found her close to the room where my mother and her baby 
 lay, and except that she came to me every night, and sat by 
 my bed's head while I went to sleep. A day or two before the 
 burial — I think it was a day or two before, but I am con- 
 scious of confusion in my mind about that heavy time, with 
 nothing to mark its progress — she took me into the room. I 
 only recollect that underneath some white covering on the 
 bed, with a beautiful cleanliness and freshness all around it, 
 there seemed to me to lie embodied the solemn stillness that 
 was in the house; and that when she would Iiave turned the 
 cover gently back, I cried; "Oh no! oh no!" and held her 
 hand. 
 
170 
 
 If the funeral had been yesterday, 1 could not recollect it 
 better. The very air of the best parlour, when I went in at the 
 door, the bright condition of the fire, the shining of the wine 
 in the decanters, the patterns of the glasses and plates, the 
 faint sweet smell of cake, tho odour of Miss Murdstone's 
 dress, and our black clothes, Mr. Chillip is in the room, and 
 comes to speak to me. 
 
 "And how is Master David?" he says, kindly. 
 
 I cannot tell him very well. I give him my hand, which he 
 holds in his. 
 
 "Dear mel" says Mr. Chillip, meekly smiling, with 
 something shining in his eye. " Our little friends grow up 
 around us. They grow out of our knowledge. Ma'am?" 
 
 This is to Miss Murdstone, who makes no reply. 
 
 "There is a great improvement here , Ma'am?" says Mr. 
 Chillip. 
 
 Miss Murdstone merely answers with a frown and a formal 
 bend; Mr. Chillip, discomfited, goes into a corner, keeping 
 me with him, and opens his mouth no more. 
 
 I remark this, because I remark everything that happens, 
 not because I care about myself, or have done since I came 
 home. And now the bell begins to sound, and Mr. Omer and 
 another come to make us ready. As Peggotty was wont to tell 
 me, long ago, the followers of my father to the same grave 
 were made ready in the same room. 
 
 There are Mr. Murdstone, our neighbour Mr. Grayper, 
 Mr. Chillip, and I. When we go out to the door, the Bearers 
 and their load are in the garden ; and they move before us 
 down the path , and past the elms , and through the gate , and 
 into the church-yard where I have so often heard the birds 
 sing on a summer morning. 
 
 We stand around the grave. The day seems diflferent to 
 me from every other day, and the light not of the same colour 
 
171 
 
 — of a sadder colour. Now there is a solemn hush, which we 
 have brought from home with what is resting in the mould; 
 and while we stand bare-headed, I hear the voice of the 
 clergyman, sounding remote in the open air, and yet distinct 
 and plain, saying: "I am the Resurrection and the Life, 
 saith the Lord!" Then I hear sobs; and, standing apart 
 among the lookers-on, I see that good and faithful servant, 
 whom of all the people upon earth I love the best, and unto 
 whom my childish heart is certain that the Lord will one day 
 say: "Well done." 
 
 There are many faces that I know, among the little crowd ; 
 faces that I knew in church, when mine was always wondering 
 there; faces that first saw my mother, when she came to the 
 village in her youthful bloom. I do not mind them — I mind 
 nothing but my grief — and yet I see and know them all; and 
 even in the background, far away, see Minnie looking on, 
 and her eye glancing on her sweetheart, who is near me. 
 
 It is over, and the earth is filled in, and we turn to come 
 away. Before us stands our house, so pretty and unchanged, 
 so linked in my mind with the young idea of what is gone , that 
 all my sorrow has been nothing to the sorrow it calls forth. 
 But they take me on; and Mr. Chillip talks to me; and when 
 we get home, puts some water to my lips; and when I ask his 
 leave to go up to my room, dismisses me with the gentleness 
 of a woman. 
 
 All this, I say, is yesterday's event. Events of later date 
 have floated from me to the shore where all forgotten things 
 will reappear, but this stands like a high rock in the ocean. 
 
 I knew that Peggotty would come to me in my room. The 
 Sabbath stillness of the time (the day was so like Sunday ! 1 
 have forgotten that) was suited to us both. She sat down by 
 my side upon my little bed ; and holding my liand , and some- 
 times putting it to her lips, and sometimes smoothing it with 
 
172 
 
 hers , as she might have comforted my little brother, told me, 
 in her way, all that she had to tell concerning what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "She was never well," said Peggotty, "for a long time. 
 She was uncertain in her mind, and not happy. When her 
 baby was born, I thought at first she would get better, but she 
 was more delicate, and sunk a little every day. She used to 
 like to sit alone before her baby came, and then she cried; 
 but afterwards she used to sing to it — so soft, that I once 
 thought, when I heard her, it was like a voice up in the air, 
 that was rising away. 
 
 "I think she got to be more timid, and more frightened- 
 like, of late ; and that a hard word was like a blow to her. But 
 she was always the same to me. She never changed to her 
 foolish Peggotty, didn't my sweet girl." 
 
 Here Peggotty stopped, and softly beat upon my hand a 
 little while. 
 
 " The last time that I saw her like her own old self, was the 
 night when you came home, my dear. The day you went 
 away, she said to me, 'I never shall see my pretty darling 
 again. Something tells me so, that tells the truth, I know.' 
 
 "She tried to hold up after that; and many a time, when 
 they told her she was thoughtless and light-hearted, made 
 believe to be so ; but it was all a bygone then. She never told 
 her husband what she had told me — she was afraid of saying 
 it to anybody else — till one night, a little more than a week 
 before it happened, when she said to him: 'My dear, I think 
 I am dying.' 
 
 "'It's off my mind now, Peggotty,' she told me, when I 
 laid her in her bed that night. 'He will believe It more and 
 more, poor fellow, every day for a few days to come ; and then 
 it will be past. I am very tired. If this is sleep, sit by me 
 
173 
 
 while I sleep: don't leave me. God bless both my children! 
 God protect and keep my fatherless boy 1 ' 
 
 "I never left her afterwards," said Peggotty. "She often 
 talked to them two down stairs — for she loved them; she 
 couldn't bear not to love any one who was about her — but 
 when they went away from her bedside, she always turned to 
 me, as if there was rest where Peggotty was, and never fell 
 asleep in any other way. 
 
 "On the last night, in the evening, she kissed me, and 
 said: *If mybaby should die too, Peggott}', ])lease let them 
 lay him in my arms , and bury us together.' (It was done ; for 
 the poor lamb lived but a day beyond her). 'Let my dearest 
 boy go with us to our resting-place,' she said, 'and tell him 
 that his mother, when she lay here, blessed him not once, but 
 a thousand times.'" 
 
 Another silence followed this, and another gentle beating 
 on my hand. 
 
 "It was pretty far in the night," said Peggotty, "when she 
 asked me for some drink ; and when she had taken it, gave me 
 Buch a patient smile, the dear ! — so beautiful! — 
 
 "Daybreak had come, and the sun was rising, when she 
 said to me, how kind and considerate Mr. Copperfield had 
 always been to her, and how he had borne with her, and told 
 her, when she doubted herself, that a loving heart was better 
 and stronger than wisdom , and that he was a happy man in 
 hers. 'Peggotty, my dear,' she said then, 'put me nearer 
 to you,' for she was very weak. 'Lay your good arm under- 
 neath my neck ,' she said , ' and turn me to you , for your face 
 is going far off, and I want it to be near.' I put it as she asked; 
 and oh Davy! the time had come when my first parting words 
 to you were true — when she was glad to lay her poor head on 
 her stupid cross old Peggotty's arm — and she died like a child 
 that had gone to sleep ! " 
 
174 
 
 Thus ended Peggotty's narration. From the moment of 
 my knowing of the death of my mother, the idea of her as she 
 had been of late had vanished from me. I remembered her, 
 from that instant, only as the young mother of my earliest 
 impressions, who had been used to wind her bright carls round 
 and round her finger, and to dance with me at twilight in the 
 parlour. What Peggottyhad told me now, was so far from 
 bringing me back to the later period , that it rooted the earlier 
 image in my mind. It may be curious, but it is true. In her 
 death she winged her way back to her calm untroubled youth, 
 and cancelled all the rest. 
 
 The mother who lay in the grave , was the mother of my 
 infancy; the little creature in her arms, was myself, as I had 
 once been, hushed for ever on her bosom. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 I become neglected, and am provided for. 
 
 • 
 
 The first act of business Miss Murdstone performed when 
 the day of the solemnity was over, and light was freely ad- 
 mitted into the house, was to give Peggotty a month's warn- 
 ing. Much as Peggotty would have disliked such a sei-vice, I 
 believe she would have retained it, for my sake, in preference 
 to the best upon earth. She told me we must part, and told 
 me why ; and we condoled with one another, in all sincerity. 
 
 As to me or my future, not a word was said, or a step 
 taken. Happy they would have been, I dare say, if they 
 could have dismissed me at a month's warning too. I mustered 
 courage once, to ask Miss Murdstone when I was going back 
 to school; and she answered dr}ly, she believed I was not 
 going back at all. I was told nothing more. I was very 
 anxious to know what was going to be done with me, and so 
 was Peggotty; but neither she nor I could pick up any in- 
 formation on the subject. 
 
 There was one change in my condition, which, while it 
 relieved me of a great deal of present uneasiness, might have 
 made me, if I had been capable of considering it closely, yet 
 more uncomfortable about the future. It was this. The 
 constraint that had been put upon me, was quite abandoned. 
 [ was so far from being required to keep my dull post in the 
 parlour, that on several occasions, when I took my seat there. 
 Miss Murdstone frowned to me to go away. I was so far from 
 being warned off from Peggotty's society, that, provided I 
 was not in Mr. Murdstone's, I was never sought out or in- 
 quired for. At first I was in daily dread of his taking my 
 
176 
 
 education in hand again, or of Miss Murdstone's devoting 
 lierself to it; but I soon began to think that such fears were 
 groundless , and that all I had to anticipate was neglect. 
 
 I do not conceive that this discovery gave me much pain 
 then. I was still giddy with the shock of my mother's death, 
 and in a kind of stunned state as to all tributary things. I^an 
 recollect, indeed, to have speculated, at odd times, on the 
 possibility of my not being taught any more, or cared for any 
 more; and growing up to be a shabby moody man, lounging 
 an idle life away, about the village; as well as on the feasi- 
 bility of my getting rid of this picture by going away some- 
 where, like the hero in a story, to seek my fortune : but these 
 were transient visions, day dreams I sat looking at sometimes, 
 as if they were faintly painted or written on the wall of my 
 room, and which, as they melted away, left the wall blank 
 again. 
 
 "Peggotty," I said in a thoughtful whisper, one evening, 
 when I was warming my hands at the kitchen fire, "Mr. Murd- 
 stone likes me less than he used to. He never liked me much, 
 Peggotty ; but he would rather not even see me now, if he can 
 help it." 
 
 "Perhaps it 's his sorrow," said Peggotty, stroking my 
 hair. 
 
 "I am sure, Peggotty, I am sorry too. If I believed it 
 was his sorrow, I should not think of it at all. But it 's not 
 that; oh, no, it 's not that." 
 
 "How do you know it 's not that? " said Peggotty, after a 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh, his sorrow is another and quite a different thing. He 
 is sorry at this moment, sitting by the fireside with Miss Murd- 
 stone; but if I was to go in, Peggotty, he would be something 
 besides." 
 
 "What would he be?" said Peggotty. 
 
177 
 
 "Angry," I answered, with an involuntary Imitation of 
 liis dark frown. '"If he was only sorry, he wouldn't look at 
 me as he does. / am only sorry, and it makes me feel kinder." 
 
 Peggotty said nothing for a little while ; and 1 warmed my 
 hands, as silent as she. 
 
 "Davy," she said at length. 
 
 "Yes, Peggotty?" 
 
 "I have tried, my dear, all ways I could think of — all the 
 ways there are, and all the ways there ain't, in short — to get 
 a suitable service here, in Blunderstone ; but there 's no such 
 a thing, my love." 
 
 "And what do you mean to do, Peggotty?" says I, wist- 
 fully. "Do you mean to go and seek your fortune?" 
 
 "I expect I shall be forced to go to Yarmouth," replied 
 Peggotty, "and live there." 
 
 "You might have gone farther off," I said, brightening a 
 little, "and been as bad as lost. I shall see you sometimes, 
 my dear old Peggotty, there. You won't be quite at the other 
 end of the world, will you?" 
 
 " Contrary ways, please God 1" cried Peggotty, with great 
 animation. "As long as you are here, my pet, I shall come 
 over every week of my life to see you. One day, every week 
 of my life I" 
 
 I felt a great weight taken off my mind by this promise ; but 
 even this was not all, for Peggotty went on to say: 
 
 "I 'ma going, Davy, you see, to my brother's, first, for 
 another fortnight's visit — just till I have had time to look 
 about me, and get to be something like myself again. Now, 
 I have been thinking, that perhaps, as they don't want you 
 here at present, you might be let to go along with me." 
 
 If anything, short of being in a different relation to every- 
 one about me, Peggotty excepted, could have given me a 
 sense of pleasure at that time, it would have been this project 
 Da.iid Copfier^ield. I. IV 
 
178 
 
 of all others. The idea of being again surrounded by those 
 honest faces , shining welcome on me : of renewing the peace- 
 fulness of the sweet Sunday morning, when the bells were 
 ringing, the stones dropping in the water, and the shadowy 
 ships breaking through the mist; of roaming up and down 
 with little Em'ly , telling her my troubles , and finding charms 
 against them in the shells and pebbles on the beach; made a 
 calm in my heart. It was ruffled next moment, to be sure, by 
 a doubt of Miss Murdstone's giving her consent; but even that 
 was set at rest soon, for she came out to take an evening grope 
 in the store-closet while we were yet in conversation, and 
 Peggotty, with a boldness that amazed me, broached the topic 
 on the spot. 
 
 "The boy will be idle there," said Miss Murdstone, 
 looking into a pickle-jar, "and idleness is the root of all evil. 
 But, to be sure, he would be idle here — or anywhere, in my 
 opinion.*' 
 
 Peggotty had an angry answer ready, I could see; but she 
 swallowed it for my sake , and remained silent. 
 
 "Humph I" said Miss Murdstone, still keeping her eye on 
 the pickles ; "it is of more importance than anything else — it 
 is of paramount importance — that my brother should not be 
 disturbed or made uncomfortable. I suppose I had better 
 say yes.'* 
 
 I thanked her, without making any demonstration of joy, 
 lest it should induce her to withdraw her assent. Nor could I 
 help thinking this a prudent course, when she looked at me 
 out of the pickle-jar, with as great an access of sourness as if 
 her black eyes had absorbed its contents. However, the per- 
 mission was given, and was never retracted; for when the 
 month was out, Peggotty and I were ready to depart. 
 
 Mr. Barkis came into the house for Peggotty's boxes. I 
 had never known him to pass the garden-gate before, but on 
 
179 
 
 this occasion he came into the house. And he gave me a look 
 as he shouldered the largest box and went out, which I thought 
 had meaning in it, if meaning could ever be said to find its way 
 into Mr. Barkis's visage. 
 
 Peggotty was naturally in low spirits at leaving what had 
 been her home so many years, and where the two strong 
 attachments of her life — for my mother and myself — had 
 been formed. She had been walking in the churchyard, too, 
 ver}-- early; and she got into the cart, and sat in it with her 
 handkerchief at her eyes. 
 
 So long as she remained in this condition, Mr. Barkis gave 
 no sign of life whatever. He sat in his usual place and attitude, 
 like a great stuffed figure. But when she began to look about 
 her, and to speak to me, he nodded his head and grinned, 
 several times. I have not the least notion at whom, or what he 
 meant by it. 
 
 "It's a beautiful day, Mr. Barkis!" I said, as an act of 
 politeness. 
 
 "It ain't bad," said Mr. Barkis, who generally qualified 
 his speech , and rarely committed himself. 
 
 "Peggotty is quite comfortable now, Mr. Barkis," I re- 
 marked, for his satisfaction. 
 
 "Is she, though!" said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 After reflecting about it, with a sagacious air, Mr. Barkis 
 eyed her, and said: 
 
 ^^Are you pretty comfortable? " 
 
 Peggotty laughed , and answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "But really and truly, you know. Are you?" growled 
 Mr. Barkis, sliding nearer to her on the seat, and nudging 
 her with his elbow. "Are you? Really and truly pretty com- 
 fortable? Are you? Eh?" At each of these inquiries Mr. 
 Barkis shuffled nearer to her, and gave her another nudge; 
 so that at last we were all crowded together in the left-hand 
 
 12* 
 
180 
 
 corner of tlie cart, and I was so squeezed that I could hardly 
 bear it. 
 
 Peggotty calling his attention to my sufferings , Mr. Barkis 
 gave me a little more room at once, and got away by degrees. 
 But I could not help observing that he seemed to think he had 
 hit upon a wonderful expedient for expressing himself m a 
 neat, agreeable, and pointed manner, without the Incon- 
 venience of Inventing conversation. He manifestly chuckled 
 over it for some time. By -and -by he turned to Peggotty 
 again, and repeating, "Are you pretty comfortable though?" 
 bore down upon us as before, until the breath was nearly 
 wedged out of my body. By-and-by he made another descent 
 upon us with the same Inquiry, and the same result. At 
 length , I got up whenever I saw him coming, and standing on 
 the footboard, pretended to look at the prospect; after which 
 I did very well. 
 
 He was so polite as to stop at a public-house, expressly on 
 our account, and entertain us with broiled mutton and beer. 
 Even when Peggotty was in the act of drinking, he was seized 
 with one of those approaches, and almost choked her. But 
 as we drew nearer to the end of our journey, he had more to 
 do and less time for gallantry; and when we got on Yarmouth 
 pavement, we were all too much shaken and jolted, I ap- 
 prehend, to have any leisure for any thing else. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty and Ham waited for us at the old place. 
 They received me and Peggotty in an affectionate manner, 
 and shook hands with Mr. Barkis, who, with his hat on the 
 very back of his head, and a shame -faced leer upon his 
 countenance, and pervading his ver}' legs, presented but a 
 vacant appearance , I thought. They each took one of Peg- 
 gotty's trunks, and we were going away, when Mr. Barkis 
 solemnly made a sign to me with his forefinger to come under 
 an archway. 
 
181 
 
 "I say,' growled Mr. Barkis, "it was all right." 
 
 I looked up into his face, and answered, with an attempt 
 to be ver}' profound: "Oh!" 
 
 "It didn't come to a end there," said Mr. Barkis, nodding 
 confidentially, " It was all right." 
 
 Again I answered : "Oh!" 
 
 "You know who was wilb'n'," said my friend. "It was 
 Barkis, and Barkis only." 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 "It 's all right," said Mr. Barkis, shaking hands; "I'm 
 a friend of your'n You made it all right, first. It 's all 
 right." 
 
 In his attempts to be particularly lucid, Mr. Barkis was so 
 extremely mysterious, that I might have stood looking in his 
 face for an hour, and most assuredly should have got as much 
 information out of it as out of the face of a clock that had 
 stopped, but for Peggotty's calling me away. As we were 
 going along, she asked me what he had said; and I told her 
 he had said it was all right. 
 
 "Like his impudence," said Peggotty, "but I don't mind 
 that! Davy dear, what should you think if I was to think of 
 being married?" 
 
 "Why — I suppose you would like me as much then, 
 Peggotty, as you do now?" I returned, after a little con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Greatly to the astonishment of the passengers in the street, 
 as well as of her relations gomg on before, the good soul was 
 obliged to stop and embrace me on the spot, with many pro- 
 testations of her unalterable love. 
 
 "Tell me what should you say, darling?" she asked again, 
 when this was over, and we were walking on. 
 
 "If you were thinking of being married — to Mr. Barkis, 
 Peggotty?" 
 
182 
 
 "Yes," said Peggotty. 
 
 "I should think it would be a very good thing. For then 
 you know, Peggotty. you would always have the horse and 
 cart to bring you over to see me , and could come for nothing, 
 and be sure of coming." 
 
 " The sense of the dear ! " cried Peggotty. " What I have 
 been thinking of, this month back ! Yes , my precious ; and I 
 think I should be more independent altogether, you see; let 
 alone my working with a better heart in my own house, than I 
 could in anybody else's now. I don't know what I might be 
 fit for, now, as a servant to a stranger. And I shall be always 
 near my pretty's resting-place," said Peggotty musing, "and 
 able to see it when I like ; and when / lie down to rest, I may 
 be laid not far off from my darling girl ! " 
 
 We neither of us said anything for a little while. 
 
 "But I wouldn't so much as give it another thought," said 
 Peggotty, cheerily, "if my Davj' was anyways against it — not 
 if I had been asked in church thirty times three times over, 
 and was wearing out the ring in my pocket." 
 
 "Lookatme, Peggotty," Ireplied; "and see if I am not 
 reallyglad, and don't truly wish it!" As indeed I did, with 
 all my heart. 
 
 "Well, my life," said Peggotty, giving me a squeeze, "I 
 have thought of it night and day, every way I can, and I hope 
 the right way; but I'll think of it again, and speak to my 
 brother about it , and in the meantime we '11 keep it to 
 ourselves, Davj', you and me. Barkis is a good plain cree- 
 tur'," said Peggotty, "and if I tried to do my duty by him, 
 I think it would be my fault if I wasn't — if I wasn't pretty 
 comfortable," said Peggotty, laughing heartily. 
 
 This quotation from Mr. Barkis was so appropriate, and 
 tickled us both so much, that we laughed again and again, 
 
183 
 
 and were quite in a pleasant humour when we came within 
 view of Mr. Peggotty's cottage. 
 
 It looked just the same, except that it may, perhaps, have 
 shrunk a little in my eyes; and Mrs. Gummidge was waiting 
 at the door as if she had stood there ever since. All within 
 was the same, down to the seaweed in the blue mug in my 
 bedroom. I went into the out-house to look about me; and 
 the very same lobsters, crabs, and crawfish possessed by the 
 same desire to pinch the world in general, appeared to be in 
 the same state of conglomeration in the same old corner. 
 
 But there was no little Em'ly to be seen, so I asked Mr. 
 Peggotty where she was. 
 
 "She's at school, Sir," said Mr. Peggotty, wiping the 
 heat consequent on the porterage of Peggotiy's box from his 
 foreliead; "she'll be home," looking at the Dutch clock, 
 "in from twenty minutes to half-an-hour's time. We all on 
 us feel the loss of her, bless ye! " 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge moaned. 
 
 " Cheer up , Mawther ! " cried Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "I feel it more than anybody else," said Mrs. Gummidge; 
 " I 'm a lone lorn creetur', and she used to be a'raost the only 
 think that didn't go contrairy with me." 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge , whimpering and shaking her head, 
 applied herself to blowing the fire. Mr. Peggotty, looking 
 round upon us while she was so engaged, said in a low voice, 
 which he shaded with his hand: "The old 'un!" From this 
 I riglitiy conjectured that no improvement had taken place 
 since niy last visit in the state of Mrs. Gummidge's spirits. 
 
 Now, the whole place was, or it should have been, (juite 
 as delightful a place as ever; and yet it did not impress me in 
 the same way. I felt rather disappointed with it. Perhaps 
 it wap because little Em'ly was not at home. I kniMv the way 
 
184 
 
 by which she would come, and presently found myself strolling 
 along the path to meet her. 
 
 A figure appeared In the distance before long, and i soon 
 knew it to be Em'ly, who was a little creature still in stature, 
 though she was grown. But when she drew nearer, and I 
 saw her blue eyes looking bluer, and her dimpled face looking 
 brighter, and her whole self prettier and gayer, a curious 
 feeling came over me that made me pretend not to know her; 
 and pass by as if I were looking at something a long way off. 
 I have done such a thing since in later life, or I am mistaken. 
 
 Little Em'ly didn't care a bit. She saw me well enough; 
 but instead of turning round and calling after me, ran away 
 laughing. This obliged me to run after her, and she ran so 
 fast that we were very near the cottage before I caught her. 
 
 "Oh, it*syou, isit?" said little Em'ly. 
 
 "Why, you knew who it was, Em'ly," said I. 
 
 "And didn't you know who it was?" said Em'ly. I was 
 going to kiss her, but she covered her cherry lips with her 
 hands, and said she wasn't a baby now, and ran away, laugh- 
 ing more than ever, into the house. 
 
 She seemed to delight in teasing me, which was a change 
 in her I wondered at ver}' much. The tea-table was ready, 
 and our little locker was put out in its old place, but instead 
 of coming to sit by me, she went and bestowed her company 
 upon that grumbling Mrs. Gummidge : and on Mr. Peggotty's 
 inquiring why, rumpled her hair all over her face to hide it, 
 and would do nothing but laugh. 
 
 "A little puss, it is!" saidMr. Peggotty, patting her with 
 his great hand. 
 
 "Sosh'isl sosh'is!" cried Ham. "Mas'r Davy bo', so 
 sh' is!" and he sat and chuckled at her for some time, in a 
 state of mingled admiration and delight, that made his face 
 a burning red; 
 
185 
 
 Little Em'ly was spoiled by them all, in fact ; and by no 
 one more than Mr. Peggotty himself, whom she could have 
 coaxed into anything, by only going and laying her cheek 
 against his rough whisker. That was my opinion, at least, 
 when I saw her do it; and I held Mr. Peggotty to be thoroughly 
 in the right. But she was so affectionate and sweet-natured, 
 and had such a pleasant manner of being both sly and shy at 
 once , that she captivated me more than ever. 
 
 She was tender-hearted, too; for w^hen, as we sat round 
 the fire after tea , an allusion was made by Mr. Peggotty over 
 his pipe to the loss I had sustained, the tears stood in her eyes, 
 and she looked at me so kindly across the table, that I felt 
 quite thankful to her. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Peggotty, taking up her curls, and 
 running them over his hand like water, "here's another 
 orphan, you see, Sir. And here," said Mr. Peggotty, giving 
 Ham a back-handed knock in the chest, "is another of 'em, 
 though he don't look much like it." 
 
 "If I had you for my guardian, Mr. Peggotty." said I, 
 shaking my head, "I don't think I ,should/<?e/ much like it.'' 
 
 "Well said, Mas'r Davy bo'!" cried Ham, in an ecstasy. 
 *'Hoorah! Well said! Nor more you wouldn't! Hor!Hor!" 
 — Here he returned Mr. Peggotty's back-hander, and little 
 Era'ly got up and kissed Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "And how 's you friend. Sir? " said Mr. Peggotty to me. 
 
 "Steerforth?" said I. 
 
 " That 's the name ! " cried Mr. Pt^gotty, turning to Ham. 
 •*I knowed it was something in our way." 
 
 "You said it was Rudderford," observed Ham, laughing. 
 
 "Well?" retorted Mr. Peggotty. "And ye steer with a 
 rudder, don't ye? It ain't fur off. How is he. Sir?" 
 
 "He was very well indeed when I came away, Mr. 
 Peggotty." 
 
186 
 
 "There's a friend!" said Mr. Peggotty, stretching out 
 his pipe. "There 's a friend, if you talk of friends! Why, 
 Lord love my heart alive, if it ain't a treat to look at him! " 
 
 "He is very handsome, is he not?" said I, my heart 
 warming with this praise. 
 
 "Handsome!" cried Mr. Peggotty. "He stands up to 
 you like — like a — why, I don't know what he dont stand up 
 to you like. He 's so bold ! " 
 
 "Yes! That 's just his character," said I. "He's as brave 
 as a lion, and you can't think how frank he is , Mr. Peggotty." 
 
 "And I do suppose, now," said Mr. Peggotty, looking 
 at me through the smoke of his pipe, "that in the way of 
 book-learning he 'd take the wind out of a'most anything." 
 
 "Yes," said I, delighted; ".he knows everything. He is 
 astonishingly clever." 
 
 "There's a friend!" murmured Mr. Peggotty, with a 
 grave toss of his head. 
 
 "Nothing seems to cost him any trouble," said I. "He 
 knows a task if he only looks at it. He is the best cricketer 
 you ever saw. He will give you almost as many men as vou 
 like at draughts, and beat you easily." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to 
 say: "Of course he will." 
 
 "He is such a speaker," I pursued, "that he can win 
 anybody over; and I don't know what you 'd say if you were 
 to hear him sing, Mr. Peggotty." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to 
 say: "I have no doubt of it." 
 
 "Then, he's such a generous, fine, noble fellow," said 
 I, quite carried away by my favourite theme, "that it's hardly 
 possible to give him as much praise as he deserves. I am sure 
 I can never feel thankful enough for the generosity with which 
 
187 
 
 he has protected me, so much younger and lower in the school 
 than himself." 
 
 I was running on, very fast indeed, when my eyes rested 
 on little Em'ly's face, which was bent forward over the table, 
 listening with the deepest attention, her breath held, her 
 blue eyes sparkhng like jewels, and the colour mantling in her 
 cheeks. She looked so extraordinarily earnest and pretty, 
 that I stopped in a sort of wonder: and they all observed her 
 At the same time, for, as I stopped, they laughed and looked 
 at her. 
 
 "Em'ly is like me," said Peggotty, "and would like to 
 see him." 
 
 Em'ly was confused by our all observing her, and hung 
 down her head , and her face was covered with blushes. 
 Glancing up presently through her stray curls, and seeing that 
 we were all looking at her still (I am sure, I, for one, could 
 have looked at her for hours), she ran away, and kept away 
 till it was nearly bedtime. 
 
 I lay down in the old little bed in the stem of the boat, and 
 the wind came moaning on across the flat as it had done 
 before. But I could not help fancj-ing, now, that it moaned 
 of those who were gone; and instead of thinking that the sea 
 might rise in the night and float the boat away, I thought of 
 the sea that had risen, since I last heard those sounds, and 
 drowned my happy home. I recollect, as the wind and water 
 began to sound fainter in my ears, putting a short clause into 
 my prayers, petitioning that I might grow up to marry little 
 Em'ly , and so dropping lovingly asleep. 
 
 The days passed pretty much as they had passed before, 
 except — it was a great exception — that little Em'ly and I 
 seldom wandered on the beach now. She had tasks to learn, 
 and needle-work to do; and was absent during a great part 
 of each day. But I felt that we should not have had those old 
 
188 
 
 wanderings, even if it had been otherwise. Wild and full 
 of childish whims as Em'ly was, she was more of a little 
 woman than I had supposed. She seemed to have got a great 
 distance away from me, in little more than a year. She liked 
 me, but she laughed at me, and tormented me; and when I 
 went to meet her, stole home another way, and was laughing 
 at the door when I came back , disappointed. The best times 
 were when she sat quietly at work in the doorway, and I sat on 
 the wooden step at her feet, reading to her. It seems to me, 
 at this hour, that I have never seen such sunlight as on those 
 bright April afternoons ; that I have never seen such a sunny 
 little figure as I used to see, sitting in the doorway of the old 
 boat; that I have never beheld such sky, such water, such 
 glorified ships sailing away into golden air. 
 
 On the very first evening after our arrival, Mr. Barkis 
 appeared in an exceedingly vacant and awkward condition, 
 and with a bundle of oranges tied up in a handkerchief. As 
 he made no allusion of any kind to this property, he was 
 supposed to have left it behind him by accident when he went 
 away; until Ham, running after him to restore it, came back 
 with the information that it was intended for Peggotty. After 
 that occasion he appeared every evening at exactly the same 
 hour, and always with a little bundle, to which he never 
 alluded, and which he regularly put behind the door, and 
 left there. These oflTerings of afiection were of a most various 
 and eccentric description. Among them I remember a double 
 set of pig's trotters, a huge pin-cushion, half a bushel or so 
 of apples, a pair of jet ear-rings, some Spanish onions, a box 
 of dominoes, a canary bird and cage, and a leg of pickled 
 pork. 
 
 Mr. Barkis's wooing, as I remember it, was altogether of 
 a peculiar kind. Pie very seldom said anything; but would 
 sit by the fire in much the same attitude as he sat in, in his 
 
189 
 
 cart, and stare heavily atPeggotty, who was opposite. One 
 night, being, as I suppose, inspired by love, he made a dart 
 at the bit of wax-candle she kept for her thread, and put it in 
 his waistcoat-pocket and carried it off. After that, his great 
 delight was to produce it when it was wanted, sticking to the 
 lining of his pocket, in a partially-melted state, and pocket it 
 again when it was done with. He seemed to enjoy himself 
 very much, and not to feel at all called upon to talk. Even 
 when he took Peggotty out for a walk on the flats, he had no 
 uneasiness on that head, I believe; contenting himself with 
 now and then asking her if she was pretty comfortable ; and 
 I remember that sometimes , after he was gone , Peggotty 
 would throw her apron over her face, and laugh for half- 
 an-hour. Indeed, we were all more or less amused, except 
 that miserable Mrs. Gummidge, whose courtship would ap- 
 pear to have been of an exactly parallel nature, she was so 
 continually reminded by these transactions of the old one. 
 
 At length, when the term of my visit was nearly expired, 
 it was given out that Peggotty and Mr. Barkis were going to 
 make a day's holiday together, and that little Em'ly and I 
 were to accompany them. I had but a broken sleep the night 
 before, in anticipation of the pleasure of a whole day with 
 Em'ly. We were all astir betimes in the morning; and while 
 we were yet at breakfast, Mr. Barkis appeared in the distance, 
 driving a chaise-cart towards the object of his affections. 
 
 Peggotty was drest as usual, in her neat r»nd quiet mourn- 
 ing; but Mr. Barkis bloomed in a new blue coat, of which the 
 tailor had given him such good measure, that the cutfs would 
 have rendered gloves unnecessary in the coldest weather, 
 while the collar was so high that it pushed his liftlr up on end 
 on the top 01 ills head. His bright buttons, too, were of the 
 largest size. Rendered complete by drab pantaloons and 
 
190 
 
 a buff waistcoat, I thought Mr. Barkis a phenomenon of 
 respectability. 
 
 When we were all in a bustle outside the door, I found 
 that Iklr. Peggotty was prepared with an old shoe, which was 
 to be thrown after us for luck, and which he offered to Mrs. 
 Gummidge for that purpose. 
 
 "No. It had better be done by somebody else, Dan'l," 
 said Mrs. Gummidge. "I 'm a lone lorn creetur' myself, and 
 everythink that reminds me of creetur's that ain't lone and 
 lorn, goes contrairy with me." 
 
 "Come, old gal!" cried Mr. Peggotty. "Take and 
 heave it I" 
 
 "No, Dan'l," returned Mrs. Gummidge, whimpering and 
 shaking her head. "If I felt less, I could do more. You 
 don't feel like me , Dan'l ; thinks don't go contrairy with you, 
 nor you with them; you had better do it yourself." 
 
 But here Peggotty, who had been going about from one 
 to another in a hurried way, kissing everybody, called out 
 from the cart, in which we all were by this time (Em'ly and I 
 on two little chairs, side by side), that Mrs. Gummidge must 
 do it. So Mrs. Gummidge did it; and, I am sorry to relate, 
 cast a damp upon the festive character of our departure, by 
 immediately bursting into tears, and sinking subdued into the 
 arms of Ham, with the declaration that she knowed she was a 
 burden, and had better be carried to the House at once. 
 Which I really thought was a sensible idea, that Ham might 
 have acted on. 
 
 Away we went, however, on our holiday excursion; and 
 the first thing we did was to stop at a church, where Mr. Barkis 
 tied the horse to some rails, and went in with Peggotty, 
 leaving little Em'ly and me alone in the chaise. I took that 
 occasion to put my arm round Em'ly's waist, and propose 
 that as I was going away so very soon now, we should deter- 
 
191 
 
 mine to be very affectionate to one another, and very happy, 
 all day. Little Em'ly consenting, and allowing me to kiss 
 her, I became desperate; informing her, I recollect, that I 
 never could love another, and that I was prepared to shed the 
 blood of anybody who should aspire to her affections. 
 
 How merry little Em'ly made herself about it! With what 
 a demure assumption of being immensely older and wiser 
 than I, the fairy little woman said I was "a silly boy;" and 
 then laughed so charmingly that I forgot the pain of being 
 called by that disparaging name, in the pleasure of looking 
 at her. 
 
 Mr. Barkis and Peggotty were a good while in the church, 
 but came out at last, and then we drove away into the country. 
 As we were going along, !Mr. Barkis turned to me, and said, 
 with a wink, — by-the-by, I should hardly have thought, 
 before , that he could wink : 
 
 "What name was it as I wrote up in the cart? " 
 
 "Clara Peggotty," I answered. 
 
 " What name would it be as I should write up now, if there 
 was a tilt here?" 
 
 "Clara Peggotty, again?" I suggested. 
 
 " Clara Peggotty Barkis ! " he returned, and burst into a 
 roar of laughter that shook the chaise. 
 
 In a word, they were married, and had gone into the 
 church for no other purpose. Peggotty was resolved that it 
 should be quietly done; and the clerk had given her away, 
 and there had been no witnesses of the ceremony. She was a 
 little confused when Mr. Barkis made this abrupt announce- 
 ment of their union , and could not hug me enough in token of 
 her unimpaired affection; but she soon became herself again, 
 and said she was very glad it was over. 
 
 We drove to a little inn in a bye road, where we were ex- 
 pected, and where we had a very comfortable dinner, and 
 
192 
 
 passed the day with great satisfaction. If Peggotty had been 
 married every day for the last ten years, she could hardly have 
 been more at her ease about it; it made no sort of difference 
 in her: she was just the same as ever, and went out for a stroll 
 with little Em'ly and me before tea, while Mr. Barkis philo- 
 sophically smoked his pipe, and enjoyed himself, I suppose, 
 with the contemplation of his happiness. If so, it sharpened 
 his appetite ; for I distinctly call to mind that, although he had 
 eaten a good deal of pork and greens at dinner, and had 
 finished off with a fowl or two , he was obliged to have cold 
 boiled bacon for tea, and disposed of a large quantity without 
 any emotion. 
 
 I have often thought, since, what an odd, innocent, out- 
 of-the-way kind of wedding it must have been ! We got into 
 the chaise again soon after dark, and drove cosily back, 
 looking up at the stars, and talking about them. I was their 
 chief exponent, and opened Mr. Barkis's mind to an amazing 
 extent. I told him all I knew, but he would have believed 
 anything I might have taken it into my head to impart to him ; 
 for he had a profound veneration for my abilities, and in- 
 formed his wife in my hearing, on that very occasion, that 
 I was "a young Roeshus" — by which I think he meant, 
 prodigy. 
 
 When we had exhausted the subject of the stars , or rather 
 when I had exhausted the mental faculties of Mr. Barkis, little 
 Em'ly and I made a cloak of an old wrapper, ands at under it 
 for the rest of the journey. Ah, how I loved her I What 
 happiness (I thought) if we were married, and were going 
 away anywhere to live among the trees and in the fields, never 
 growing older, never growing wiser, children ever, rambling 
 hand in hand through sunshine and among flowery meadows, 
 laying down our heads on moss at night, in a sweet sleep of 
 purity and peace, and buried by the birds when we were dead ! 
 
1 
 
 Some such picture, with no real world in it, bright with the 
 light of our innocence, and vague as the stars afar off, was 
 in my mind all the way. I am glad to think there were two 
 such guileless hearts at Peggotty's marriage as little Em'ly's 
 and mine. I am glad to think the Loves and Graces took such 
 airy forms in Its homely procession. 
 
 Well, we came to the old boat again In good time at night; 
 and there Mr. and Mrs. Barkis bade us good-bye, and drove 
 away snugly to their own home. I felt then, for the first time, 
 that I had lost Peggotty. I should have gone to bed with a sore 
 heart indeed under any other roof but that which sheltered 
 little Em'ly's head. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty and Ham knew what was in my thoughts as 
 well as I did, and were ready with some supper and their 
 hospitable faces to drive it away. Little Era'ly came and sat 
 beside me on the locker, for the only time in all that visit ; and 
 it was altogether a wonderful close to a wonderful day. 
 
 It was a night tide; and soon after we went to bed, Mr.Peg- 
 gotty and Ham went out to fish. I felt very brave at being left 
 alone in the solitary house, the protector of Em'ly and Mrs. 
 Gummidge, and only wished that a lion or a serpent, or any 
 ill-disposed monster, would make an attack upon us, that I 
 might destroy him, and cover myself with glory. But as 
 nothing of the sort happened to be walking about on Yarmouth 
 Hats that night, I provided the best substitute I could by 
 dreaming of dragons until morning. 
 
 With morning came Peggotty; who called to me, as usual, 
 under my window as if Mr. Barkis the carrier had been from 
 first to last a dream too. After breakfast she took me to her 
 own home, and a beautiful little home it was. Of all the 
 moveables in it, I must have been most impressed by a certain 
 old bureau of some dark wood in the parlour (the lile-(loore<l 
 kitchen was the general sitting-room), with a retrealing top 
 David Copperficld. I. 13 
 
194 
 
 which opened, let down, and became a desk, within which, 
 was a large quarto edition of Fox's Book of Martyrs. This 
 precious volume, of which I do not recollect one word, I imme- 
 diately discovered and immediately applied myself to; and I 
 never visited the house afterwards, but I kneeled on a chair, 
 opened the casket where this gem was enshrined, spread my 
 arms over the desk , and fell to devouring the book afresh. 1 
 was chiefly edified, I am afraid, by the pictures, which were nu- 
 merous, and represented all kinds of dismal horrors; but the 
 Martyrs and Peggotty's house have been inseparable in my 
 mind ever since, and are now. 
 
 I took leave of Mr.Peggotty,andHam,andMrs.Gummidge, 
 and little Em'ly, that day ; and passed the night at Peggotty's, 
 in a little room in the roof (with the crocodile-book on a shelf 
 by the bed's head) which was to be always mine, Peggotty 
 said, and should always be kept for me in exactly the 
 same state. 
 
 "Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive and have 
 this house over my head," said Peggotty, "you shall find it as 
 if I expected you here directly minute. I shall keep it every 
 day, as I used to keep your old little room, my darling; and if 
 you was to go to China, you might think of it as being kept just 
 the same, all the time you were away." 
 
 I felt the truth and constancy of my dear old nurse, with all 
 my heart, and thanked her as well as I could That was not 
 verj' well, for she spoke to me thus, with her arms round my 
 neck, in the morning, and I was going home in the morning, 
 and I went home in the morning, with herself and Mr. Barkis 
 in the cart. They left me at the gate , not easily or lightly ; and 
 it was a strange sight to me to see the cart go on, taking Peg- 
 gotty away, and leaving me under the old elm-trees looking at 
 the house, in which there was no face to look on mine with love 
 or liking any more. 
 
195 
 
 And now I fell Into a state of neglcict, which I cannot look 
 back upon without compassion. I fell at once into a solitary 
 condition, — apart from all friendly notice, apart from the so- 
 ciety of all other boys of my own age, apart from all com- 
 panionship but my own spiritless thoughts, — which seems to 
 cast Its gloom upon this paper as I write. 
 
 What would I have given, to have been sent to the hardest 
 school that ever was kept! — to have been taught something, 
 anyhow, anywhere 1 No such hope dawned upon me. They 
 disliked me ; and they sullenly, sternly, steadily, overlooked 
 me. I think IMr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about 
 this time; but it is little to the purpose. He could not bear 
 me; and In putting me from him he tried, as I believe, to put 
 away the notion that I had any claim upon him — and suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 I was not actively Ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; 
 but the wrong that was done to me had no intervals of re- 
 lenting, and was done In a systematic, passionless manner. 
 Day after day, week after week, month after month, I was 
 coldly neglected. I wonder sometimes, when I think of It, 
 what they would have done if I had been taken with an illness ; 
 whether I should have lain down in my lonely room, and lan- 
 guished through it In my usual solitary way, or whether any- 
 body would have helped me out. 
 
 When Mr. and Miss Murdstone were at home, I took my 
 meals with them; in their absence, 1 ate and drank by myself. 
 At all times I lounged about the house and neighbourhood 
 quite disregarded, except that they were jealous of my making 
 any friends: thinking, perhaps, that, if I did, I might complain 
 to some one. For this reason, though Mr. Chillip often asked 
 me to go and see him (he was a widower, having, some years 
 before that, lost a little small light-haired wife, whom I can just 
 remember connecting in my own thoughts with a pale tortoise- 
 Li* 
 
196 
 
 shell cat), It was but seldom that I enjoyed the happiness of 
 passing an afternoon in his closet of a surgery; reading some 
 book that was new to me, with the smell of the whole pharma- 
 copoeia coming up my nose, or pounding something in a mortar 
 under his mild directions. 
 
 For the same reason, added no doubt to the old dislike of 
 her, I was seldom allowed to visit Peggotty. Faithful to her 
 promise, she either came to see me, or met me somewhere 
 near, once every week, and never empty-handed; bu4; many 
 and bitter were the disappointments I had, in being refused 
 permission to pay a visit to her at her house. Some few times, 
 however, at long intervals, I was allowed to go there ; and then 
 I found out that Mr. Barkis was something of a miser, or as 
 Peggotty dutifully expressed it, was "a little near," and kept a 
 heap of money In a box under his bed, which he pretended was 
 only full of coats and trousers. In this coffer, his riches hid 
 themselves with such a tenacious modesty, that the smallest 
 mstalments could only be tempted out by artifice ; so that Peg- 
 gotty had to prepare a long and elaborate scheme, a very Gun- 
 powder Plot, for every Saturday's expenses. 
 
 All this time I was so conscious of the waste of any promise 
 I had given, and of my being utterly neglected, that T should 
 have been perfectly miserable, I have no doubt, but for the old 
 books. They were my only comfort ; and I was as true to them 
 as they were to me, and read them over and over I don't know 
 how many times more. 
 
 1 now approach a period of my life, which I can never lose 
 the remembrance of, while I remember any thing; and the re- 
 collection of which has often, without ray invocation, come be- 
 fore me like a ghost, and haunted happier times. 
 
 I had been out, one day, loitering somewhere, in the 
 listless, meditative manner that ray way of life engendered, 
 when, turninc the corner of a lane near our house, I came 
 
197 
 
 upon Mr. Murdstone walking with a gentleman. I was con- 
 fused , and was going by them, when the gentleman cried: 
 
 "What! Brooks!" 
 
 "No, Sir, David Copperfield," I said 
 
 "Don't tell me. You are Brooks," said the gentleman. 
 "You are Brooks of Sheffield. That 's your name." 
 
 At these words, I observed the gentleman more atten- 
 tively. His laugh coming to my remembrance too , I knew him 
 to be Mr. Quinlon, whom I had gone over to Lowestoft with 
 Mr. Murdstone to see , before — it is no matter — I need not 
 recall when. 
 
 "And how do you get on, and where are you being edu- 
 cated, Brooks?" said Mr. Quinion. 
 
 He had put his hand upon my shoulder, and turned me 
 about, to walk with them. I did not know what to reply, and 
 glanced dubiously at Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "He Is at home at present," said the latter. "He is not 
 being educated anywhere. I don't know what to do with him. 
 He is a difficult subject." 
 
 That old, double look was on me for a moment; and then 
 his eye darkened with a frown, as It turned, in its aversion, 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "Humph 1" said Mr. Quinlon, looking at us both, I 
 thought. "Fine weather!" 
 
 Silence ensued, and I was considering how I could best 
 disengage my shoulder from his hand, and go away, when he 
 said: 
 
 "I suppose you are a pretty sharp fellow still? Eh, 
 Brooks?" 
 
 "Aye! He is sharp enough," said Mr. Murdstone, impa- 
 tiently. "You had better let him go. He will not thank you 
 for troubling him." 
 
198 
 
 On this hint, Mr. Quinion released me, and I made the 
 best of my way home. Looking back as I turned into the front 
 garden, I saw Mr. Murdstone leaning against the wicket of 
 the churchyard, and Mr. Quinion talking to him. They were 
 both looking after me, and I felt that they were speaking 
 of me. 
 
 Mr. Quinion lay at our house that night. After breakfast, 
 the next morning, I had put my chair away, and was going 
 out of the room, when Mr. Murdstone called me back. He 
 then gravely repaired to another table, where his sister sat 
 herself at her desk. 'Mr. Quinion, with his hands in his 
 pockets, stood looking out of window; and I stood looking at 
 them all. 
 
 "David," said Mr. Murdstone, "to the young this is a 
 world for action ; not for moping and droning in." 
 
 — "As you do," added his sister. 
 
 "Jane Murdstone, leave it to me, if you please. I say, 
 David, to the young this is a world for action, and not for 
 moping and droning in. It Is especially so for a young boy of 
 your disposition, which requires a great deal of correcting; 
 and to which no greater service can be done than to force it to 
 conform to the ways of the working world, and to bend it and 
 break it." 
 
 "For stubbornness won't do here," said his sister. "What 
 it wants, is, to be crushed. And crushed it must be. Shall 
 be, tool" 
 
 He gave her a look, half in remonstrance, half in approval, 
 and went on: 
 
 "I suppose you know, David, that I am not rich. At any 
 rate, you know it now. You have received some considerable 
 education already. Education Is costly; and even if It were 
 not, and I could afford It, I am of opinion that it would not 
 be at all advantageous to you to be kept at a school. What Is 
 
199 
 
 before you, is a figlit with the world; and the sooner you begin 
 it, the better." 
 
 I think it occurred to me that I had already begun it, in my 
 poor way: but it occurs to me now, whether or no. 
 
 "You have heard 'the counting-house' mentioned some- 
 times," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "The counting-house. Sir?" I repeated. 
 
 "Of Murdstone and Grinby, in the wine trade," he 
 replied. 
 
 I suppose I looked uncertain , for he went on hastily : 
 
 "You have heard the 'counting-house' mentioned, or the 
 business, or the cellars, or the wharf, or something about 
 it." 
 
 "I think I have heard the business mentioned, Sir," I 
 said, remembering what I vaguely knew of his and his sister's 
 resources. " But I don't know when." 
 
 "It does not matter when," he returned. "Mr. Quinion 
 manages that business." 
 
 I glanced at the latter deferentially as he stood looking out 
 of window. 
 
 "Mr. Quinion suggests that it gives employment to some 
 other boys, and that he sees no reason why it shouldn't, on 
 the same terms , give employment to you." 
 
 "He having," Mr. Quinion observed in a low voice, and 
 half turning round, "no other prospect, Murdstone." 
 
 Mr. Murdstone , with an impatient, even an angry gesture, 
 resumed , without noticing what he had said : 
 
 "Those terms are, that you will earn enough for yourself 
 to provide for your eating and drinking, and pocket-money. 
 Your lodging (which I have arranged for) will be paid by me. 
 So will your washing — " 
 
 " — Which will be kept down to my estimate," said his 
 sister. 
 
200 
 
 "Your clothes will be looked after for you, too," said Mr. 
 Murdstone; "as you will not be able, yet awhile, to get them 
 for yourself. So you are now going to London, David, with 
 Mr. Quinion , to begin the world on your own account." 
 
 "In short, you are provided for," observed his sister; 
 "and will please to do your dut)/' 
 
 Though I quite understood that the purpose of this an- 
 nouncement was to get rid of me, I have no distinct remem- 
 brance whether it pleased or frightened me. My impression 
 is, thati was in a state of confusion about it, and, oscillating 
 between the two points, touched neither. Nor had I much 
 time for the clearing of my thoughts, as Mr. Quinion was to 
 go upon the morrow. 
 
 Behold me, on the morrow, in a much-worn little white 
 hat, with a black crape round it for my mother, a black jacket, 
 and a pair of hard stiff corduroy trousers — which Miss Murd- 
 stone considered the best armour for the legs in that fight with 
 the world which was now to come off: behold me so attired, 
 and with my little worldly all before me in a small trunk, 
 sitting, a lone lorn child (as Mrs. Gummidge might have said), 
 in the post-chaise that was carrying Mr. Quinion to the London 
 coach at Yarmouth! See, how our house and church are 
 lessening in the distance; how the grave beneath the tree is 
 blotted out by intervening objects; how ohe spire points 
 upward from my old playground no more, and the sky is 
 empty 1 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I begin life on my own account, and don't like U. 
 
 I KNOW enough of the world now, to have almost lost the 
 capacity of being much surprised by anything; but it is matter 
 of some surprise to me, even now, that I can have been so 
 easily thrown away at such an age. A child of excellent abi- 
 lities, and with strong powers of observation, quick, eager, 
 delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seems wonderful 
 to me that nobody should have made any sign in my behalf. 
 But none was made; and I became, at ten years old, a little 
 labouring hind in the service of Murdstone and Grinby. 
 
 Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the water side. 
 It was down in Blackfriars. Modern improvements have 
 altered the place ; but it was the last house at the bottom of a 
 narrow street, curving down hill to the river, with some stairs 
 at the end, where people took boat. It was a crazy old house 
 with a wharf of its own, abutting on the water when the tide 
 was in, and on the mud when the tide was out, and literally 
 over-run with rats. Its panelled rooms, discoloured with the 
 dirt and smoke of a hundred years, I dare say; its decaying 
 floors and staircase; the squeaking and scuffling of the old 
 grey rats down in the cellars ; and the dirt and rottenness of 
 the place; are things, not of many years ago, in my mind, but 
 of the present instant. They are all before me, just as they 
 were in the evil hour when I went among them for the first 
 time, with my trembling liand in Mr. Quinion's. 
 
 Murdstone and Grinby's trade was among a good many 
 kinds of people, but an important branch of it was the supply 
 of wines and spirits to certain packet ships. 1 forget now 
 
202 
 
 where they chiefly went, but I think there were some among 
 them that made voyages both to the East and West Indies. I 
 know that a great many empty bottles were one of the conse- 
 quences of this traffic, and that certain men and boys were 
 employed to examine them against the light, and reject those 
 that were flawed, and to rinse and wash them. SVhen the 
 empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full 
 ones, or corks to be fitted to them , or seals to be put upon the 
 corks, or finished bottles to be packed in casks. All this work 
 was my work, and of the boys employed upon it I was one. 
 
 There were three or four of us, counting me. My work- 
 ing place was established in a corner of the warehouse, where 
 Mr. Quinion could see me, when he chose to stand up on the 
 bottom rail of his stool in the counting-house , and look at me 
 through a window above the desk. Hither, on the first morn- 
 ing of my so auspiciously beginning life on my own account, 
 the oldest of the regular boys was summoned to show me my 
 business. His name was Mick Walker, and he wore a ragged 
 apron and a paper cap. He informed me that his father was a 
 bargeman, and walked, in a black velvet head-dress, in the 
 Lord Mayor's Show. He also informed me that our principal 
 associate would be another boy whom he introduced by the — 
 to me — extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, 
 however, that this youth had not been christened by that name, 
 but that it had been bestowed upon hira in the warehouse, on 
 account of his complexion, which was pale or mealy. Mealy 's 
 father was a waterman, who had the additional distinction of 
 heing a fireman, and was engaged as such at one of the large 
 theatres; where some young relation of Mealy's — I think his 
 little sister — did Imps in the Pantomimes. 
 
 No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk 
 into this companionship; compared these henceforth every- 
 day associates with those of my happier childhood — not to say 
 
203 
 
 with Stecrforth , Traddles, and the rest of those boys ; and felt 
 my hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguished 
 man, crushed in my bosom. The deep remembrance of the 
 sense I had, of being utterly without hope now; of the shame 
 I felt in my position ; of the misery it was to my young heart to 
 believe that day by day what I had learned , and thought , and 
 delighted in, and raised my fancy and my emulaiion uj) by, 
 would pass away from me, little by little, never to be brought 
 back anymore; cannot be written. As often as Mick Walker 
 went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears 
 with the water in which I was washing the bottles ; and sobbed 
 as if there were a flaw in my own breast, and it were in danger 
 ofbursting. 
 
 The counting-house clock was at half-past twelve, and 
 there was general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. 
 Quinion tapped at the counting-house window, and beckoned 
 to me to go in. I went in , and found there a stoutish , middle- 
 aged person, in a brown surtout and black tights and shoes, 
 with no more hair upon his head (which was a large one, and 
 very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very ex- 
 tensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were 
 shabby, but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a 
 jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; 
 and a quizzing-glass hung outside his coat, — for ornament, 
 I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and 
 couldn't see anything when he did. 
 
 "This," said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, *' is he. " 
 
 "This," said the stranger, with a certain condescending 
 roll in his voice, and a certain indescribable air of doing some- 
 thing genteel, which impressed me very much, "is Master 
 Coppertield. I hope I see you well. Sir?" 
 
 I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufticiently 
 ill at ease , Heaven knows ; but it was not in my nature to com- 
 
204 
 
 plain much at that time of my life, so 1 said I was very well, and 
 hoped he was. 
 
 "lam," said the stranger, " thank Heaven , quite well. I 
 have received a letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he 
 mentions that he would desire me to receive into an apartment 
 in the rear of my house, which is at present unoccupied — and 
 is , in short, to be let as a — in short, " said the stranger, with a 
 smile and in a burst of confidence, "as a bed-room — the 
 young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to — " and the 
 stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt 
 collar. 
 
 "This is Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion to me. 
 
 "Ahem ! " said the stranger, " that is my name.*' 
 
 "Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion, "is known to Mr. 
 Murdstone. He takes orders for us on commission, when he 
 can get any. He has been written to by Mr. Murdstone, on 
 the subject of your lodgings, and he will receive you as a 
 lodger." 
 
 "My address," said Mr. Micawber, " is Windsor Terrace, 
 City Road. I — in short," said Mr. Micawber, with the same 
 genteel air, and in another burst of confidence — "I live 
 there." 
 
 I made him a bow. 
 
 "Under the impression," said Mr. ^ficawber, "that your 
 peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet been ex- 
 tensive, and that you might have some difficulty in pene- 
 trating the arcana of the Modern Babylon in the direction of 
 the City Road — in short," said Mr. Micawber, in another 
 burst of confidence, "that you might lose yourself — I shall 
 be happy to call this evening, and install you in the knowledge 
 of the nearest way." 
 
 I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him 
 to offer to take that trouble. 
 
205 
 
 " At what hour/' said Mr. Micawber, '• shall I — " 
 
 "At about eight," said Mr. Quinion. 
 
 "At about eight," said Mr. Mica-wber. "I beg to wish 
 you good day, Mr. Quinion. I will Intrude no longer." 
 
 So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his 
 arm: very upright, and humming a tune when he was clear of 
 the counting-house. 
 
 Iklr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as 1 
 could in the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, 
 I think, of six shillings a week. I am not clear whether it was 
 six or seven. lam inclined to believe, from my uncertainty 
 on this head, that it was six at first and seven afterwards. He 
 paid me a week down (from his own pocket, I believe), and 
 I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my trunk carried to 
 Windsor Terrace at night: it being too heavy for ray strength, 
 small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my dinner, which 
 was a meat pie and a turn at a neighbouring pump ; and passed 
 tlie hour which was allowed for that meal, in walking about the 
 streets. 
 
 At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber reap- 
 peared. I washed my hands and face, to do the greater honour 
 to his gentility, and we walked to our house, as I suppose I 
 must now call it, together; Mr. Micawber impressing tlie 
 names of streets, and the shapes of corner houses upon me, 
 as we went along, that I might find my way back, ensily, in 
 the morning. 
 
 Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace (which I noticed 
 was shabby like himself, but also , like liimself, made all the 
 show it could), he presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin 
 and faded lady, not at all young, who was sitting in tho parlour 
 (the first floor was altogether unfurnished, and the blinds 
 were kept down to delude the neighbours), with a baby at 
 i.i;r breast. This baby was one of twins; and I may remark 
 
206 
 
 here that I hardly ever, in all my experience of the family, 
 saw both the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at the same 
 time. One of them was always taking refreshment. 
 
 There were two other children; Master Micawbers aged 
 about four, and Miss Micawber, aged about three. These, 
 and a dark-complexioned young woman, with a habit of 
 snorting, who was servant to the family, and informed me, 
 before half-an-hour had expired, that she was "a Orlling," 
 and came from St. Luke's workhouse, in the neighbourhood, 
 completed the establishment. My room was at the top of the 
 house, at the back: a close chamber; stencilled all over with 
 an ornament which my young imagination represented as a 
 blue muffin ; and very scantily furnished. 
 
 •'I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, when she came 
 up, twin and all, to show me the apartment, and sat down to 
 take breath, "before I was married, when I lived with papa 
 and mama, that I should ever find it necessary to take a 
 lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all considera- 
 tions of private feeling must give way." 
 
 I said; "Yes, Ma'am." 
 
 "Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just 
 atpresent," said Mrs. Micawber; "and whether it is possible 
 to bring him through them, I don't know. When I lived at 
 home with papa and mama, I really should have hardly 
 understood what the word meant, in the sense in which I 
 now employ it, but experientia does it — as papa used to 
 say." 
 
 I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. 
 Micawber had been an officer in the Marines, or whether I 
 have imagined it. I only know that I believe to this hour 
 that he was in the Marines once upon a time, without knowing 
 why. He was a sort of town traveller for a number of miscel- 
 
207 
 
 laneous houses, now; but made little or nothing of it, I am 
 afraid. 
 
 "If Mr. Micawber's creditors will not give him time," said 
 Mrs. Micawber, "they must take the consequences; and the 
 so©ner they bring it to an issue the better. Blood cannot be 
 obtained from a stone, neither can anything on account be 
 obtained at present (not to mention law expenses) from Mr. 
 Micawber." 
 
 I never can quite understand whether my precocious self- 
 dependence confused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, 
 or whether she was so full of the subject that she would have 
 talked about it to the verj' twins if there had been nobody 
 else to communicate with, but this was the strain in which 
 she began, and she went on accordingly all the time I knew 
 her. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert 
 herself, and so, I have no doubt, she had. The centre of 
 the street-door was perfectly covered with a great brass-plate, 
 on which was engraved "Mrs. Micawber's Boarding Establish- 
 ment for Young Ladies:" but I never found that any young 
 lady had ever been to school there; or that any young lady 
 ever came, or proposed to come; or that the least prepara- 
 tion was ever made to receive any young lady. The only 
 visitors I ever saw or heard of, were creditors. Tliey used 
 to come at all hours, and some of them were quite ferocious. 
 One dirty-faced man, I think he was a boot-maker, used to 
 edge himself into the passage as early as seven o'clock in the 
 morning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber — "Come! 
 You ain't out yet, you know. Pay us, will you? Don't hide, 
 you know; that 's mean. I wouldn't be mean if I was you. 
 Pay us, will you? You just pay us, d'ye hear? Come!" 
 Receiving no answer to these taunts, he would mount in his 
 wrath to the words "swindlers" and "robbers;" and these 
 
208 
 
 being ineffectual too, would sometimes go to the extremity of 
 crossing the street, and roaring up at tlie windows of the 
 second floor, where he knew Mr. Micawber was. At these 
 times, Mr. Micawber would be transported with grief and 
 mortification, even to the length (as I was once made aware 
 by a scream from his wife) of making motions at himself with 
 a razor; but within half an hour afterwards, he would polish 
 up his shoes with extraordinary ])ains, and go out, humming 
 a tune with a greater air of gentility than ever. Mrs. Micawber 
 was quite as elastic. I have known her to be thrown into 
 fainting fits by the king's taxes at three o'clock, and to eat 
 lamb-chops, breaded, and drink warm ale (paid for with two 
 tea-spoons that had gone to the pawnbroker's) at four. On one 
 occasion, when an execution had just been put In, coming 
 home through some chance as early as six o'clock, I saw her 
 lying (of course with a twin) under the grate In a swoon, with 
 her hair ail torn about her face; but I never knew her more 
 cheerful than she was, that very same night, over a veal- cutlet 
 before the kitchen fire, telling me stories about her papa and 
 mama, and the company they used to keep. 
 
 In this house, and with this family, I passed my leisure time. 
 My own exclusive breakfast of a penny loaf and a pennyworth 
 of milk, I provided myself. I kept another small loaf, and a 
 modicum of cheese, on a particular shelf of a particular cup- 
 board, to make my supper on when I came back at night. This 
 made a hole in the six or seven shillings , I know well ; and I 
 was out at the warehouse all day, and had to support myself on 
 that money all the week. From Monday morning until Satur- 
 day night, I had no advice, no counsel, no encouragement, no 
 consolation, no assistance, no support, of any kind, from any 
 one, that I can call to mind, as I hope to go to heaven! 
 
 I was 60 young and childish , and so little qualified — how 
 could I be otherwise? — to undertake the whole charge of my 
 
209 
 
 own existence, that often, in going to Murdstone andGrinby's. 
 of a morning, I could not resist tlie stale pastry put out for sale 
 at half-price at the pastrycook's doors, and spent in that, the 
 money I should have kept for my dinner. Then, I went with- 
 out my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice of pudding. 1 re- 
 member two pudding-shops, between which I was divided, 
 according to my finances. One was in a court close to St. 
 Martin's Church — at the back of the church , — which is now 
 removed altogether. The pudding at that shop was made of 
 currants, and was rather a special pudding, but was dear, two- 
 penny worth not being larger than a pennyworth of more ordi- 
 nary pudding. A good shop for the latter was in the Strand — 
 somewhere in that part which has been rebuilt since. It was a 
 stout pale pudding, heavy and flabby, and with great flat 
 raisins in it, stuck in whole at wide distances apart. It came up 
 hot at about my time every day, and many a day did I dine off 
 it. When I dined regularly and handsomely, I had a saveloy 
 and a penny-loaf, or a fourpenny plate of red beef from a 
 cook's shop ; or a plate of bread and cheese and a glass of beer, 
 from a miserable old public-house opposite our place of busi- 
 ness, called the Lion, or the Lion and something else that I 
 have forgotten. Once, I remember carrying my own bread 
 (which I had brought from home in the morning) under my 
 arm, wrapped in a piece of paper, like a book, and going to a 
 famous alaraode beef-house near Drury Lane, and ordering a 
 " small plate" of that delicacy to eat with it. What the waiter 
 thought of such a strange little apparition coming in all alone,! 
 don't know; but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my 
 dinner, and bringing up the other waiter to look. I gave him a 
 halfpenny for himself, and I wish he hadn't taken it. 
 
 We had half-an-hour, I think , for tea. When I had money 
 enough, I used to get half-a-pint of ready-made coffee and a 
 slice of bread and butter. When I had none, I used to look at 
 David Copi>erfield. 1. 1^ 
 
210 
 
 a venison-shop in Fleetstreet; or I have strolled, at such a time, 
 as far as Covent Garden Market, and stared at the pine-apples. 
 I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi, because it was a 
 mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see myself 
 emerging one evening from some of these arches, on a little 
 public-house close to the river, with an open space before it, 
 where some coal-heavers were dancing; to look at whom, 
 I sat down upon a bench. I wonder what they thought 
 of me! 
 
 I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went 
 into the bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or 
 porter, to moisten what I had had for dinner, they were afraid 
 to give it me. I remember one hot evening I went into the bar 
 of a public-house, and said to the landlord: 
 
 "What is your best — your vej'y best— ale a glass? " For it 
 was a special occasion. I don't know what. It may have been 
 my birth- day. 
 
 "Twopence-half-penny," says the landlord, "is the price 
 of the Genuine Stunning ale." 
 
 "Then," says I, producing the money, "just draw me a 
 glass of the Genuine Stunning, if you please, with a good head 
 to it." 
 
 The landlord looked at me in return over the bar, from 
 head to foot, with a strange smile on his face; and instead of 
 drawing the beer, looked round the screen and said something 
 to his wife. She came out from behind it , with her work in her 
 hand, and joined him in surveying me. Here we stand, all 
 three, before me now. The landlord in his shirt sleeves, 
 leaning against the bar window-frame ; his wife looking over 
 the little half-door; and I, in some confusion, looking up at 
 them from out-side the partition. They asked me a good 
 many questions ; as , what my name was , how old I was , where 
 J lived, how I was employed, and how I came there. To all of 
 
211 
 
 which , that I might commit nobody, I invented , I am afraid, 
 appropriate answers. They served me with the ale, though 
 I suspect it was not the Genuine Stunning ; and the landlord's 
 wife, opening the little half-door of the bar, and bending 
 down, gave me my money back, and gave me a kiss that was 
 half admiring and half compassionate, but all womanly and 
 good , I am sure. 
 
 I know I do not exaggerate, unconsciously and uninten- 
 tionally, the scantiness of my resources or the difficulties of 
 my life. I know that if a shilling were given me by Mr. Quinion 
 at any time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I 
 worked, from morning until night, with common men and 
 boys , a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the streets, 
 insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for 
 the mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any care that 
 was taken of me, a little robber or a little vagabond. 
 
 Yet I held some station at Murdstone and Grinby's too. 
 Besides that Mr. Quinion did what a careless man so occupied, 
 and dealing with a thing so anomalous, could, to treat me as 
 one upon a different footing from the rest, I never said, to man 
 or boy, how it was that I came to be there, or gave the least 
 indication of being sorry that I was there. That I suffered in 
 secret, and that I suffered exquisitely, no one ever knew but 
 I. How much I suffered, it is, as I have said already, utterly 
 beyond my power to tell. But I kept my own counsel, and I did 
 my work. I knew from the first, that, if I could not do my 
 work as well as any of the rest, I could not hold myself above 
 slight and contempt. I soon became at least as expeditious and 
 as skilful as either of the other boys. Though perfectly fa- 
 miliar with thorn, my conduct and manner were different 
 enough from theirs to place a space between us. They and 
 the men generally spoke of me as "the little gent, "or "the 
 young Suffolker." A certain man named Gregon-, who was 
 
 ir' 
 
212 
 
 foreman of the packers, and another named TIpp, who was the 
 carman, and wore a red jacket, used to address me sometimes 
 as " David : " but I think it was mostly when we were very con- 
 fidential, and when I had made some efi'orts to entertain them, 
 over our work, with some results of the old readings; which 
 were fast perishing out of my remembrance. Mealy Potatoes 
 uprose once, and rebelled against my being so distinguished; 
 but Mick Walker settled him in no time. 
 
 My rescue from this kind of existence I considered quite 
 hopeless, and abandoned, as such, altogether. I am so- 
 lemnly convinced that I never for one hour was reconciled to 
 it, or was otherwise than miserably unhappy; but I bore it; 
 and even toPeggotty, partly for the love of her and partly 
 for shame, never in any letter (though many passed between 
 us) revealed the truth. 
 
 Mr.Micawber's difficulties were an addition to the distress- 
 ed state of my mind. In my forlorn state I became quite 
 attached to the family, and used to walk about, busy with 
 Mrs. Micawber's calculations of ways and means, and heavy 
 with the weight of Mr. Micawber's debts. On a Saturday 
 night, which was my grand treat, — partly because it was a 
 great thing to walk home with six or seven shillings in my 
 pocket, looking into the shops and thinking what such a sum 
 would buy, and partly because I went home early, — Mrs. 
 Micawber would make the most heart-rending confidences to 
 me; also on a Sunday morning, when I mixed the portion of 
 tea or coflfee I had bought over-night, in a little shaving pot, 
 and sat late at my breakfast. It was nothing at all unusual for 
 Mr. Micawber to sob violently at the beginning of one of these 
 Saturday night conversations, and sing about Jack's delight 
 being his lovely Nan, towards the end of it. I have known 
 him come home to supper with a flood of tears, and a decla- 
 ration that nothing was now left but a jail; and go to bed 
 
213 
 
 making a calculation of the expense of putting bow-windows 
 to the house, "in case anything turned up," which was his 
 favourite expression. And Mrs. Micawber was just the 
 same. 
 
 A curious equality of friendship, originating, I suppose, 
 in our respective circumstances, sprung up between me and 
 these people, notwithstanding the ludicrous disparity in our 
 years. But I never allowed myself to be prevailed upon to 
 accept any invitation to eat and drink with them out of their 
 stock (knowing that they got on badly with the butcher and 
 baker, and had often not too much for themselves), until Mrs. 
 Micawber took me into her entire confidence. This she did 
 one evening as follows: 
 
 "Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "I make no 
 stranger of you, and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. 
 Micawber's difficulties are coming to a crisis." 
 
 It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. 
 Micawber's red eyes with the utmost sympathy. 
 
 "With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese — 
 which is not adapted to the wants of a young family" — said 
 Mrs. Micawber, "there is really not a scrap of anything in the 
 larder. I was accustomed to speak of the larder when I lived 
 with papa and mama, and I use the word almost uncon- 
 sciously. What I mean to express , is, that there is nothing to 
 eat in the house." 
 
 "Dear me!" I said, in great concern. 
 
 I had two or three shillings of my week's money in my 
 pocket — from which I presume that it must have been on a 
 Wednesday night when we held this conversation — and I 
 hastily produced them, and with heartfelt emotion begged 
 Mrs. Micawber to accept of them as a loan. But that lady, 
 kissing me, and making me put them back in my pocket, re- 
 plied that she couldn't think of it. 
 
214 
 
 "No, my dear Master Copperfield," said she, "far be It 
 from my thoughts ! But you have a discretion beyond your 
 years, and can render me another kind of service, if you will; 
 and a service I will thankfully accept of." 
 
 I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it. 
 
 "I have parted with the plate myself," said Mrs. Micawber. 
 "Six tea, two salt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different 
 times borrowed money on, in secret, with my own hands. 
 But the twins are a great tie ; and to me , with my recollections 
 of papa and mama, these transactions are very painful. There 
 are still a few trifles that we could part with. Mr. Micawber's 
 feelings would never allow him to dispose of them; and 
 Clickett" — this was the girl from the workhouse — "being of 
 a vulgar mind, would take painful liberties if so much confi- 
 dence was reposed in her. Master Copperfield, if I might 
 ask you" — 
 
 I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make 
 use of me to any extent. I began to dispose of the more port- 
 able articles of property that very evening; and went out on 
 a similar expedition almost every morning, before I went to 
 Murdstone and Grinby's. 
 
 Mr. Micawber had a few books on a little chiffonier, which 
 he called the library; and those went first. I carried them, 
 one after another, to a bookstall in the City Road — one part 
 of which, near our house, was almost all bookstalls and bird- 
 shops then — and sold them for whatever they would bring. 
 The keeper of this bookstall, who lived in a little house behind 
 it, used to get tipsy every night, and to be violently scolded 
 by his wife every morning. More than once, when I went 
 there early, I had audience of him in a turn-up bedstead, with 
 a cut in his forehead or a black eye, bearing witness to his ex- 
 cesses over night (I am afraid he was quarrelsome in his 
 drink), and he, with a shaking hand, endeavouring to find 
 
215 
 
 the needful shillings iu one or other of the pockets of his 
 clothes, which lay upon the floor, while his wife, with a baby 
 in her arms and her shoes down at heel, never left off rating 
 him. Sometimes he had lost his money, and then he would 
 ask me to call again; but his wife had always got some — had 
 taken his, I dare say, while he was drunk — and secretly 
 completed the bargain on the stairs, as we went down 
 together. 
 
 At the pawnbroker's shop, too, I began to be very well 
 known. The principal gentleman who officiated behind the 
 counter, took a good deal of notice of me; and often got me, 
 I recollect, to decline a Latin noun or adjective, or to con- 
 jugate a Latin verb, in his ear, while he transacted my busi- 
 ness. After all these occasions Mrs. Micawber made a little 
 treat, which was generally a supper; and there was a peculiar 
 relish in these meals which I well remember. 
 
 At last Mr. MicaAvber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he 
 was arrested early one morning, and carried over to the King's 
 Bench Prison in the Borough. He told me, as he went out of 
 the house, that tlie God of day had now gone down upon 
 him — and I really thought his heart was broken and mine too. 
 But I heard, afterwards, that he was seen to play a lively game 
 at skittles, before noon. 
 
 On the first Sunday after he was taken there, I was to go 
 and see him, and have dinner Avith him. I was to ask my way 
 to such a place , and just short of that place I should see such 
 another place, and just short of that I should see a yard, 
 which I was to cross, and keep straight on until I saw a turn- 
 key. All this I did; and when at last I did see a turnkey 
 (poor little fellow that I was!), and thought how, when 
 Roderick Random was in a debtor's prison, there was a man 
 there with nothing on him but an old rug, the turnkey swam 
 before my dimmed eyes and my beating heart. 
 
216 
 
 Mr. Micawbcr was waiting for me within the gate, and we 
 went up to his room (top story but one), and cried very much. 
 He solemnly conjured me, I remember, to take warning by 
 his fate; and to observe that if a man had twenty pounds 
 a-year for his income, and spent nineteen pounds nineteen 
 shillings and sixpence, he would be happy, but that if he 
 spent twenty pounds one he would be miserable. After which 
 he borrowed a shilling of me for porter, gave me a written 
 order on Mrs. Micawber for the amount, and put away his 
 pocket-handkerchief, and cheered up. 
 
 We sat before a little fire, with two bricks put within the 
 rusted grate, one on each side, to prevent its burning too 
 many coals; until another debtor, who shared the room with 
 Mr. Micawber, came in from the bake-house with the loin of 
 mutton which was our joint-stock repast. Then I was sent 
 up to "Captain Hopkins" in the room overhead, with Mr. 
 Micawber's compliments, and I was his young friend, and 
 would Captain Hopkins lend me a knife and fork. 
 
 Captain Hopkins lent me the knife and fork, with his com- 
 pliments to Mr. Micawber. There was a very dirty lady in 
 his little room, and two wan girls, his daughters, with shock 
 heads of hair. I thought it was better to borrow Captain 
 Hopkins's knife and fork, than Captain Hopkins's comb. The 
 Captain himself was in the last extremity of shabbiness, with 
 large whiskers, and an old, old brown great-coat with no 
 other coat below it. I saw his bed rolled up in a corner; and 
 what plates and dishes and pots he had, on a shelf; and I 
 divined (God knows how) that though the two girls with the 
 shock heads of hair were Captain Hopkins's children, the 
 dirty lady was not married to Captain Hopkins. My timid 
 station on his threshhold was not occupied more than a couple 
 of minutes at most; but I came down again with all this 
 
217 
 
 in my knowledge, as surely as the knife and fork were in my 
 hand. 
 
 There was something gipsy -like and agreeable in the 
 dinner, after all. I took back Captain Hopkins's knife and 
 fork early in the afternoon, and went home to comfort Mrs. 
 Micawber with an account of my visit. She fainted when she 
 saw me return, and made a little jug of egg-hot afterwards to 
 console us while we talkeil it over. 
 
 I don't know how the household furniture came to be sold 
 for the family benefit, or who sold it, except that / did not. 
 Sold it was, however, and carried away in a van; except the 
 bed, a few chairs, and the kitchen-table. With these pos- 
 sessions we encamped, as it were, in the two parlours of the 
 emptied house in Windsor Terrace; Mrs. Micawber, the 
 children, the Orfling, and myself; and lived in those rooms 
 night and day. I have no idea for how long, though it seems 
 to me for a long time. At last Mrs. Micawber resolved to 
 move into the prison, where IVIr. Micawber had now secured 
 a room to himself. So I took the key of the house to the 
 landlord, who was very glad to get it; and the beds were sent 
 over to the King's Bench, except mine, for which a little 
 room was hired outside the walls in the neighbourhood of that 
 Institution, very much to my satisfaction, since the Micawbers 
 and I had become too used to one another, in our troubles, 
 to part. The Orfling was likewise accommodated with an 
 inexpensive lodging in the same neighbourhood. Mine was a 
 (juiet back-garret with a sloping roof, commanding a pleasant 
 prospect of a timber-yard; and when I took possession of it, 
 with the reflection that Mr. Micawber's troubles had come to 
 a crisis at last, I thought it quite a paradise. 
 
 All this time I was working at Murdstone and Grinby's in 
 the same common way, and with the same common com- 
 panions , and with the same sense of unmerited degradation 
 
218 
 
 as at first. But I never, happily for me no doubt, made a 
 single acquaintance, or spoke to any of the many boys whom 
 I saw dally in going to the warehouse, in coming from it, and 
 in prowling about the streets at meal-times. I led the same 
 secretly unhappy life; but I led it in the same lonely, self- 
 reliant manner. The only changes I am conscious of are, 
 firstly, that I had grown more shabby, and secondly, that I 
 was now relieved of much of the weight of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Micawber's cares; for some relatives or friends had engaged 
 to help them at their present pass, and they lived more com- 
 fortably in the prison than they had lived for a long while out 
 of it. I used to breakfast with them now, in virtue of some 
 arrangement, of which I have forgotten the details. I forget, 
 too, at what hour the gates were opened in the morning, ad- 
 mitting of my going in; but I know that I was often up at six 
 o'clock, and that my favourite lounglng-place in the interval 
 was old London Bridge , where I was wont to sit in one of the 
 stone recesses , watching the people going by, or to look over 
 the balustrades at the sun shining in the water, and lighting 
 up the golden flame on the top of the Monument. The Orfling 
 met me here sometimes, to be told some astonishing fictions 
 respecting the wharves and the Tower ; of which I can say no 
 more than that I hope I believed them myself. In the evening 
 I used to go back to the prison, and walk up and down the 
 parade with Mr. Micawber ; or play casino with Mrs. Mi- 
 cawber, and hear reminiscences of her papa and mama. 
 Whether Mr. Murdstone knew where I was, I am unable to 
 say. I never told them at Murdstone and Grinby's. 
 
 Mr. Micawber's afiairs, although past their crisis, were 
 very much involved by reason of a certain "Deed," of which 
 I used to hear a great deal, and which I suppose, now, to 
 have been some former composition with his creditors, though 
 I was so far from being clear about it then, that I am con- 
 
219 
 
 scious of having confounded it with those demoniacal parch- 
 ments which are held to have, once upon a time, obtained to 
 a great extent in Germany. At last this document appeared 
 to be got out of the way, somehow; at all events it ceased to 
 be the rock-ahead it had been; and Mrs. Micawber informed 
 me that "her family" had decided that Mr. Micawber should 
 apply for his release under the Insolvent Debtors Act, which 
 would set him free, she expected, in about six weeks. 
 
 "And then," said Mr. Micawber, who was present, "1 
 have no doubt I shall, please Heaven, begin to be beforehand 
 with the world, and to live in a perfectly new manner, if — in 
 short, if anything turns up." 
 
 By way of going in for anything that might be on the cards, 
 I call to mind that Mr. ^Micawber, about this time, composed 
 a petition to the House of Commons, praying for an alteration 
 in the law of imprisonment for debt. I set down this remem- 
 brance here, because it is an instance to myself of the manner 
 in which I fitted my old books to my altered life, and made 
 stories for myself, out of the streets, and out of men and 
 women; and how some main points in the character 1 shall 
 unconsciously develope, I suppose, in writing my life, were 
 gradually forming all this while. 
 
 There was a club in the prison, in which Mr. Micawber, 
 as a gentleman, was a great authority. Mr. Micawber had 
 stated his idea of this petition to the club, and the club had 
 strongly approved of the same. Wherefore Mr. Micawber 
 (who was a thoroughly good-natured man, and as active a 
 creature about everjlhing but his own affairs as ever existed, 
 and never so happy as when he was busy about something that 
 could never be of any profit to him) set to work at the petition, 
 invented it, engrossed it on an immense sheet of paper, spread 
 it out on a table, and appointed a time for all the club, and all 
 
220 
 
 within the walls if they chose, to come up to his room and 
 sign it. 
 
 When I heard of this approaching ceremony, I was so 
 anxious to see them all come in, one after another, though 1 
 knew the greater part of them already, and they me, that I 
 got an hour's leave of absence from Murdstone and Grinby's, 
 and established myself in a corner for that purpose. As many 
 of the principal members of the club as could be got into the 
 small room without filling it, supported Mr. Micawber in front 
 of the petition, while my old friend Captain Hopkins (who 
 had washed himself, to do honour to so solemn an occasion) 
 stationed himself close to it, to read it to all who were unac- 
 quainted with its contents. The door was then thrown open, 
 and the general population began to come In, in a long file: 
 several waiting outside, while one entered, affixed his signa- 
 ture, and went out. To everybody in succession. Captain 
 Hopkins said: "Have you read it?" — "No." — "Would you 
 like to hear it read?" If he weakly showed the least dispo- 
 sition to hear it, Captain Hopkins, in a loud sonorous voice, 
 gave him every word of it. The Captain would have read It 
 twenty thousand times, if twenty thousand people would have 
 heard him, one by one. I remember a certain luscious roll 
 he gave to such phrases as "The people's representatives in 
 Parliament assembled," "Your petitioners therefore humbly 
 approach your honourable house," "His gracious Majesty's 
 unfortunate subjects," as if the words were something real 
 in his mouth, and delicious to taste; Mr. Micawber, mean- 
 while, listening with a little of an author's vanity, and con- 
 templating (not severely) the spikes on the opposite wall. 
 
 As I walked to and fro daily between Southwark and 
 Blackfriars, and lounged about at meal -times in obscure 
 streets, the stones of which may, for anything I know, be 
 worn at this moment by my childish feet, I wonder how many 
 
221 
 
 of these people were wanting in the crowd that used to come 
 filing before me in review again , to the echo of Captain 
 Hopkins's voice! When my thoughts go back, now, to that 
 slow agony of my youth, I wonder how much of the histories 
 I invented for such people hangs like a mist of fancy over 
 well-remembered facts! When I tread the old ground, I do 
 not wonder that I seem to see and pity, going on before me, 
 an innocent romantic boy, making his imaginative world out 
 of such strange experiences and sordid things ! 
 
CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 Liking life on my own account no better, I form a great resolution. 
 
 In due time, Mr. Mlcawber's petition was ripe for hearing; 
 and that gentleman was ordered to be discharged under the 
 act, to my great joy. His creditors were not implacable; 
 and Mrs. Micawber informed me that even the revengeful 
 bootmaker had declared in open court that he bore him no 
 malice, but that when money was owing to him he liked to be 
 paid. He said he thought it was human nature. 
 
 Mr. Micawber returned to the King's Bench when his case 
 was over, as some fees were to be settled, and some for- 
 malities observed, before he could be actually released. 
 The club received him with transport, and held an harmonic 
 meeting that evening in his honour ; while Mrs. Micawber and 
 I had a lamb's fry in private, surrounded by the sleeping 
 family. 
 
 "On such an occasion I will give you. Master Copperfiel,d,'* 
 said Mrs. Micawber, "in a little more flip," for we had been 
 having some already, "the memory of my papa and mama." 
 
 "Are they dead, Ma'am?" I inquired, after drinking 
 the toast in a wine-glass. 
 
 "My mama departed this life," said Mrs. Micawber, 
 "before Mr. Micawber's difficulties commenced, or at least 
 before they became pressing. My papa lived to bail Mr. 
 Micawber several times, and then expired, regretted by a 
 numerous circle." 
 
 Mrs. Micawber shook her head, and dropped a pious tear 
 upon the twin who happened to be in hand. 
 
223 
 
 As I could hardly hope for a more favourable opportunity 
 of putting a question in which I had a near interest, I said to 
 Mrs. Micawber: 
 
 "May I ask, Ma'am, what you and Mr. Micawber intend 
 to do, now that Mr. Micawber is out of his difficulties, and 
 at liberty ? Have you settled yet? " 
 
 "My family," said Mrs. Micawber, who always said those 
 two words with an air, though I never could discover who 
 came under the denomination, "my family are of opinion 
 that Mr. Micawber should quit London, and exert his talents 
 in the country. Mr. Micawber is a man of great talent, Mast«r 
 Copperfield." 
 
 I said I was sure of that. 
 
 " Of great talent," repeated Mrs. Micawber. "My family 
 are of opinion, that, vnih a little interest, something might 
 be done for a man of his ability in the Custom House. The 
 influence of my family being local, it is their wish that Mr. 
 Micawber should go down to Plymouth. They think it indis- 
 pensable that he should be upon the spot." 
 
 " That he may be ready? " I suggested. 
 
 "Exactly," returned Mrs. Micawber. "That he may be 
 ready — in case of anything turning up." 
 
 "And do you go too, Ma'am?" 
 
 The events of the day, in combination with the twins, if 
 not with the flip, had made Mrs. Micawber hysterical, and she 
 shed tears as she replied: 
 
 "I never will desert Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber may 
 have concealed his difficulties from me in the first instance, 
 but his sanguine temper may have led him to expect that he 
 would overcome them. The pearl necklace and bracelets 
 which I inherited from mama, have been disposed of for less 
 than half their value; and the set of coral, which was the 
 wedding gift of my papa, has been actually thrown away for 
 
224 
 
 nothing. But I never will desert Mr. Micawber. No! " cried 
 Mrs. Mica wber, more affected than before, *'I never will do 
 it! It 's of no use asking me I" 
 
 I felt quite uncomfortable — as if Mrs. Micawber supposed 
 I had asked her to do anything of the sort! — and sat looking 
 at her in alarm. 
 
 "Mr. Micawber has his faults. I do not deny that he is 
 improvident. I do not deny that he has kept me in the dark as 
 to his resources and his liabilities, both," she went on, 
 looking at the wall; "but I never will desert Mr. Micawber!"' 
 
 Mrs. Micawber having now raised her voice into a perfect 
 scream, I was so frightened that I ran off to the club-room, 
 and disturbed Mr. Micawber in the act of presiding at a long 
 table, and leading the chorus of 
 Gee up, Dobbin, 
 Gee ho, Dobbin, 
 Gee up, Dobbin, 
 Gee up, and gee ho — o — o ! 
 — with the tidings that Mrs. Micawber was in an alarming 
 state, upon which he immediately burst into tears, and came 
 away with me with his waist-coat full of the heads and tails of 
 shrimps, of which he had been partaking. 
 
 "Emma, my angel!" cried Mr. Micawber, running into 
 the room; "what is the matter?" 
 
 "I never will desert you, Micawber 1 " she exclaimed. 
 
 "My life!" said Mr. Micawber, taking her in his arms. 
 "I am perfectly aware of it." 
 
 "He is the parent of my children! He is the father of my 
 twins! He is the husband of my affections," cried Mrs. 
 Micawber, struggling; "and I ne — ver — will — desert Mr. 
 Micawber!" 
 
 Mr. Micawber was so deeply affected by this proof of her 
 devotion (as to me, I was dissolved in tears), that he hung 
 
225 
 
 over her In a passionate manner, Imploring her to look up, 
 and to be calm. But the more he asked Mrs. MIcawber to 
 look up, the more she fixed her eyes on nothing; and the 
 more he asked her to compose herself, the more she wouldn't. 
 Consequently Mr. MIcawber was soon so overcome, that he 
 mingled his tears with hers and mine; until he begged me to 
 do him the favour of taking a chair on the staircase, while he 
 got her into bed. I would have taken my leave for the night, 
 but he would not hear of my doing that until the strangers' 
 bell should ring. So I sat at the staircase window, until he 
 came out with another chair and joined me. 
 
 *'How is Mrs. Micawber now, Sir?" I said. 
 
 "Very low," said Mr. ISIicawber, shaking his head; "re- 
 action. Ah, this has been a dreadful day! We stand alone 
 now — everything Is gone from us ! " 
 
 Mr. MIcawber pressed my hand, and groaned, and after- 
 wards shed tears. I was greatly touched, and disappointed 
 too, for I had expected that we should be quite gay on this 
 happy and long-looked for occasion. But Mr. and Mrs. 
 MIcawber were so used to their old difficulties, I think, that 
 they felt quite shipwrecked when they came to consider that 
 they were released from them. All their elasticity was de- 
 parted, and I never saw them half so wretched as on this 
 night; insomuch that when the bell rang, and Mr. MIcawber 
 walked with me to the lodge, and parted from me there with 
 a blessing, I felt quite afraid to leave him by himself, he was 
 so profoundly miserable. 
 
 But through all the confusion and lowness of spirits in 
 which we had been, so unexpectedly to me, Involved, I 
 plainly discerned that Mr. and Mrs. MIcawber and their family 
 were going away from London , and that a parting between 
 us was near at hand. It was in my walk home that night, 
 and in the sleepless hours which followed whi^-n I lay in bed, 
 David Copperfield. I. 13 
 
226 
 
 that the thought finit occurred to me — though I don't know 
 how it came into my head — which afterwards shaped itself 
 into a settled resolution. 
 
 I had grown to be so accustomed to the Micawbers, and 
 had been so intimate with them in their distresses, and was so 
 utterly friendless without them, that the prospect of being 
 thrown upon some new shift for a lodging, and going once 
 more among unknown people, was like being that moment 
 turned adrift into my present life, with such a knowledge of 
 it ready made, as experience had given me. All the sensitive 
 feelings it wounded so cruelly, all the shame and misery it 
 kept alive within my breast, became more poignant as I 
 thought of this; and I determined that the life was unendu- 
 rable. 
 
 That there was no hope of escape from it, unless the escape 
 was my own act, I knew quite well. I rarely heard from Miss 
 Murdstone , and never from Mr. Murdstone : but two or three 
 parcels of made or mended clothes had come up for me, 
 consigned to Mr. Quinion, and in each there was a scrap 
 of paper to the effect that J. M. trusted D. C. was applying 
 himself to business , and devoting himself wholly to his duties 
 — not the least hint of my ever being any thing else than the 
 common drudge into which I was fast settling down. 
 
 The very next day showed me, while my mind was in the 
 first agitation of what it had conceived, that Mrs. Micawber 
 had not spoken of their going away without warrant. They 
 took a lodging in the house where I lived, for a week; at the 
 expiration of which time they were to start for Plymouth. 
 Mr. Micawber himself came down to the counting-house, in 
 the afternoon, to tell Mr. Quinion that he must relinquish me 
 on the day of his departure, and to give me a high character, 
 which I am sure I deserved. And Mr. Quinion, calling in 
 Tipp the carman, who was a married man, and had a room 
 
22: 
 
 to let, quartered me prospectively on him — by our mutual 
 consent, as he had every reason to think; fori said nothing, 
 though my resolution was now taken. 
 
 I passed my evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, during 
 the remaining term of our residence under the same roof; and 
 I think we became fonder of one another as the time went on. 
 On the last Sunday, they invited me to dinner; and we had a 
 loin of pork and apple sauce, and a pudding. I had bought a 
 spotted wooden horse over-night as a parting gift to little 
 VVilkins Mica^vber — that was the boy — and a doll for little 
 Emma. I had also bestowed a shilling on the Orfling, who was 
 about to be disbanded. 
 
 We had a very pleasant day, though we were all in a tender 
 state about our approaching separation. 
 
 ♦'I shall never, Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, 
 "revert to the period when Mr. Micawber was in difficulties, 
 without thinking of you. Your conduct has always been of 
 the most delicate and obliging description. You have never 
 been a lodger. You have been a friend. " 
 
 *'My dear, " said Mr. Micawber; " Copperfield, " for so he 
 had been accustomed to call me, of late, "has a heart to feel 
 for the distresses of his fellow creatures when they are behind 
 a cloud, and a head to plan, and a hand to — in short, a general 
 ability to dispose of such available property as could be made 
 away with. " 
 
 I expressed my sense of this commendation , and said I was 
 very sorry we were going to lose one another. 
 
 "My dear young friend," said Mr. Micawber, "I am older 
 than you; a man of some experience in life, and — and of some 
 experience, in short, in difficulties, generally speaking. At 
 present, and until something turns up (which I am, I may say, 
 hourly expecting) , I have nothing to bestow but advice. Still 
 
 15* 
 
228 
 
 my advice is so far worth taking, that — In short, that I have 
 never taken it myself, and am the" — here Mr. Micawber, 
 who had been beaming and smiling, all over his head and face, 
 up to the present moment, checked himself and frowned — 
 "the miserable wretch you behold. '* 
 
 "My dear Micawber ! " urged his wife. 
 
 *'I say, '* returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, 
 and smiling again, "the miserable wretch you behold. My 
 advice is, never do to-morrow what you can do to-day. Pro- 
 crastination is the thief of time. Collar him! " 
 
 "My poor papa's maxim, " Mrs. Micawber observed. 
 
 "My dear , " said Mr. Micawber, "your papa was very well 
 in his way, and Heaven forbid that I should disparage him. 
 Take him for all in all, we ne'er shall — in short, make the 
 acquaintance, probably, of anybody else possessing, at his 
 time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and able to read the 
 same description of print, without spectacles. But he applied 
 that maxim to our marriage, my dear; and that was so far pre- 
 maturely entered into, in consequence, that I never recovered 
 the expense." 
 
 Mr. Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added : 
 "Not that I am sorry for it. Quite the contrary, my love." 
 After which , he was grave for a minute or so. 
 
 "My other piece of advice, Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Micawber, "you know. Annual income twenty pounds, annual 
 expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual 
 Income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds 
 ought and six, result misery. The blossom is blighted, the leaf 
 is witliered, the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene, 
 and — and in short you are for ever floored. As 1 am ! " 
 
 To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber 
 drank a glass of punch with an air of great enjoyment and sa- 
 tisfaction, and whistled the College Hornpipe. 
 
229 
 
 I did not fail to assure him that I would store these precepts 
 in my mind, though indeed I had no need to do so, for, at the 
 time, they affected me visibly. Next morning I met the whole 
 family at the coach-office , and saw them, with a desolate heart, 
 take their places outside, at the back. 
 
 "Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "God bless 
 you! I never can forget all that, you know, and I never would 
 if I could." 
 
 "Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "farewell! Every 
 happiness and prosperity! If, in the progress of revolving 
 years, I could persuade myself that my blighted destiny had 
 been a warning to you, I should feel that I had not occupied 
 another man's place in existence altogether in vain. In case 
 of anj-thiug turning up (of which I am rather confident), I shall 
 be extremely happy if it should be in my power to improve 
 your prospects. " 
 
 I think, as !Mrs. Micawber sat at the back of the coach, with 
 the children , and I stood in the road looking wistfully at them, 
 a mist cleared from her eyes, and she saw what a little creature 
 I really was. I think so , because she beckoned to me to climb 
 up, with quite a new and motherly expression in her face, and 
 put her arm round my neck, and gave me just such a kiss as 
 she might have given to her own boy. I had barely time to 
 get down again before the coach started, and I could hardly 
 see the family for the handkerchiefs they waved. It was gone 
 in a minute. The Orlling and I stood looking vacantly at 
 each otlier in the middle of the road, and then shook hands 
 and said good bye; she going back, I suppose, to Saint Luke's 
 workhouse, as I went to begin my weary day at Murdstoue and 
 Grinby's. 
 
 But with no Intention of passing many more weary days 
 there. No. I liad resolved to run away. — To go, by some 
 means or other, down into the country-, to the only relation 1 
 
230 
 
 had in the world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss 
 Betsey. 
 
 I have already observed that I don't know how this 
 desperate idea came into my brain. But, once there, it re- 
 mained there ; and hardened into a purpose than which I have 
 never entertained a more determined purpose in my life. I 
 am far from sure that I believed there was anything hopeful 
 iu it, but my mind was thoroughly made up that it must be 
 carried into execution. 
 
 Again, and again, and a hundred times again, since the 
 night when the thought had first occurred to me and banished 
 sleep, I had gone over that old story of my poor mother's 
 about my birth , which it had been one of my great delights in 
 the old timo to hear her tell , and which I knew by heart. My 
 aunt walked into that story, and walked out of It, a dread and 
 awful personage; but there was one little trait in her behaviour 
 which I liked to dwell on, and which gave me some faint sha- 
 dow of encouragement. I could not forget how my mother 
 had thought that she felt her touch her pretty hair with no un- 
 gentle hand; and though it might have been altogether my 
 mother's fancy, and might have had no foundation whatever 
 in fact, I made a little picture, out of it, of my terrible aunt 
 relenting towards the girlish beauty that I recollected so well 
 and loved so much , which softened the whole narrative. It is 
 very possible that it had been in my mind a long time , and had 
 gradually engendered my determination. 
 
 As I did not even know where Miss Betsey lived, I wrote 
 a long letter to Peggotty, and asked her, incidentally, if she 
 remembered; pretending that I had heard of such a lady 
 living at a certain place I named at random, and had a curio- 
 sity to know If it were the same. In the course of that letter, 
 I told Peggotty that I had a particular occasion for half a 
 guinea; and that if she could lend me that sum until I could 
 
231 
 
 repay it, I should be very mucli obliged to her, and would tell 
 her afterwards wliat I had wanted it for. 
 
 Peggotty's answer soon arrived, and was, as usual, full 
 of alTectionate devotion. She enclosed the half guinea (I was 
 afraid she must have had a world of trouble to get it out of 
 Mr. Barkis's box), and told me that ISIiss Betsey lived near 
 Dover, but whether at Dover itself, atHythe, Sandgate, or 
 Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men, however, 
 informing me on my asking him about these places, that they 
 were all close together, I deemed this enough for my object, 
 and resolved to set out at the end of that week. 
 
 Being a very honest little creature, and unwilling to dis- 
 grace the memory I was going to leave behind me at Murd- 
 stone and Grinby's, I considered myself bound to remain 
 until Saturday night; and, as I had been paid a week's wages 
 iu advance when I first came there, not to present myself in 
 the counting-house at the usual hour, to receive my stipend. 
 For this express reason, I had borrowed the half-guinea, that 
 I might not be without a fund for my travelling-expenses. 
 Accordingly, when the Saturday night came, and we were 
 all waiting in the warehouse to be paid , and Tipp the carman, 
 who always took predeuce, went in first to draw his money, 
 I shook Mick Walker by the hand ; asked him when it came to 
 his turn to be paid, to say to Mr. Quinion that I had gone to 
 move my box to Tipp's; and, bidding a last good night to 
 Mealy Potatoes, ran away. 
 
 My box was at my old lodging, over the water, and I had 
 written a direction for it on the back of one of our address 
 cards that we nailed on the casks: "Master David, to be left 
 till called for, at the Coach Office, Dover." This I had in my 
 pocket ready to put on the box, after I should have got it out 
 of the house; and as 1 went towards my lodging, I looked 
 
232 
 
 about me for some one who would help me to carrj- it to the 
 booking-ofSce 
 
 There was a long-legged young man with a very little 
 empty donkey-cart, standing near the Obelisk, in the Black- 
 friars Road, whose eye I caught as I was going by, and who, 
 addressing me as " Sixpenn'orth of bad ha'pence," hoped 
 "I should know him agin to swear to" — in allusion, I have 
 no doubt, to my staring at him. I stopped to assure him 
 that I had not done so in bad manners , but uncertain whether 
 he might or might not like a job. 
 
 "AVot job?" said the long-legged young man. 
 
 "To move a box," I answered. 
 
 "Wot box?" said the long-legged young man. 
 
 I told him mine, which was down that street there, and 
 which I wanted him to take to the Dover coach-office for six- 
 pence. 
 
 "Done with you for a tanner 1" said the long-legged 
 young man, and directly got upon his cart, which was nothing 
 but a large wooden-tray on wheels, and rattled away at such a 
 rate, that it was as much as I could do to keep pace with the 
 donkey. 
 
 There was a defiant manner about this young man, and 
 particularly about the way in which he chewed straw as he 
 spoke to me, that I did not much like; as the bargain was 
 made, however, I took him up-'stairs to the room I was leaving, 
 and we brought the box down, and put it on his cart. Now, 
 I was unwilling to put the direction-card on there, lest any 
 of my landlord's family should fathom what I was doing, and 
 detain me; so I said to the young man that I would be glad if 
 he would stop for a minute, when he came to the dead- wall 
 of the King's Bench prison. The words were no sooner out 
 of my mouth, than he rattled away as if he, my box, the cart. 
 
233 
 
 and the donkey, were all equally mad ; and I was quite out of 
 breath with running and calling after him, when I caught him 
 at the place appointed 
 
 Being much flushed and excited, I tumbled my half-guinea 
 out of my pocket in pulling the card out. I put it in my mouth 
 for safety, and though my hands trembled a good deal, had 
 just tied the card on very much to my satisfaction, when I felt 
 myself violently chucked under the chin by the long-legged 
 young man, and saw my half-guinea fly out of my mouth into 
 his hand. 
 
 "Wot!" said the young man, seizing me by my jacket collar, 
 with a frightful grin. " This is a poUis case, is it? You 're a 
 going to bolt, are you? Come to the pollis, you young warmin, 
 cometo thepollisl'* 
 
 "You give me my money back, if you please," said I, very 
 much frightened; "and leave me alone." 
 
 "Come to the pollis!" said the young man. "You shall 
 prove it yourn to the pollis." 
 
 "Give me my box and money, will you," I cried, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 The young man still replied: "Come to the pollis!" and 
 was dragging me against the donkey in a violent manner, as 
 if there were any affinity between that animal and a ma- 
 gistrate, when he changed his mind, jumped into the cart, 
 sat upon my box, and, exclaiming that he would drive to the 
 pollis straight, rattled away harder than ever. 
 
 I ran after him as fast as I could, but I had no breath to call 
 out with, and should not have dared to call out, now, if I 
 had. I narrowly escaped being run over, twenty times at 
 least, in half a mile. Now I lost him, now I saw him, nowl 
 lost him, nowl was cut at with a whip, now shouted at, now 
 down in the mud, now up again, now running into somebody's 
 
234 
 
 arms , now running headlong at a post. At length , confused 
 by fright and heat, and doubting whether half London might 
 not by this time be turning out for my apprehension, I left the 
 young man to go where he would with my box and money ; 
 and, panting and crying, but never stopping, faced about for 
 Greenwich, which I had understood was on the Dover Road: 
 taking very little more out of the world, towards the restreat 
 of my aunt, Miss Betsey, than I had brought into it, on the 
 night when my arrival gave her so much umbrage. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The sequel of ray resolution. 
 
 For anything I know, I may have had some wild idea of 
 running all the way to Dover, when I gave up the pursuit of 
 the young man with the donkey cart, and started for Green- 
 wich. My scattered senses were soon collected as to that 
 point, if I had; fori came to a stop in the Kent Road, at a 
 terrace with a piece of water before it, and a great foolish 
 image in the middle, blowing a dry shell. Here I sat down 
 on a doorstep, quite spent and exhausted with the efforts I 
 had already made, and with hardly breath enough to cry for 
 the loss of my box and halfguinea. 
 
 It was by this time dark; I heard the clocks strike ten, as 
 I sat resting. But it was a summer night, fortunately, and 
 fine weather. When I had recovered my breath , and had got 
 rid of a stifling sensation in my throat, I rose up and went on. 
 In the midst of my distress, I had no notion of going back. 
 I doubt if I should have had any, though there had been a 
 Swiss snow-drift in the Kent Road. 
 
 But my standing possessed of only three-halfpence in the 
 world (and I am sure I wonder how they came to be left in my 
 pocket on a Saturday night!) troubled me none the less be- 
 cause I went on. I began to picture to myself, as a scrap of 
 newspaper intelligence, my being found dead in a day or two, 
 under some hedge; and I trudged on miserably, though as 
 fast as I could, until I happened to pass a little shop , where it 
 was written up that ladies' and gentlemen's wardrobes were 
 bought, and that the best price was given for rags, bones, 
 and kitchen-stuff. The master of this shop was sitting at the 
 
236 
 
 door in his shirt sleeves , smoking ; and as there were a great 
 many coats and pairs of trowsers dangling from the low 
 ceiling, and only two feeble candles burning inside to show 
 what they were, I fancied that he looked like a man of a re- 
 vengeful disposition, who had hung all his enemies, and was 
 enjoying himself. 
 
 My late experiences with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber sug- 
 gested to me that here might be a means of keeping off the 
 wolf for a little while. I went up the next bye-street, took ofl 
 my waistcoat, rolled it neatly under my arm, and came back 
 to the shop-door. "If you please. Sir," I said, "I am to sell 
 this for a fair price." 
 
 Mr. DoUoby — DoUoby was the name over the shop-door, 
 at least — took the waistcoat, stood his pipe on its head against 
 the door-post, went into the shop, followed by me, snuffed 
 the two candles with his fingers, spread the waistcoat on the 
 counter, and looked at it there, held It up against the light, 
 and looked at it there , and ultimately said : 
 
 "What do you call a price, now, for this here little 
 weskit?" 
 
 "Oh! you know best, Sir," I returned, modestly. 
 
 "I con't be buyer and seller too," said Mr. Dolloby. "Put 
 a price on this here little weskit." 
 
 "Would eighteenpence be" — I hinted, after some hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 Mr. Dolloby rolled it up again, and gave it me back. "I 
 should rob my family," he said, "if I was to offer ninepence 
 for it." 
 
 This was a disagreeable way of putting the business ; be- 
 cause it imposed upon me, a perfect stranger, the unplea- 
 santness of asking Mr. Dolloby to rob his family on my ac- 
 count. My circumstances being so very pressing, however, 
 I said I would take ninepence for It, if he pleased. Mr. Dol- 
 
237 
 
 loby, not without some grumbling, gave ninepence. I wished 
 him good night, and walked out of the shop, the richer by 
 that sura , and the poorer by a waistcoat. But when I but- 
 toned my jacket , that was not much. 
 
 Indeed, I foresaw pretty clearly that my jacket would go 
 next, and that I sliould have to make the best of my way to 
 Dover in a shirt and a pair of trowsers, and might deem my- 
 self lucky if I got there even in that trim. But my mind did 
 not run so much on this as might be supposed. Beyond a 
 general impression of the distance before me, and of the 
 young man with the donkey-cart having used me cruelly, I 
 think I had no very urgent sense of my difficulties when I once 
 again set off with my ninepence in my pocket. 
 
 A plan had occurred to me for passing the night, which I 
 was going to carry into execution. This was, to lie behind 
 the wall at the back of my old school , in a corner where there 
 used to be a haystack. I imagined it would be a kind of com- 
 pany to have the boys, and the bed-room where 1 used to tell 
 the stories, so near me: although the boys would know 
 nothing of my being there, and the bed-room would yield me 
 no shelter. 
 
 I had had a hard day's work, and was pretty well jaded 
 when I came climbing out,* at last, upon the level of Black- 
 heath. It cost me some trouble to find out Salem House ; but 
 I found it, and I found a haystack in the corner, and I lay 
 down by it; having first walked round the wall, and looked 
 up at the windows, and seen that all was dark and silent with- 
 in. Never shall I forget the lonely sensation of first lying 
 down, without a roof above my head! 
 
 Sleep came upon me as it came on many other outcasts, 
 against whom house-doors were locked, and house-dogs 
 barked, that night — and I dreamed of lying on my old 
 school-bed, talking to the boys in my room; and found my- 
 
238 
 
 self sitting upright, with Steerforth's name upon my lips, 
 looking wildly at the stars that were glistening and glimmering 
 above me. When I remembered where I was at that untimely 
 hour, a feeling stole upon me that made me get up, afraid of 
 I don't know what, and walk about. But the fainter glim- 
 mering of the stars, and the pale light in the sky where the 
 day was coming, reassured me: and my eyes being very heavy, 
 I lay down again , and slept — though with a knowledge in my 
 sleep that it was cold — until the warm beams of the sun, and 
 the ringing of the getting-up bell at Salem House, awoke me. 
 If I could have hoped that Steerforth was there, I would have 
 lurked about until he came out alone; but I knew he must 
 have left long since. Traddles still remained, perhaps, but 
 it was very doubtful; and I had not sufficient confidence in 
 his discretion or good luck, however strong my reliance was 
 on his good-nature, to wish to trust him with my situation. So 
 I crept away from the wall as Mr. Creakle's boys were getting 
 up, and struck into the long dusty track which I had first 
 known to be the Dover road when I was one of them, and 
 when I little expected that any eyes would ever see me the 
 wayfarer I was now, upon it. 
 
 What a difi'erent Sunday morning from the old Sunday 
 morning at Yarmouth ! In due time I heard the church-bells 
 ringing, as I plodded on; and I met people who were going 
 to church; and I passed a church or two where the congrega- 
 tion were inside, and the sound of singing came out into the 
 sun-shine, while the beadle sat and cooled himself in the 
 shade of the porch, or stood beneath the yew-tree, with his 
 hand to his forehead, glowering at me going by. But the 
 peace and rest of the old Sunday morning were on everything, 
 except me. That was the diflTerence. I felt quite wicked in 
 my dirt and dust, and with my tangled hair. But for the quiet 
 picture I had conjured up , of my mother in her youth and 
 
239 
 
 beauty, weeping by the fire, and my aunt relenting to her, 
 I hardly thiri I should have had courage to go on until next 
 day. But it always went before me, and I followed. 
 
 I got, that Sunday, through three-and-twenty miles on 
 the straight road, though not very easily, for I was new to 
 that kind of toil. I see myself, as evening closes in, coming 
 over the bridge at Rochester, footsore and tired, and eating 
 bread that I had bought for supper. One or two little houses, 
 with the notice, "Lodgings for Travellers," hanging out, 
 liad tempted me; but I was afraid of spending the few pence 
 I had, and was even more afraid of the vicious looks of the 
 trampers I had met or overtaken. I sought no shelter, there- 
 fore, but the sky; and toiling into Chatham, — which, in that 
 night's aspect, is a mere dream of chalk, and drawbridges, 
 and mastless ships in a muddy river, roofed like Noah's 
 arks, — crept, at last, upon a sort of grass-grown battery 
 overhanging a lane, where a sentry was walking to and fro. 
 Here I lay down , near a cannon ; and, happy in the society of 
 the sentry's footsteps, though he knew no more of my being 
 above him than the boys at Salem House had known of my 
 lying by the wall , slept soundly until morning. 
 
 Very stiff and sore of foot I was in the morning, and quite 
 dazed by the beating of drums and marching of troops, which 
 seemed to hem me in on every side when I went down towards 
 the long narrow street. Feeling that I could go but a very 
 little way that day, if 1 were to reserve any strength for getting 
 to my journey's end, I resolved to make the sale of my jacket 
 its principal business. Accordingly, I took the jacket off, 
 that I might learn to do without it; and carrying it under my 
 arm, began a tour of inspection of the various slop-shops. 
 
 It was a likely place to sell a jacket in; for the dealers in 
 second-hand clothes were numerous, and were, generally 
 speaking, on the look-out for customers at their shop-doors. 
 
240 
 
 But as most of them Lad, hanging up among their stock, an 
 officer's coat or two, epaulettes and all, I was rendered 
 timid by the costly nature of their dealings, and walked 
 about for a long time without offering my merchandize to 
 any one. 
 
 This modesty of mine directed my attention to the marine- 
 store shops, and such shops as Mr. Dolloby's, in preference 
 to the regular dealers. At last I found one that I thought 
 looked promising, at the comer of a dirty lane, ending in an 
 inclosure full of stinging nettles, against the palings of which 
 some second-hand sailors' clothes, that seemed to have over- 
 flowed the shop, were fluttering among some cots, and rusty 
 guns, and oilskin hats, and certain trays full of so many old 
 rusty keys of so many sizes that they seemed vanous enough 
 to open all the doors in the world. 
 
 Into this shop, which was low and small, and which was 
 darkened rather than lighted by a little window, overhung 
 with clothes, and was descended into by some steps, I went 
 with a palpitating heart; which was not relieved when an ugly 
 old man, with the lower part of his face all covered with a 
 stubbly grey beard, rushed out of a dirty den behind it, and 
 seized me by the hair of my head. He was a dreadful old man 
 to look at, in a filthy flannel waistcoat, and smelling terribly 
 of rum. His bedstead, covered with a tumbled and ragged 
 piece of patchwork, was in the den he had come from, where 
 another little window showed a prospect of more stinging 
 nettles, and a lame donkey. 
 
 "Oh, what do you want?" grinned this old man, in a 
 fierce, monotonous whine. *'0h, my eyes and limbs, what 
 do you want? Oh, my lungs, and liver, what do you want? 
 Oh , goroo , goroo ! " 
 
 I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly 
 by the repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind 
 
241 
 
 of rattle in his throat, that I could make no answer; hereupon 
 the old man, still holding me by the hair, repeated; 
 
 "Oh, -what do you want? Oh, my eyes and limbs, what 
 do you want? Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want! 
 Oh, goroo!" — which he screamed out of himself, with an 
 energy that made his eyes start in his head. 
 
 "I wanted to know," I said, trembling, "if you would 
 buy a jacket.'* 
 
 "Oh, let 's see the jacket!" cried the old man. "Oh, 
 my heart on fire, show the jacket to us! Oh, my eyes and 
 limbs , bring the jacket out ! " 
 
 With that he took his trembling hands , which were like the 
 claws of a great bird, out of my hair; and put on a pair of 
 spectacles, not at all ornamental to his inflamed eyes. 
 
 "Oh, how much for the jacket?" cried the old man, 
 after examining it. "Oh — goroo! — how much for the 
 jacket?" 
 
 "Half-a-crown," I answered, recovering myself. 
 
 "Oh, my lungs and liver," cried the old man, "no! Oh, 
 my eyes, no! Oh, my limbs, no! Eighteenpence. Goroo!" 
 
 Every time he uttered this ejaculation, his eyes seemed to 
 be in danger of starting out; and every sentence he spoke, he 
 delivered in a sort of tune, always exactly the same, and 
 more like a gust of wind, which begins low, mounts up 
 high, and falls again, than any other comparison I can find 
 for it. 
 
 "Well," said I, glad to have closed the bargain, "I'll 
 take eighteenpence." 
 
 "Oh, my liver!" cried the old man, throwing the jacket 
 on a shelf. " Get out of the shop ! Oh , my lungs , get out of 
 the shop! Oh, my eyes and limbs — goroo ! — don't ask for 
 money; make it an exchange." 
 
 David Copper field. L 16 
 
242 
 
 I never was so frightened in my life, before or since; but 
 I told him humbly that I wanted money, and that nothing else 
 was of any use to me, but that I would wait for it, as he 
 desired, outside, and had no wish to hurry him. So I went 
 outside, and sat down in the shade in a corner. And I sat 
 there so many hours, that the shade became sunlight, and the 
 sunlight became shade again, and still I sat there waiting for 
 the money. 
 
 There never was such another drunken madman in that 
 line of business, I hope. That he was well known in the 
 neighbourhood, and enjoyed the reputation of having sold 
 himself to the devil, I soon understood from the visits he 
 received from the boys, who continually came skirmishing 
 about the shop, shouting that legend, and calling to him to 
 bring out his gold. "You ain't poor, you know, Charley, as 
 you pretend. Bring out your gold. Pring out some of the 
 gold you sold yourself to the devil for Come! It 's in the 
 lining of the mattress, Charley. Rip it open and let 's have 
 some!" This, and many offers to lend him a knife for the 
 purpose, exasperated him to such a degree, that the whole 
 day was a succession of rushes on his part, and flights on the 
 part of the boys. Sometimes in his rage he would take me 
 for one of them, and come at me, mouthing as if he were 
 going to tear me in pieces; then, remembering me, just in 
 time, would dive into the shop, and lie upon his bed, as I 
 thought from the sound of his voice, yelling in a frantic way, 
 to his own windy tune, the Death of Nelson; with an Oh! 
 before every line, and innumerable Goroos interspersed. As 
 if this were not bad enough for me, the boys, connecting me 
 with the establishment, on account of the patience and per- 
 severance with which I sat outside, half-dressed, pelted me, 
 and used me very ill all day. 
 
 He made many attempts to induce me to consent to an 
 
243 
 
 exchange; at one time coming out with a fishing-rod, at 
 another with a fiddle, at another with a cocked hat, at another 
 with a flute. But I resisted all these overtures, and sat there 
 in desperation; each time asking him, with tears in my eyes, 
 for my money or my jacket. At last he began to pay me in 
 halfpence at a time; and was full two hours getting by easy 
 stages to a shilling, 
 
 "Oh, my eyes and limbs!" he then cried, peeping hide- 
 ously out of the shop, after a long pause, "will };ou go for 
 twopence more?" 
 
 "I can't," I said; "I shall be starved." 
 
 "Oh, my lungs and liver, will you go for threepence?" 
 
 "I would go for nothing, if I could," I said, "but I want 
 the money badly." 
 
 "Oh, go — roo!" (it is really impossible to express how 
 he twisted this ejaculation out of himself, as he peeped round 
 the doorpost at me, showing nothing but his crafty old head) ; 
 "will you go for fourpence?" 
 
 I was so faint and wearj' that I closed with this offer; and 
 taking the money out of his claw, not without trembling, went 
 away more hungry and thirsty than I had ever been, a little 
 before sunset. But at an expense of threepence I soon re- 
 freshed myself completely ; and, being in better spirits then, 
 limped seven miles upon my road. 
 
 My bed at night was under another haystack, where I 
 rested comfortably, after having washed my blistered feet in 
 a stream, and dressed them as well as I was able, with some 
 cool leaves. When I took the road again next morning, I 
 found that it lay through a succession of hop-grounds and 
 orchards. It was sufficiently late in the year for the orchards 
 to be ruddy with ripe apples; and in a few places the hop- 
 pickers were already at work. I thought it all extremely 
 beautiful, and made up my mind to sleep amon;]i: the hops that 
 
 16' 
 
244 
 
 night: imagining some cheerful companionship in the long 
 perspectives of poles, with the graceful leaves twining round 
 them. 
 
 The trampers were worse than ever that day, and inspired 
 me with a dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of 
 them were most ferocious-looking ruffians, who stared at me 
 as I went by; and stopped, perhaps, and called after me to 
 come back and speak to them; and when I took to my heels, 
 stoned me. I recollect one young fellow — a tinker, I sup- 
 pose, from his wallet and brazier — who had a woman with 
 him, and who faced about and stared at me thus; and then 
 roared to me in such a tremendous voice to come back, that I 
 halted and looked round. 
 
 "Come here, when you 're called," said the tinker, "or 
 I '11 rip your young body open." 
 
 I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, 
 trying to propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that 
 the woman had a black eye. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said the tinker, griping the 
 bosom of my shirt with his blackened hand. 
 
 "I am going to Dover," I said. 
 
 "Where do you come from?" asked the tinker, giving 
 his hand another turn in my shirt, to hold me more securely. 
 
 "I come from London," I said. 
 
 " What lay are you upon ? " asked the tinker. " Are you a 
 prig?" 
 
 "N — no," I said. 
 
 "Ain't you, by G — ? If you make a brag of your honesty 
 to me," said the tinker, " I '11 kndck your brains out." 
 
 With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking 
 me, and then looked at me from head to foot. 
 
 "Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you?" said 
 the tinker. "If you have, out with it, afore I take it away!" 
 
245 
 
 I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the 
 woman's look, and saw her very slightly shake her head, and 
 form "No I" with her lips. 
 
 "lam very poor," Isaid, attempting to smile , "and have 
 got no money." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" said the tinker, looking so 
 sternly at me , that I almost feared he saw the money in my 
 pocket. 
 
 "Sir I" I stammered. 
 
 "What do you mean," said the tinker, "by wearing my 
 brother's silk hankercher? Give it over here I" And he had 
 mine off my neck in a moment, and tossed it to the woman. 
 
 The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought 
 this a joke, and tossing it back to me, nodded once, as 
 slightly as before, and made the word "Go! " with her lips. 
 Before I could obey, however, the tinker seized the hand- 
 kerchief out of my hand with a roughness that threw me away 
 like a feather, and putting it loosely round his own neck, 
 turned upon the woman with an oath, and knocked her down. 
 I never shall forget seeing her fall backward on the hard road, 
 and lie there with her bonnet tumbled off, and her hair all 
 whitened in the dust; nor, when I looked back from a distance, 
 seeing her sitting on the pathway, which was a bank by the 
 roadside, wiping the blood from her face with a corner of her 
 shawl, while he went on ahead. 
 
 This adventure frightened me so, that, afterwards, when 
 I saw any of these people coming, I turned back until I could 
 find a hiding-place, where I remained until they had gone out 
 of sight; which happened so often, that I was very seriously 
 delayed. But under this difficulty, as under all the other 
 difficulties of my journey, I seemed to be sustained and led 
 on by my fanciful picture of my mother in her youth , before I 
 ,came into the world. It always kept me company. It was 
 
246 
 
 there, among the hops, when I lay down to sleep ; it was with 
 me on my waking in the morning; it went before me all day. 
 I have associated it, ever since, with the sunny street of 
 Canterbury, dozing as it were in the hot light; and with 
 the sight of its old houses and gateways, and the stately, grey 
 Cathedral, with the rooks sailing round the towers. "When I 
 came, at last, upon the bare, wide downs near Dover, it 
 relieved the solitary aspect of the scene with hope ; and not 
 until I reached that first great aim of my journey, and actually 
 set foot in the town itself, on the sixth day of my flight, did it 
 desert me. But then, strange to say, when I stood with my 
 ragged shoes, and my dusty, sunburnt, half-clothed figure, 
 in the place so long desired, it seemed to vanish like a dream, 
 and to leave me helpless and dispirited. 
 
 I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and 
 received various answers. One said she lived in the South 
 Foreland Light, and had singed her whiskers by doing so; 
 another, that she was made fast to the great buoy outside the 
 harbour, and could only be visited at half-tide; a third, that 
 she was locked up in Maidstone Jail for child-stealing; a 
 fourth , that she was seen to mount a broom in the last high 
 wind, and make direct for Calais. The fly-drivers, among 
 whom I inquired next, were equally jocose and equally dis- 
 respectful; and the shopkeepers, not liking my appearance, 
 generally replied, without hearing what I had to say, that 
 they had got nothing for me. I felt more miserable and 
 destitute than I had done at any period of my running away. 
 My money was all gone, I had nothing left to dispose of; I 
 was hungry, thirsty, and worn out; and seemed as distant 
 from my end as if I had remained in London. 
 
 The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was 
 sitting on the step of an empty shop at a street corner, near 
 the market-place, deliberating upon wandering towards those 
 
247 
 
 other places whicli had been mentioned, when a fly-driver, 
 coming by with his carnage, dropped a horsecloth. Some- 
 thing good-natured in the man's face, as I lianded it up, 
 encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss 
 Trotwood lived; though I had asked the question so often, 
 that it almost died upon my lips. 
 
 "Trotwood," said he. "Let me see. I know the name, 
 too. Old lady?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "rather." 
 
 "Pretty stiff in the back?" said he, making himself 
 upright. 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I should think it very likely." 
 
 "Cannes a bag?" said he — "bag with a good deal of 
 room in it — is grufQsh, and comes down upon you, 
 sharp?" 
 
 My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted 
 accuracy of this description. 
 
 "Why then, I tell you what," said he. "If you go up 
 there," pointing with his whip towards the heights, "and 
 keep right on till you come to some houses facing the sea, 
 I think you '11 hear of her. My opinion is she won't stand 
 anything, so here 's a penny for you." 
 
 I accepted the gift thankfully, and bought a loaf with it. 
 Dispatching this refreshment by the way, I went in the direc- 
 tion my friend had indicated, and walked on a good distance 
 without coming to the houses he had mentioned. At length 
 I saw some before me; and approaching them, went into a 
 little shop (it was what we used to call a general shop, at 
 home), and inquired if they could have the goodness to tell 
 me where Miss Trotwood lived. I addressed myself to a man 
 behind the counter, who was weighing some rice for a young 
 woman; but the latter, taking the inquiry to herself, turned 
 round quickly. 
 
248 
 
 "My mistress?" she said. "What do you want with her, 
 boy?" 
 
 "I want," I replied, "to speak to her, if you please." 
 
 " To beg of her, you mean," retorted the damsel. 
 
 "No," I said, "indeed." But suddenly remembering 
 that in truth I came for no other purpose, I held my peace in 
 confusion , and felt my face burn. 
 
 My aunt's handmaid, as I supposed she was from what she 
 had said, put her rice in a little basket and walked out of the 
 shop; telling me that I could follow her, if I wanted to know 
 where Miss Trotwood lived. I needed no second permission; 
 though I was by this time in such a state of consternation and 
 agitation, that my legs shook under me. I followed the young 
 woman, and we soon came to a very neat little cottage with 
 cheerful bow- windows : in front of it, a small square gravelled 
 court or garden full of flowers, carefully tended, and smelling 
 deliciously. 
 
 "This is Miss Trotwood's," said the young womafi. "Now 
 you know; and that's all I have got to say." With which 
 words she hurried into the house, as if to shake off the re- 
 sponsibility of my appearance; and left me standing at the 
 garden-gate, looking disconsolately over the top of it towards 
 the parlour-window, where a muslin curtain partly undrawn 
 in the middle, a large round green screen or fan fastened on 
 to the window-sill, a small table, and a great chair, suggested 
 to me that my aunt might be at that moment seated in awful 
 state. 
 
 My shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. The 
 soles had shed themselves bit by bit, and the upper leathers 
 had broken and burst until the very shape and form of shoes 
 had departed from them. My hat (which had served me 
 for a night-cap, too) was so crushed and bent, that no old 
 battered handle-less saucepan on a dunghill need have been 
 
249 
 
 ashamed to vie with it. My shirt and trowsers, stained with 
 heat, dew, grass, and the Kentish soil on which I had slept — 
 and torn besides — might have frightened the birds from my 
 aunt's garden, as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no 
 comb or brush since I left London. My face, neck, and hands, 
 from unaccustomed exposure to the air and sun, were burnt 
 to a berry-brown. From head to foot I was powdered almost 
 as white with chalk and dust, as if I had come out of a lime- 
 kiln. In this plight, and with a strong consciousness of it, 
 I waited to introduce myself to, and make my first impression 
 on, my formidable aunt. 
 
 The unbroken stillness of the parlour-window leading me 
 to infer, after a-while, that she was not there, I lifted up my 
 eyes to the window above it, where I saw a florid, pleasant- 
 looking gentleman, with a grey head, who shut up one eye in 
 a grotesque manner, nodded his head at me several times, 
 shook it at me as often, laughed, and went away. 
 
 I had been discomposed enough before; but I was so 
 much the more discomposed by this unexpected behaviour, 
 that I was on the point of slinking off, to think how I had best 
 proceed, when there came out of the house a lady with a 
 handkerchief tied over her cap, and a pair of gardening 
 gloves on her hands, wearing a gardening pocket like a toll- 
 man's apron, and carrying a great knife. I knew her im- 
 mediately to be Miss Betsey, for she came stalking out of the 
 house exactly as my poor mother had so often described her 
 stalking up our garden at Blunderstone Rookery. 
 
 "Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and 
 making a distant chop in the air with her knife. "Go along! 
 No boys here!" 
 
 I watched her, with my heart at my lips , as she marched to 
 a corner of her garden, and stooped to dig up some little root 
 there. Then, without a scrap of courage, but with a great 
 
250 
 
 deal of desperation, I -svcnt softly in and stood beside her, 
 touching her with my finger. 
 
 "If you please, Ma'am," I began. 
 
 She started, and looked up. 
 
 "If you please, aunt." 
 
 "Eh?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I 
 have never heard approached. 
 
 "If you please, aunt, I am your nephew." 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" said my aunt. And sat flat down in the 
 garden-path. 
 
 "I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk — 
 where you came, on the night when I was born, and saw my 
 dear mama. I have been very unhappy since she died. I have 
 been slighted, and taught nothing, and thrown upon myself, 
 and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you. 
 I was robbed at first setting out, and have walked all the way, 
 and have never slept in a bed since I began thejourney." Here 
 my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of 
 my hands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to 
 witness that I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of 
 crying, which I suppose had been pent up within me all the 
 week. 
 
 My aunt, with every sort of expression but wonder dis- 
 charged from her countenance, sat on the gravel, staring at me, 
 until I began to cry; when she got up in a great huny, collared 
 me , and took me into the parlour. Her first proceeding there 
 was to unlock a tall press, bring out several bottles, and pour 
 some of the contents of each into my mouth. I think they must 
 have been taken out at random, for I am sure I tasted anis-seed 
 water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. When she had ad- 
 ministered these restoratives, as I was still quite hysterical, and 
 unable to controul ray sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a 
 shawl under my head, and the handkerchief from her own head 
 
251 
 
 under my feet, lest I should sully the cover; and then, sitting 
 herself down behind the green fan or screen I have already 
 mentioned, so that I could not see her face, ejaculated at inter- 
 vals, "Mercy on us !" letting those exclamations off like minute 
 guns. 
 
 After a time she rang the bell. "Janet," said my aunt, 
 •when her servant came in. "Go up stairs, give my compli- 
 ments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him." 
 
 Janet looked a little surprised to see me lying stiffly on the 
 sofa (I was afraid to move lest it should be displeasing to my 
 aunt), but went on her errand. My aunt, with her hands be- 
 hind her, walked up and down the room, until the gentle- 
 man who had squinted at me from the upper window came in 
 laughing. 
 
 "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "don't be a fool, because no- 
 body can be more discreet than you can, when you choose. We 
 all know that. So don't be a fool, whatever you are." 
 
 The gentleman was serious immediately, and looked at 
 me, I thought, as if he would entreat me to say nothing about 
 the window. 
 
 "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "you have heard me mention 
 David Copperfield? Now don't pretend not to have a memory, 
 because you and I know better." 
 
 "David Copperfield?" said Mr. Dick, who did not appear 
 to me to remember much about it. " David Copperfield? Oh 
 yes , to be sure. David, certainly." 
 
 "Well," said my aunt, "this is his boy — his son. He would 
 be as like his father as it 's possible to be, if he was not so like 
 his mother, too." 
 
 "His son?" said Mr. Dick. "David's son? Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes," pursued my aunt, "and he has done a pretty piece 
 of business. He has run away. Ah ! His sister, Betsey Trot- 
 wood, never would have run away." My aunt shook her head 
 
252 
 
 firmly, confident in the character and behaviour of the ^rl who 
 never was born. 
 
 "Oh! you think she wouldn't have run away?" said 
 Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Bless and save the man," exclaimed my aunt, sharply, 
 ** how he talks ! Don't I know she wouldn't? She would have 
 lived with her god-mother, and we should have been devoted 
 to one another. Where, in the name of wonder, should his 
 sister, Betsey Trotwood , have run from , or to ? " 
 
 "Nowhere," said Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Well then," returned my aunt, softened by the reply, 
 "how can you pretend to be wool-gathering, Dick, when you 
 are as sharp as a surgeon's lancet? Now, here you see young 
 David Copperfield, and the question I put to you is, what shall 
 I do with him?" 
 
 "What shall you do with him?" said Mr. Dick, feebly, 
 scratching his head. " Oh ! do with him ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said my aunt, with a grave look and her forefinger 
 held up. "Come! I want some very sound advice." 
 
 "Why, if I was you," said Mr. Dick, considering, and 
 looking vacantly at me, "I should — " The contemplation of 
 me seemed to inspire him with a sudden idea, and he added, 
 briskly, "I should wash him ! " 
 
 "Janet," said my aunt, turning round with a quiet triumph, 
 which I did not then understand, "Mr. Dick sets us all right. 
 Heat the bath ! " 
 
 Although I was deeply interested in this dialogue, I could 
 not help observing my aunt, ^Ir. Dick, and Janet, while it was 
 in progress, and completing a survey I had already been en- 
 gaged in making of the room 
 
 My aunt was a tall, hard-featured lady, but by no means ill- 
 Jooking. There was an inflexibility in her face, in her voice, 
 in her gait and carriage, amply sufficient to account for the 
 
253 
 
 effect she had made upon a gentle creature like my mother; 
 but her features were rather handsome than otherwise, though 
 unbending and austere. I particularly noticed that she had a 
 very quick, bright eye. Her hair, which was grey, was arranged 
 in two plain divisions, under wliat I believe would be called a 
 mob-cap: I mean a cap, much more common then than now, 
 with side-pieces fastening under the chin. Her dress was of a 
 lavender colour, and perfectly neat; but scantily made, as if she 
 desired to be as little encumbered as possible. I remember 
 that I thought it, in form, more like a riding-habit with the 
 superfluous skirt cut off, than anything else. She wore at her 
 side a gentleman's gold watch, if I might judge from its size 
 and make, with an appropriate chain and seals; she had some 
 linen at her throat not unlike a shirt-collar, and things at her 
 wrists like little shirt-wristbands. 
 
 Mr. Dick, as I have already said, was grey-headed, and 
 florid: I should have said all about him, in saying so, had not 
 his head been curiously bowed — not by age ; it reminded me 
 of one of Mr. Creakle's boys' heads after a beating — and his 
 grey eyes prominent and large, with a strange kind of watery 
 brightness in them that made me, in combination with his 
 vacant manner, his submission to my aunt, and his childish 
 delight when she praised him, suspect him of being a little 
 mad; though, if he were mad, how he came to be there 
 puzzled me extremely. He was dressed like any other or- 
 dinary gentleman, in a loose grey morning coat and waist- 
 coat, and white trowsers; and had his watch in his fob, and 
 his money in his pockets: which he rattled as if he were very 
 proud of it. 
 
 Janet was a pretty blooming girl, of about nineteen or 
 twenty, and a perfect picture of neatness. Though I made 
 no further observation of her at the moment, I may mention 
 here what I did not discover until nftervvards, namely, that 
 
254 
 
 she was one of a series of prot^gdes whom my aunt had taken 
 into her service expressly to educate in a renouncement of 
 mankind, and who had generally completed their abjuration 
 by marrying the baker. 
 
 The room was as neat as Janet or my aunt. As I laid down 
 my pen, a moment since, to think of it, the air from the sea 
 came blowing in again, mixed with the perfume of the flowers ; 
 and I saw the old-fashioned furniture brightly rubbed and 
 polished, my aunt's inviolable chair and table by the round 
 green fan in the bow-window, the drugget-covered carpet, the 
 cat, the kettle-holder, the two canaries, the old china, the 
 punch-bowl full of dried rose leaves, the tall press guarding 
 all sorts of bottles and pots, and, wonderfully out of keeping 
 with the rest, my dusty self upon the sofa, taking note of 
 everything. 
 
 Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my 
 aunt, to my great alarm, became in one moment rigid with 
 indignation, and had hardly voice to cry out, "Janet! 
 Donkies!" 
 
 Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the 
 house were inflames, darted out on a little piece of green in 
 front, and warned ofl* two saddle- donkeys, lady-ridden, that 
 had presumed to set hoof upon it; while my aunt, rushing 
 out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal laden 
 with a bestriding child, turned him, led him forth from 
 those sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky 
 urchin in attendance who had dared to profane that hallowed 
 ground. 
 
 To this hour I don't know whether my aunt had any lawful 
 right of way over that patch of green ; but she had settled it in 
 her own mind that she had, and it was all the same to her. 
 The one great outrage of her life, demanding to be constantly 
 avenged, was the passage of a donkey over that immaculate 
 
255 
 
 spot. In wliatever occupation she was engaged, however 
 interestmg to her the conversation in which she was taking 
 part, a donkey turned the current of her ideas in a moment, 
 and she was upon him straight. Jugs of water, and watering 
 pots, were kept in secret places ready to be discharged on the 
 offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind the door; 
 sallies were made at all hours; and incessant war prevailed. 
 Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys ; 
 or perhaps the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding 
 how the case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in 
 coming that way. I only know that there were three alarms be- 
 fore the bath was ready ; and that on the occasion of the last 
 and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, 
 with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head 
 against her own gate, before he seemed to comprehend what 
 was the matter. These interruptions were the more ridiculous 
 to me, because she was giving me broth out of a table-spoon 
 at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was actually 
 starving, and must receive nourishment at first in very small 
 quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the 
 spoon, she would put it back into the basin, cry "Janet! 
 Donkies ! " and go out to the assault. 
 
 The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible 
 of acute pains in my limbs from lying out in the fields, and was 
 now so tired and low that I could hardly keep myself awake for 
 i\\e minutes together. When I had bathed, they (I mean my 
 aunt and Janet) enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trowscrs 
 belonging to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or three great 
 shawls. What sort of bundle I looked like, Idon'tknow, but 
 I felt a very hot one. Feeling also very faint and drowsy , I 
 soon lay down on the sofa again and fell asleep. 
 
 It might have been a dream, originating in tlie fancy which 
 had occupied my mind so long, but I awoke with the impres' 
 
256 
 
 sion that my aunt had come and bent over me, and put my 
 hair away from my face, and laid my head more comfortably, 
 and had then stood looking at me. The words, "Pretty fel- 
 low," or "Poor fellow," seemed to be in my ears, too; but 
 certainly there was nothing else, when I awoke, to lead me to 
 believe that they had been uttered by my aunt, who sat in the 
 bow-window gazing at the sea from behind the green fan, 
 which was mounted on a kind of swivel, and turned any 
 way. 
 
 We dined soon after I awoke , oflf a roast fowl and a pud- 
 ding; I sitting at table , not unlike a trussed bird myself , and 
 moving my arms with considerable difficulty. But as my aunt 
 had swathed me up, I made no complaint of being incon- 
 venienced. All this time , I was deeply anxious to know what 
 she was going to do with me ; but she took her dinner in pro- 
 found silence, except when she occasionally fixed her eyes on 
 me sitting opposite, and said, "Mercy upon us!" which did 
 not by any means relieve my anxiety. 
 
 The cloth being drawn, and some sherry put upon the 
 table (of which I had a glass), my aunt sent up for Mr. Dick 
 again, who joined us, and looked as wise as he could when 
 she requested him to attend to my story , which she elicited 
 from me, gradually, by a course of questions. During my 
 recital, she kept her eyes on Mr. Dick, who I thought would 
 have gone to sleep but for that, and who, whensoever he 
 lapsed into a smile, was checked by a frown from my aunt. 
 
 "Whatever possessed that poor unfortunate Baby, that 
 she must go and be married again," said my aunt, when I had 
 finished, "/can't conceive." 
 
 "Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband," Mr. 
 Dick suggested. 
 
 "Fell in love!" repeated my aunt. "What do you mean? 
 What business had she to do it? " 
 
257 
 
 "Perhaps," Mr. Dick simpered, after thinking a little, 
 *' she did it for pleasure." 
 
 "Pleasure, indeed!" replied my aunt. "A mighty plea- 
 sure for the poor baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of 
 a fellow, certain to ill-use her in some way or other. What 
 did she propose to herself, I should like to know ! She had 
 had one husband. She had seen David Copperfield out of the 
 world, who was always running after wax dolls from his cradle. 
 She had got a baby — oh, there were a pair of babies when 
 she gave birth to this child sitting here , that Friday night 1 — 
 and what more did she want? " 
 
 Mr. Dick secretly shook his head at me, as if he thought 
 there was no getting over this. 
 
 "She couldn't even have a baby like anybody else," said 
 my aunt. "Where was this child's sister, Betsey Trotwood! 
 Not forthcoming. Don't tell me!" 
 
 Mr. Dick seemed quite frightened. 
 
 "That little man of a doctor, with his head on one side," 
 said my aunt, "Jellips, or whatever his name was, what was 
 he about? All he could do, was to say to me, like a robin red- 
 breast — ashet* — *It 'saboy.' A boy! Yah, the imbecility 
 of the whole sot of 'em!" 
 
 The heartiness of the ejaculation startled Mr. Dick ex- 
 ceedingly; and me, too, if I am to tell the truth. 
 
 "And then, as if this was not enough, and she had not 
 stood sufficiently in the light of this child's sister, Betsey 
 Trotwood," said my aunt, "she marries a second time — 
 goes and marries a Munlerer — or a man with a name like it — 
 and stands in this child's light! And the natural consequence 
 is, as anybody but a baby might have foreseen, that he prowls 
 and wamlors. He 's as like Cain before he was grown up, as 
 he can be." 
 
 David Copjifrftrlil. I. 17 
 
258 
 
 Mr. Dick looked hard at me, as if to identify me in this 
 character, 
 
 "And then there 's that wom^n with the Pagan name,'* 
 said my aunt, " that Peggotty , she goes and gets married next. 
 Because she has not seen enough of the evil attending such 
 things, she goes and gets married next, as the child relates. 
 I only hope," said my aunt, shaking her head, "that her hus- 
 band is one of those Poker husbands who abound in the news- 
 papers , and will beat her well with one." 
 
 I could not bear to hear ray old nurse so decried, and made 
 the subject of such a wish. I told my aunt that indeed she was 
 mistaken. That Peggotty was the best, the truest, the most 
 faithful, most devoted, and most self-denying friend and 
 servant in the world; who had ever loved me dearly, who had 
 ever loved my mother dearly; who had held my mother's 
 dying head upon her arm, on whose face my mother had im- 
 printed her last grateful kiss. And my remembrance of them 
 both, choking me, I broke down as I was trying to say that 
 her home was my home, and that all she had was mine, and 
 that I would have gone to her for shelter, but for her humble 
 station, which made me fear that I might bring some trouble 
 on her — I broke down, I say, as I was trying to say so , and 
 laid my face in my hands upon the table. 
 
 "Well, welll" said my aunt, "the child is right to stand 
 by those who have stood by him — Janet 1 Donkies ! " 
 
 I thoroughly believe that but for those unfortunate don- 
 kies, we should have come to a good understanding; for my 
 aunt had laid her hand on my shoulder, and the impulse was 
 upon me, thus emboldened, to embrace her and beseech her 
 protection. But the interruption, and the disorder she was 
 thrown into by the struggle outside, put an end to all softer 
 ideas for the present; and kept my aunt indignantly declaim- 
 ing to Mr. Dick about her determination to appeal for redress 
 
259 
 
 to the laws of her country , and to bring actions for trespass 
 against the whole donkey proprietorship of Dover, until 
 tea-time. 
 
 After tea, we sat at the window — on the look-out, as I 
 imagined, from my aunt's sharp expression of face, for more 
 invaders — until dusk, when Janet set candles, and a back- 
 gammon-board, on the table, and pulled down the blinds. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Dick,'* said my aunt, with her grave look, 
 and her forefinger up as before, "I am going to ask you 
 another question. Look at this child." 
 
 "David's son?" said Mr. Dick, with an attentive, puzzled 
 face. 
 
 "Exactly so," returned my aunt. "^Vhat would you do 
 with him, now?" 
 
 " Do with David's son ? " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Ay," replied my aunt, "with David's son." 
 
 "Oh!" said Mr. Dick. "Yes. Do with — I should put 
 him to bed.'* 
 
 "Janet!" cried my aunt, with the same complacent 
 triumph that I had remarked before. "Mr. Dick sets us all 
 right. Ifthe bed is ready, we '11 take him up to it." 
 
 Janet reporting it to be quite ready, I was taken up to it; 
 kmdly, but in some sort like a prisoner; my aunt going in 
 front and Janet bringing up the rear. The only circumstance 
 which gave me any new liope, was my aunt's stopping on the 
 stairs to inquire about a smell of fire that was prevalent there ; 
 and Janet's replying that she had been making tinder down in 
 the kitchen, of my old shirt. But there were no other clothes 
 in my room than the odd heap of things I wore; and when I 
 was left there, with a little taper which my aunt forewarned 
 me would burn exactly five minutes, I heard them lock my 
 door on the outside. Turning these things over in my mind, 
 I deemed it possible that my aunt, who could know nothing of 
 
 17* 
 
260 
 
 me, might suspect I had a habit of running a-way, and took 
 precautions , on that account, to have me in safe keeping. 
 
 The room was a pleasant one, at the top of the house, 
 overlooking the sea, on which the moon was shining bril- 
 liantly. After I had said my prayers, and the candle had 
 burnt out, I remember how I still sat looking at the moonlight 
 on the water, as if I could hope to read my fortune in it, as in 
 a bright book; or to see my mother with her child, coming 
 from Heaven, along that shining path, to look upon me as 
 she had looked when I last saw her sweet face. I remember 
 how the solemn feeling with which at length I turned my eyes 
 away, pelded to the sensation of gratitude and rest which the 
 sight of the white-curtained bed — and how much more the 
 lying seftly down upon it, nestling in the snow-white sheets! 
 — inspired. I remember how I thought of all the solitary 
 places under the night sky where I had slept, and how I prayed 
 that I never might be houseless any more, and never might 
 forget the houseless. I remember how I seemed to float, then, 
 down the melancholy glory of that track upon the sea, away 
 into the world of dreams. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 My aunt makes up her mind about roe. 
 
 On going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing so 
 profoundly over the breakfast-table, with her elbow on the 
 tray, that the contents of the urn had overflowed the teapot 
 and were laying the whole table-cloth under water, when my 
 entrance put her meditations to flight. I felt sure that I had 
 been the subject of her reflections, and was more than ever 
 anxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not 
 express my anxiety, lest it should give her offence. 
 
 My eyes, however, not being so much under controul as 
 my tongue, were attracted towards my aunt very often during 
 breakfast. I never could look at her for a few moments to- 
 gether but I found her looking at me — in an odd thoughtful 
 manner, as if I were an immense way off, instead of being on 
 the other side of the small round table. AMien she had 
 finished her breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back 
 in her chair, knitted her brows, folded her arms, and con- 
 templated me at her leisure, with such a fixedness of attention 
 that I was quite overpowered by embarrassment. Not having 
 as yet finished my own breakfast, I attemi)ted to hide my 
 confusion by proceeding with it; but my knife tumbled over 
 my fork, my fork tripped up my knife, I chipped bits of 
 bacon a surprising height into the air instead of cutting them 
 for my own eating, and choked myself with my tea which 
 persisted in going the wrong way instead of the right one, 
 until I gave in altogether, and sat blushing under my aunt's 
 close scrutiny. 
 
 *' Hallo 1" said my aunt, after a long time. 
 
262 
 
 I looked up, and met her sharp bright glance respect- 
 fully. 
 
 "I have written to him,'* said my aunt. 
 
 "To—?" 
 
 " To your father-in-law," said my aunt. "I have sent him 
 a letter that I '11 trouble him to attend to , or he and I will fall 
 out, I can tell him ! " 
 
 "Does he know where I am, aunt?" I inquired, alarmed. 
 
 "I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod. 
 
 " Shall I — be — given up to him ? " I faltered. 
 
 "I don't know," said my aunt. "We shall see." 
 
 "Oh! I can't think what I shall do," I exclaimed, "if I 
 have to go back to Mr. Murdstone! " 
 
 "I don't know anything about it," said my aunt, shaking 
 her head. " I can't say, I am sure. We shall see." 
 
 My spirits sank under these words, and I became very 
 downcast and heavy of heart. My aunt, without appearing 
 to take much heed of me, put on a coarse apron with a bib, 
 which she took out of the press; washed up the teacups with 
 her own hands; and, when everj'thing was washed and set in 
 the tray again , and the cloth folded and put on the top of the 
 whole, rang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the 
 crumbs with a little broom (putting on a pair of gloves first), 
 until there did not appear to be one microscopic speck left on 
 the carpet; next dusted and arranged the room, which was 
 dusted and arranged to a hab's breadth already. When all 
 these tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took off the 
 gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular 
 corner of the press from which tliey had been taken, brought 
 out her work-box to her own table in the open window, and 
 sat down, with the green fan between her and the light, to 
 work. 
 
 "I wish you M go up stairs," said my aunt, as she threaded 
 
263 
 
 her needle, "and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I '11 
 be glad to know how he gets on with his Memorial." 
 
 I rose with all alacrity, to acquit myself of this com- 
 mission. 
 
 "I suppose," said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she 
 had eyed the needle in threading it, "you think Mr. Dick a 
 short name, eh?" 
 
 " I thought it was rather a short name , yesterday ," I con- 
 fessed. 
 
 "You are not to suppose that he hasn't got a longer name, 
 if he chose to use it," said my aunt, with a loftier air. 
 "Babley — Mr. Richard Babley — that 's the gentleman's true 
 name." 
 
 I was going to suggest, with a modest sense of my youth 
 and the familiarity I had been already guilty of, that I had 
 better give him the full benefit of that name, when my aunt 
 went on to say : 
 
 "But don't you call him by it, whatever you do. He can't 
 bear his name. That 's a peculiarity of his. Though I don't 
 know that it 's much of a peculiarity, either; for he has been 
 ill-used enough, by some that bear it, to have a mortal anti- 
 pathy for it. Heaven knows. Mr. Dick is his name here, and 
 everj-where else, now — if he ever went anywhere else, which 
 he don't. So take care, child, you don't call him anything 
 but Mr. Dick.'' 
 
 I promised to obey, and went up-stairs with my message; 
 thinking, as I went, that if Mr. Dick had been working at his 
 Memorial long, at the same rate as I had seen him working at 
 it, through the open door, when I came down, he was probably 
 getting on very well indeed. I found him still driving at it 
 with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon the paper. 
 He was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe 
 the large paper kite in a comer, the confusion of bundles of 
 
264 
 
 manuscript, the number of pens, and, above all, the quantity 
 of ink (which he seemed to have in, in half-gallon jars by the 
 dozen), before he observed my being present. 
 
 *'Ha! Phoebus!" said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. 
 *' How does the world go! I '11 tell you what,'* he added, in a 
 lower tone, "I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned, but it 's 
 a — " here he beckoned to me, and put his lips close to my ear 
 — "it 's a mad world. Mad as Bedlam, boy !" said ]\Ir. Dick, 
 taking snuff from a round box on the table, and laughing 
 heartily. 
 
 Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I 
 delivered my message. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Dick, in answer, "my compliments to 
 her, and I — I believe I have made a start. I think I have 
 made a start," said Mr. Dick, passing his hand among his grey 
 hair, and casting anything but a confident look at his manu- 
 script. "You have been to school?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir," I answered; "for a short time." 
 
 "Do you recollect the date," said Mr. Dick, looking 
 earnestly at me, and taking up his pen to note it down, "when 
 King Charles the First had his head cut off? " 
 
 I said I believed it happened in the year sixteen hundred 
 and forty-nine. 
 
 "Well," returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his 
 pen , and looking dubiously at me. " So the books say ; but I 
 don't see how that can be. Because, if it was so long ago, 
 how could the people about him have made that mistake of 
 putting some of the trouble out o^his head, after it was taken 
 off, into mine?'''' 
 
 I was very much surprised by the inquiry; but could give 
 no information on this point. 
 
 "It 's very strange," said Mr. Dick, with a despondent look 
 upon his papers, and with his hand among his hair agaiD, 
 
2G5 
 
 "that 1 never can get that quite right. I never can make that 
 perfectly clear. But no matter, no matter 1" he said cheer- 
 fully, and rousing himself, "there 's time enough! My com- 
 pliments to Miss Trotwood, I am getting on very well indeed." 
 
 I was going away, when he directed my attention to 
 the kite. 
 
 " What do you think of that for a kite? " he said. 
 
 I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it 
 must have been as much as seven feet high. 
 
 "I made it. We '11 go and fly it, you and I," said Mr. 
 Dick. "Do you see this?" 
 
 He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very 
 closely and laboriously written ; but so plainly, that as 1 looked 
 along the lines, I thought I saw some allusion to King Charles 
 the First's head again, in one or two places. 
 
 "There 's plenty of string," said Mr. Dick, "and when it 
 flies high , it takes the facts a long way. That 's my manner 
 of difiusing 'em. I don't know where they may come down. 
 It 's according to circumstances, and the wind, and so forth; 
 but I take my chance of that." 
 
 His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something 
 BO reverend in it, though it was hale and hearty, that I was not 
 sure but that he was having a good-humoured jest with me. 
 So I laughed, and he laughed, and we parted the best friends 
 possible. 
 
 "Well, child," said my aunt, when I went down stairs. 
 "And what of Mr. Dick , this morning? " 
 
 I informed her that he sent his compliments, and was 
 getting on very well indeed. 
 
 "What do you think of him?" said my aunt. 
 
 I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the 
 question, by replying that I thought him a very nice gcMitlc- 
 man; but my aunt was not to be so put oii', for t>he laid 
 
266 
 
 her work down in her lap, and said, folding her hands 
 upon it: 
 
 " Come I Your sister Betsey Trotwood would have told me 
 what she thought of any one , directly. Be as like your sister 
 as you can, and speak out!" 
 
 "Is he — is Mr. Dick — I ask because I don't know, aunt — 
 is he at all out of his mind , then?" I stammered; for I felt I 
 was on dangerous ground. 
 
 "Not a morsel," said my aunt. 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" I observed faintly. 
 
 "If there is anything in the world," said my aunt, with 
 great decision and force of manner, "that Mr. Dick is not, 
 it 's that." 
 
 I had nothing better to offer, than another timid "Oh, 
 indeed!" 
 
 " He has been called mad," said my aunt. "I have a selfish 
 pleasure in saying he has been called mad, or I should not 
 have had the benefit of his society and advice for these last ten 
 years and upwards — in fact, ever since your sister, Betsey 
 Trotwood, disappointed me." 
 
 "So long as that?" I said. 
 
 "And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call 
 him mad," pursued my aunt. "Mr. Dick is a sort of distant 
 connexion of mine — it doesn't matter how; I needn't enter 
 into that. If it hadn't been for me, his own brother would 
 have shut him up for life. That 's all." 
 
 I am afraid it was hj'pocritical in me, but seeing that my 
 aunt felt strongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt 
 strongly too. 
 
 "A proud fool!" said my aunt. "Because his brother was 
 a little eccentric — though he is not half so eccentric as a good 
 many people — he didn't like to have him visible about his 
 house, and sent him away to some private asylum - place ; 
 
267 
 
 though he had been left, to his particular care by their de- 
 ceased father, who thought him almost a natural. And a 
 wise man he must have been to think so! Mad himself, no 
 doubt." 
 
 Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavoured 
 to look quite convinced also. 
 
 " So I stepped in ," said my aunt, " and made him an olTer. 
 I said. Your brother 's sane — a great deal more sane than you 
 are, or ever will be, it is to be hoped. Let him have his little 
 Income, and come and live with me. / am not afraid of him, 
 / am not proud, / am ready to take care of him, and shall not 
 ill-treat him as some people (besides the asylum folks) have 
 done. Aft:er a good deal of squabbling," said ray aunt, "I 
 got him; and he has been here ever since. He is the most 
 friendly and amenable creature in existence ; and as for ad- 
 vice! — But nobody knows what that man's mind is, except 
 myself." 
 
 My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head, as if she 
 smoothed defiance of the whole world out of the one, and 
 shook it out of the other. 
 
 "He had a favourite sister," said my aunt, "a good crea- 
 ture, and very kind to him. But she did what they all do — 
 took a husband. And he did what they all do — made her 
 wretched. It had such an effect upon the mind of Mr. Dick 
 (that^s not madness I hope!) that, combined with his fear of 
 his brother, and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into 
 a fever. That was before he came to me , but the recollection 
 of it is oppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to 
 you about King Charles the First, child? " 
 
 ''Yes, aunt." 
 
 "Ah!" said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a 
 little vexed. " That 's his allegorical way of expressing it. He 
 connects his illness with great disturbance and agitation, 
 
268 
 
 naturally, and that 's the figure, or the simile, or whatever 
 it's called, which he chooses to use. And why shouldn't 
 he, if he thinks proper I " 
 
 I said: ''Certainly, aunt." 
 
 "It "s not a business-like -way of speaking," said my aunt, 
 "nor a worldly way. 1 am aware of that; and that's the 
 reason why I insist upon it, that there shan't be a word about 
 it In his Memorial." 
 
 "Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, 
 aunt?" 
 
 "Yes, child," said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. "He 
 13 memorialising the Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody 
 or other — one of those people, at all events, who are paid to 
 be memorialised — about his affairs. I suppose it vnW go 
 in, one of these days. He hasn't been able to draw It up 
 yet, without Introducing that mode of expressing himself; 
 but it don't signify ; it keeps him employed." 
 
 In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been 
 for upwards of ten years endeavouring to keep King Charles 
 the First out of the Memorial; but he had been constantly 
 getting into it, and was there now. 
 
 "I say again," said my aunt, "nobody knows what that 
 man's mind is except myself; and he 's the most amenable 
 and friendly creature in existence. If he likes to lly a kite 
 sometimes, what of that! Franklin used to fly a kite. He 
 was a Quaker, or something of that sort, if I am not mistaken. 
 And a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculous object 
 than anybody else." 
 
 If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these 
 particulars for my especial behoof, and as a piece of con- 
 fidence in me, I should have felt very much distinguished, 
 and should have augured favourably from such a mark of 
 her good opinion. But I could hardly help observing that 
 
269 
 
 she had launched into them, chiefly because the question was 
 raised in her own mind, and with very little reference to me, 
 though she had addressed herself to me in the absence of 
 anybody else. 
 
 At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her 
 championship of poor harmless Mr. Dick, not only inspired 
 my young breast with some selfish hope for myself, but 
 warmed it unselfishly towards her. I believe that I began 
 to know that there was something about my aunt, notwith- 
 standing her many eccentricities and odd humours, to be 
 honoured and trusted in. Though she was just as sharp that 
 day, as on the day before, and was in and out about the 
 donkeys just as often, and was thrown into a tremendous 
 state of Indignation, when a young man, going by, ogled 
 Janet at a window (which was one of the gravest mis- 
 demeanours that could be committed against my aunt's 
 dignity), she seemed to me to command more of my respect, 
 if not less of my fear. 
 
 The anxiety I underwent, in the interval which necessarily 
 elapsed before a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. 
 Murdstone, was extreme ; but I made an endeavour to sup- 
 press It, and to be as agreeable as I could in a quiet way, 
 both to my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter and I would have 
 gone out to fly the great kite; but that I had still no other 
 clothes than the anything but ornamental garments with which 
 I had been decorated on the first day, and which confined 
 me to the house, except for an hour after dark, when my 
 aunt, for my health's sake, paraded me up and down on the 
 cliff' outside, before going to bed. At length tlie reply from 
 Mr. Murdstone came, and my aunt informed me, to my 
 infinite terror, that he was coming to speak to her himself on 
 the next day. On the next day, ptill bundled up in my 
 curious habiliments, I sat countinj: tlie time, flushed and 
 
270 
 
 heated by the conflict of sinking hopes and rising fears within 
 me ; and waiting to be startled by the sight of the gloomy 
 face, whose nou-amval startled me every minute. 
 
 My aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, 
 but I observed no other token of her preparing herself to 
 receive the visitor so much dreaded by me. She sat at work 
 in the window, and I sat by, with my thoughts running astray 
 on all possible and impossible results of Mr. Murdstone's 
 visit, until pretty late in the afternoon. Our dinner had been 
 indefinitely postponed; but it was growing so late, that my 
 aunt had ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a sudden 
 alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation and amazement, 
 I beheld Miss Murdstone, on a side-saddle, ride deliberately 
 over the sacred piece of green, and stop in front of the house, 
 looking about her. 
 
 "Go along with you!" cried ray aunt, shaking her head 
 and her fist at the window. "You have no business there. 
 How dare you trespass? Go along! Oh, you bold-faced 
 thing!" 
 
 My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which 
 Miss Murdstone looked about her, that I really believe she 
 was motionless, and unable for the moment to dart out ac- 
 cording to custom. I seized the opportunity to inform her 
 who it was; and that the gentleman now coming near the 
 oiTender (for the way up was very steep, and he had dropped 
 behind), was Mr. Murdstone himself. 
 
 "I don't care who it is!" cried my aunt, still shaking her 
 head, and gesticulating anything but welcome from the bow- 
 window. "I won't be trespassed upon. I won't allow it. 
 Go away! Janet, turn him round. Lead him ofl!" and I 
 saw. from behind my aunt, a sort of hurried battle-piece, 
 in which the donkey stood resisting everybody, with all his 
 four legs planted different ways, while Janet tried to pull him 
 
271 
 
 rouud by the bridle, Mr. Miirdstone tried to lead him on, 
 Miss Murdstone struck at Janet with a parasol, and several 
 boys, who had come to see the engagement, shouted vigo- 
 rously. But my aunt, suddenly descrying among them the 
 young malefactor who was the donkey's guardian, and who 
 wa? one of the most inveterate offenders against her, though 
 hardly In his teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced 
 upon him, captured him, dragged him, with his jacket over 
 his head, and his heels grinding the ground, into the garden, 
 and, calling upon Janet to fetch the constables and justices 
 that he might be taken, tried, and executed on the spot, held 
 him at bay there. This part of the business, however, did 
 not last long; for the young rascal, being expert at a variety 
 of feints and dodges, of which my aunt had no conception, 
 soon went whooping away, leaving some deep impressions of 
 his nailed boots In the flower-beds, and taking his donkey 
 in triumph with him. 
 
 Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, 
 had dismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the 
 bottom of the steps, until my aunt should be at leisure to 
 receive them. My aunt, a little ruffled by the combat, marched 
 past them Into the house, with great dignity, and took no 
 notice of their presence, until they were announced by Janet. 
 
 "Shall I go away, aunt?" I asked, trembling. 
 
 "No, Sir," said my aunt. "Certainly not!" With which 
 she pushed me into a comer near her, and fenced me In with 
 a chair, as if it were a prison or a bar of justice. This posi- 
 tion I continued to occupy during the whole Interview, and 
 from it I now saw Mr. and Miss Murdstone enter the room. 
 
 "Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at first to whom I 
 had the pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to 
 ride over that turf. I make no exceptions. I don't allow 
 anybody to do it." 
 
272 
 
 "Your regulation Is rather awkward to strangers," said 
 Miss Murdstone. 
 
 " Is it ! " said my aunt. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, 
 and interposing began: 
 
 "MissTrotwood!'* 
 
 "I beg your pardon," observed my aunt with a keen look, 
 "You are the Mr. Murdstone who married the widow of my 
 late nephew, David Copperfield, of Blunderstone Rookery? — 
 Though why Rookery, / don't know ! " 
 
 "I am," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "You'll excuse my saying, Sir," returned my aunt, "that 
 I think it would have been a much better and happier thing if 
 you had left that poor child alone." 
 
 "I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked," 
 observed Miss Murdstone, bridling, "that I consider our 
 lamented Clara to have been, in all essential respects, a mere 
 child." 
 
 "It is a comfort to you and me, Ma'am," said my aunt, 
 "who are getting on in life, and are not likely to be made 
 unhappy by our personal attractions, that nobody can say the 
 same of us." 
 
 "No doubt I " returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, 
 not with a very ready or gracious assent. "And it certainly 
 might have been, as you say, a better and happier thing for 
 my brother if he had never entered into such a marriage. 
 I have always been of that opinion." 
 
 "I have no doubt you have," said my aunt. "Janet," 
 ringing the bell, "my compliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him 
 to come down." 
 
 Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, 
 frowning at the wall. When he came, my aunt performed the 
 ceremony of introduction. 
 
273 
 
 " Mr. Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judg- 
 ment," said my aunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to 
 Mr. Dick, who was biting his forefinger and looking rather 
 foolish, "I rely." 
 
 Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth , on this hint, and 
 stood among the group, with a grave and attentive expression 
 of face. My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who 
 went on: 
 
 "MissTrotwood : on the receipt of your letter, I considered 
 it an act of greater justice to myself, and perhaps of more 
 respect to you — " 
 
 "Thank you," said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. 
 *' You needn't mind me." 
 
 "To answer it in person, however inconvenient the jour- 
 ney," pursued Mr. Murdstone, "rather than by letter. This 
 unhappy boy who has run away from his friends and his 
 occupation — " 
 
 "And whose appearance," interposed his sister, directing 
 general attention to me in my indefinable costume, "is per- 
 fectly scandalous and disgraceful," 
 
 "Jane Murdstone," said her brother, "have the goodness 
 not to interrupt me. This unhappy boy. Miss Trotwood, has 
 been the occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasiness; 
 both during tlie lifetime of my late dear wife , and since. He 
 lias a sullen, rebellious spirit; a violent temper; and an 
 untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister and myself 
 have endeavoured to correct his vices , but ineffectually. And 
 I have felt — we both have felt, I may say; my sister being 
 fully in my confidence — that It is right you should receive this 
 grave and dispassionate assurance from our lips." 
 
 "It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything 
 stated by my brother," said Miss Murdstone ; "but I beg to 
 David Copperfield. I. IS 
 
274 
 
 observe, that, of all the boys in the world, I believe this is 
 the worst boy." 
 
 "Strongl" said my aunt, shortly. 
 
 "But not at all too strong for the facts," returned Miss 
 Murdstone. 
 
 "Hal" said my aunt. "Well, Sir?" 
 
 "I have my own opinions," resumed Mr. Murdstone, 
 whose face darkened more and more, the more he and my 
 aunt observed each other, which they did very narrowly, " as 
 to the best mode of bringing him up; they are founded, in 
 part, on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge 
 of my own means and resources. I am responsible for them 
 to myself, I act upon them, and I say no more about them. 
 It is enough that I place this boy under the eye of a friend of 
 my own, in a respectable business; that it does not please 
 him; that he runs away from it; makes himself a common 
 vagabond about the country; and comes here, in rags, to 
 appeal to you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, 
 honourably, the exact consequences — so far as they are 
 within my knowledge — of your abetting him in this appeal." 
 
 "But about the respectable business first," said my aunt. 
 "If he had been your own boy, you would have put him to it, 
 just the same, I suppose?" 
 
 "If he had been my brother's own boy," returned Miss 
 Murdstone, striking in, "his character, I trust, would have 
 been altogether difi'erent." 
 
 "Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he 
 would still have gone into the respectable business, would 
 he?" said my aunt. 
 
 "I believe," said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclmation of 
 his head, "that Clara would have disputed nothing, which 
 myself and my sister Jane Murdstone were agreed was for the 
 best." 
 
275 
 
 Miss Murdstone confirmed this, with an audible murmur. 
 
 "Humph!" said my aunt. " Unfortunate baby ! " 
 
 Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, 
 was rattling it so loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary' to 
 check him with a look, before saying: 
 
 "The poor child's annuity died with her?" 
 
 "Died with her," replied Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "And there was no settlement of the little property — the 
 house and garden — the what's-its-nameRooken,- without any 
 rooks in it — upon her boy V " 
 
 "It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first 
 husband," Mr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him 
 up with the greatest irascibility and impatience. 
 
 "Good Lord, man, there 's no occasion to say that. Left 
 to her unconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield 
 looking forward to any condition of any sort or kind, though 
 it stared him point-blank in the face! Of course it was left to 
 her unconditionally. But when she married again — when 
 she took that most disastrous step of marrying you , in short," 
 said my aunt, "to be plain — did no one put in a word for the 
 boy at that time?" 
 
 "My late wife loved her second husband. Madam," said 
 Mr. Murdstone, "and trusted implicitly in him." 
 
 "Your late wife, Sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, 
 most unfortunate baby, " returned my aunt, shaking her head 
 at him. "That 's what j/<e was. And now, what have you got 
 to say next?" 
 
 "Merely this, Miss Trotwood," he returned. "I am here 
 to take David back — to take him back unconditionally, to 
 dispose of him as I think proper, and to deal with him as I 
 think right. I am not here to make any promise, or give any 
 pledge to anybody. You may possibly have some Idea, Miss 
 Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away, and in bis com- 
 
 18' 
 
276 
 
 plaints to you. Your manner, which 1 must say does not seem 
 intended to propitiate, induces me to think it possible. Now 
 I must caution you that if you abet him once, )ou abet him for 
 good and all; if you step in between him and me , now, you 
 must step in. Miss Trotwood, for ever. I cannot trifle, or be 
 trifled with. * I am here , for the first and last time , to take him 
 away. Is he ready to go? If he is not — and you tell me he 
 is not; on any pretence; it is indiflerent to me what — my 
 doors are shut against him henceforth , and yours , I take it for 
 granted, are open to him. " 
 
 To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest at- 
 tention, sitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on 
 one knee, and looking grimly on the speaker. Wiien he had 
 finished, she turned her eyes so as to command INliss Murd- 
 stone, without otherwise disturbing her attitude, and said: 
 
 " Well , Ma'am , have you got anything to remark ? " 
 
 "Indeed, Miss Trotwood , " said Miss Murdstone, "all that 
 I could say has been so well said by my brother, and all that I 
 know to be the fact has been so plainly stated by him, that I 
 have nothing to add except my thanks for your politeness. 
 For your very great politeness , I am sure, " said Miss Murd- 
 stone ; with an irony which no more affected my aunt, than it 
 discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham. 
 
 "And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you 
 ready to go , David ? " 
 
 I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said 
 that neither Mr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or 
 had ever been kind to m!\ That they had made my mama, 
 who always loved me dearly, unliappy about me, and that I 
 knew it well, and that Peggolty knew it. I said that I had been 
 more miserable than I thought anybody could believe, who 
 only knew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my 
 aunt — I forget in what terms now, but I remember that they 
 
277 
 
 affected me verj' much then — to befriend and protect me , for 
 my father's sake. 
 
 "Mr. Dick,*' said my aunt, "what shall I do with this 
 child?" 
 
 Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, 
 "Have him measured for a suit of clothes directly. " 
 
 "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, triumphantly, "give me your 
 hand , for your common sense is invaluable. " Having shaken 
 it with great cordiality, she pulled me towards her, and said to 
 Mr. Murdstone: 
 
 "You can go when you like; I '11 take my chance with the 
 boy. If he *s all you say he is, at least I can do as much for 
 him then, as you have done. But I don't believe a word 
 of it." 
 
 " Miss Trotwood , " rejoined Mr. Murdstone , shrugging his 
 shoulders , as he rose , " if you were a gentleman — " 
 
 "Bah! stuff and nonsense I" said my aunt. "Don*ttalk 
 tome!" 
 
 "How exquisitely polite/!" exclaimed Miss Murdstone, 
 rising. " Overpowering, really 1 " 
 
 "Do you think I don't know," said my aunt, turning a deaf 
 ear to the sister, and continuing to address the brother, and to 
 shake her head at him with infinite expression, "what kind of 
 life you must have led that poor, unhappy, misdirected baby? 
 Do you think I don't know what a woeful day it was for the 
 soft little creature, when you first came in her way — smirking 
 and making great eyes at her, I '11 be bound, as if you couldn't 
 say boh I to a goose I" 
 
 "I never heard anything so elegant!" said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had 
 seen you," pursued my aunt, "now that I rfo see and hear you 
 — which , I tell you candidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? 
 Oh yes, bless us! who so smooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone 
 
278 
 
 at first! The poor, benighted innocent had never seen such a 
 man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped her. He 
 doted on her boy — tenderly doted on him I He was to be 
 another father to him, and they were all to live together in a 
 garden of roses, weren't they? Ugh I Get along with you, 
 do I " said my aunt. 
 
 "I never heard anj'thing like this person in my life ! " ex- 
 claimed Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "And when you had made sure of the poor little fool," 
 said my aunt — " God forgive me that I should call her so , and 
 she gone where you won't go in a hurry — because you had 
 not done wrong enough to her and hers , you must begin to 
 train her, must you? begin to break her, like a poor caged 
 bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing 
 2/owr notes?" 
 
 "This is either Insanity or intoxication," said Miss Murd- 
 stone, in a perfect agony at not being able to turn the current 
 of my aunt's address towards herself; "and my suspicion is, 
 that it 's intoxication. " 
 
 Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the inter- 
 ruption, continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if 
 there had been no such thing. 
 
 "Mr. Murdstone," she said, shaking her finger at him, 
 "you were a tjTant to the simple baby, and you broke her 
 heart. She was a loving baby — I know that ; I knew it, years 
 before you ever saw her — and through the best part of her 
 weakness, you gave her the wounds she died of. There is the 
 truth for your comfort, however you like it. And you and 
 your instruments may make the most of it. " 
 
 "Allow me to inquire. Miss Trotwood," interposed Miss 
 Murdstone, "whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of 
 words in which I am not experienced, my brother's instru- 
 ments? " 
 
279 
 
 Still stone-deaf to the voice , and utterly unmoved by it, 
 Miss Betsey pursued her discourse. 
 
 *' It was clear enough , as I have told you , years before you 
 ever saw her — and why, in the mysterious dispensations of 
 Providence, you ever did see her, is more than humanity can 
 comprehend — it was clear enough that the poor soft little 
 thing would marry somebody, at some time or other; but I did 
 hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out. That 
 was the time, Mr. Murdstone , when she gave birth to her boy 
 here," said my aunt; "to the poor child you sometimes tor- 
 mented her through afterwards, which is a disagreeable re- 
 membrance, and makes the sight of him odious now. Aye, 
 aye! you needn't wincel" said my aunt, "I know it 's true 
 without that. " 
 
 He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her 
 with a smile upon his face, though his black eyebrows were 
 heavily contracted. I remarked now, that, though the smile 
 was on his face still , his colour had gone in a moment, and he 
 seemed to breathe as if he had been running. 
 
 "Good day. Sir!" saidmyaunt, "andgoodbyel Good 
 day to you too. Ma'am," said my aunt, turning suddenly 
 upon his sister. " Let me see you ride a donkey over my green 
 again, and as sure as you have a head upon your shoulders, I '11 
 knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it ! " 
 
 It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to 
 depict my aunt's face as she delivered herself of this very 
 unexpected sentiment, and Miss Murdstone's face as she 
 heard it. But the manner of the speech, no less than the 
 matter, was so fierj-, that Miss Murdstone, without a word in 
 answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's, and 
 walked hauglitily out of the cottage ; my aunt remaining in the 
 window looking after them; prepared, I have no doubt, in 
 
280 
 
 case of the donkey's reappearance , to carry her threat into 
 instant execution. 
 
 No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face 
 gradually relaxed, and became so pleasant, that I -was em- 
 boldened to kiss and thank her; which I did with great 
 heartiness , and with both my arms clasped round her neck. I 
 then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a 
 great many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceed- 
 ings with repeated bursts of laughter. 
 
 "You '11 consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of 
 this child, IVIr. Dick," said my aunt. 
 
 "I shall be delighted," said Mr. Dick, " to be the guardian 
 of David's son." 
 
 "Ven^good," returned my aunt, ^^ that's settled. I have 
 been thinking, do you know, Mr. Dick , that I might call him 
 Trotwood?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly," said 
 Mr. Dick. "David's son 's Trotwood." 
 
 "Trotwood Copperfield, you mean," returned my aunt. 
 
 "Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copperfield," said 
 Mr. Dick, a little abashed. 
 
 My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready- 
 made clothes, which were purchased for me that afternoon, 
 were marked "Trotwood Copperfield," in her own hand- 
 writing, and in indelible marking-ink, before I put them on; 
 and it was settled that all the other clothes which were ordered 
 to be made for me (a complete outfit was bespoke that after- 
 noon) should be marked in the same way. 
 
 Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with 
 everything new about me. Now that the state of doubt was 
 over, I felt, for many days, like one in a dream. I never 
 thought that I had a curious couple of guardians , in ray aunt 
 and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about myself, 
 
281 
 
 distinctly. The two things clearest In my mind were, that a 
 remoteness had come upon the old Blunderstone life — which 
 seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable distance; and 
 that a curtain had for ever fallen on my life at Murdstone and 
 Grinby's. No one has ever raised that curtain since. I have 
 lifted It for a moment, even in this narrative, with a reluctant 
 hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that life 
 is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much mental 
 suffering and want of hope, that I have never had the courage 
 even to examine how long I was doomed to lead it. Whether 
 it lasted for a year, or more, or less, I do not know. I only 
 know that it was, and ceased to be; and that I have written, 
 and there I leave it. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I make anoiLer beginning. 
 
 Mr. Dick and I soon became the best of friends , and very 
 often, when his day's work was done, went out together to fly 
 the great kite. Every day of his life he had a long sitting at 
 the Memorial, which never made the least progress , however 
 hard belaboured, for King Charles the First always strayed 
 Into it, sooner or later, and then it was thrown aside, and 
 another one begun. The patience and hope with which he 
 bore these perpetual disappointments , the mild perception he 
 had that there was something wrong about King Charles the 
 First, the feeble efforts he made to keep him out, and the 
 certainty with which he came in, and tumbled the Memorial 
 out of all shape, made a deep impression on me. What Mr. 
 Dick supposed would come of the Memorial, if it were com- 
 pleted; where he thought it was to go, or what he thought it 
 was to do; he knew no more than anybody else, I believe. 
 Nor was it at all necessary that he should trouble himself with 
 such questions, for if anything were certain under the sun, it 
 was certain that the Memorial never would be finished. 
 
 It was quite an affecting sight, I used to think, to see him 
 with the kite when it was up a great height in the air. What 
 he had told me, in his room, about his belief in its dissemina- 
 ting the statements pasted on it, which were nothing but old 
 leaves of abortive Memorials, might have been a fancy with 
 him sometimes; but not when he was out, looking up at 
 the kite in the sky, and feeling it pull and tug at his hand. 
 He never looked so serene as he did then. I used to fancy, as 
 I sat by him of an evening, on a green slope, and saw him 
 watch the kite high in the quiet air, that it lifted his mind out 
 
283 
 
 of its confusion, and bore it (such was my boyish thought) 
 into the skies. As he wound the string in, and It came lower 
 and lower down out of the beautiful light, until It fluttered to 
 the ground, and lay there like a dead thing, he seemed to wake 
 gradually out of a dream; and I remember to have seen him 
 take it up, and look about him in a lost way, as if they had both 
 come down together, so that I pitied him with all my heart. 
 
 While I advanced in friendship and intimacy with Mr. 
 Dick, I did not go backward in the favour of his staunch friend, 
 my aunt. She took so kindly to me, that, in the course of a few 
 weeks, she shortened my adopted name of Trotwood into 
 Trot; and even encouraged me to hope that if I went on as I 
 had begun, I might take equal rank in her aflfections with my 
 sister Betsey Trotwood. 
 
 "Trot," said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon- 
 board was placed as usual for herself and Mr. Dick, "we must 
 not forget your education." 
 
 This was my only subject of anxiety, and I felt quite de- 
 lighted by her referring to it. 
 
 "Should you like to go to school at Canterbury?" said my 
 aunt. 
 
 I replied that I should like it very much, as it was so near 
 her. 
 
 "Good," said my aunt. "Should you like to go to-morrow?" 
 
 Being already no stranger to the general rapidity of my 
 aunt's evolutions, I was not surprised by the suddenness of the 
 proposal, and said: "Yes." 
 
 " Good," said my aunt again. "Janet, hire the grey pony 
 and chaise to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, and pack up 
 Master Trotwood's clothes to-night." 
 
 I was greatly elated by these orders; but my heart smote me 
 for my selfishness, when I witnessed their effect on Mr. Dick, 
 who was so low-spirited at the prospect of our separation, and 
 
284 
 
 played so ill in consequence, that my aunt, after giving hlni 
 several admonitory raps on the knuckles with her dice-box, 
 shut up the board, and declined to play with him any more. 
 But, on hearing from my aunt that I should sometimes come 
 over on a Saturday, and that he could sometimes come and see 
 me on a Wednesday, he revived ; and vowed to make another 
 kite for those occasions, of proportions greatly surpassing the 
 present one. In the morning he was downhearted again, and 
 would have sustained himself by giving me all the money he 
 had in his possession, gold and silver too, if my aunt had not 
 interposed, and limited the gift to five shillings, which, at his 
 earnest petition , were afterwards increased to ten. We parted 
 at the garden-gate in a most affectionate manner, and Mr. Dick 
 did not go into the house until my aunt had driven me out of 
 sight of it. 
 
 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, how- 
 ever ; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by her 
 side, asked me whether I was happy. 
 
 "Very happy indeed, thank you, aunt," I said. 
 
 She was much gratified; and both her hands being occu- 
 pied, 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." 
 
 I asked for no more information about Mr. Wickfield , as 
 she offered none, and we conversed on other subjects until we 
 
285 
 
 came to Canterbury, where, as it was market-day, my aunt had 
 a great opportunity of insinuating tlie grey pony among carts, 
 baskets, vegetables, and huckster's goods. The hair-breadth 
 turns and twists we made, drew down upon us a variety of 
 speeches from the people standing about, which were not 
 always complimentary; but my aunt drove on with perfect in- 
 difference , and I dare say would have taken her own way with 
 as much coolness through an enemy's country. 
 
 At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out 
 over the road; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging 
 out still farther, and beams with carved heads on the ends 
 bulging out too, so that I fancied the whole house was leaning 
 forward, trying to see who was passing on the narrow pavement 
 below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness. The old- 
 fashioned brass knocker on the low arched door, ornamented 
 with carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled like a star; 
 the two stone steps descending to the door were as white as if 
 they had been covered with fair linen; and all the angles and 
 corners, and carvings and mouldings, and quaint little panes 
 of glass, and quainter little windows, though as old as the hills, 
 were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon the hills. 
 
 When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes 
 were intent upon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at 
 a small window on the ground floor (in a little round tower 
 that formed one side of the house), and quickly disappear. The 
 low arched door then opened, and the face came out. It was 
 quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the window, though in 
 the grain of it there was that tinge of red which is sometimes to 
 be observed in the skins of red-haired people. It belonged to 
 a red-haired person — a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but 
 looking much older — whose hair was cropped as close as the 
 closest stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eye- 
 lashes, and eyes of a red-brown; so unsheltered and unsliaded, 
 
286 
 
 that I remember wondering how he went to sleep. He was high- 
 shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black, with a white 
 wisp of a neckcloth ; buttoned up to the throat ; and had a long, 
 lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, 
 as he stood at the pony's head, rubbing his chin with it, and 
 looking up at us in the chaise. 
 
 "Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?" said my aunt. 
 
 "Mr. Wickfield 's at home. Ma'am," said Uriah Heep, "if 
 you '11 please to walk in there " — pointing with his long hand 
 to the room he meant. 
 
 We got out; and leaving him to hold the pony, went into a 
 long low parlour looking towards the street, from the window of 
 which I caught a glimpse, as I went in, of Uriah Heep breathing 
 into the pony's nostrils , and immediately covering them with 
 his hand, as if he were putting some spell upon him. Opposite 
 to the tall old chimney-piece, were two portraits: one of a gen- 
 tleman with grey hair (though not by any means an old man) 
 and black eyebrows , who was looking over some papers tied 
 together with red tape ; the other, of a lady, with a very placid 
 and sweet expression of face, who was looking at me. 
 
 I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah's picture, 
 when, a door at the farther end of the room opening, a gentle- 
 man entered, at sight of whom I turned to the first-mentioned 
 portrait again, to make quite sure that it had not come out of 
 its frame. But It was stationary; and as the gentleman ad- 
 vanced Into the light, I saw that he was some years older than 
 when he had had his picture painted. 
 
 "Miss Betsey Trotwood," said the gentleman, "pray walk 
 in. I was engaged for the moment, but you '11 excuse my 
 being busy. You know my motive. I have but one in life." 
 
 Miss Betsey thanked him, and we went into his room, 
 which was furnished as an office, with books, papers, tin 
 boxes, and so forth. It looked into a garden, and had an 
 
287 
 
 iron safe let into the wall; so Immediately over the mantel- 
 shelf, that I wondered, as I sat down, how the sweeps got 
 round it when they swept the chimney. 
 
 "Well, Miss Trotwood," said Mr. Wickfield; for I soon 
 found that it was he, and that he was a lawyer, and steward 
 of the estates of a rich gentleman of the county ; " what wind 
 blows you here? Not an ill wind, I hope?" 
 
 "No," replied my aunt, "I have not come for any law." 
 
 "That's right, ISIa'am," said J»Ir. Wickfield. "You had 
 better come for anything else." 
 
 His hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were 
 still black. He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, 
 was handsome There was a certain richness in his com- 
 plexion, which I had been long accustomed, under Peggotty's 
 tuition , to connect with port wine ; and I fancied it was in his 
 voice too, and referred his growing corpulency to the same 
 cause. He was very cleanly dressed, in a blue coat, striped 
 waistcoat, and nankeen trowsers; and his fine frilled shirt 
 and cambric neckcloth looked unusually soft and white, re- 
 minding my strolling fancy (I call to mind) of the plumage on 
 the breast of a swan. 
 
 "This is my nephew," said my aunt. 
 
 "Wasn't aware you had one. Miss Trotwood," said Mr. 
 Wickfield. 
 
 "My grand-nephew, that is to say," observed my aunt. 
 
 "W^asn't aware you had a grand-nephew, I give you my 
 word," said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 "I have adopted him," said my aunt, with a wave of her 
 hand, importing that his knowledge and his ignorance were 
 all one to her, "and I have brought him here, to put him to a 
 school where he may bo thoroughly well taught, and well 
 treated. Now tell me where that school is, and what it is, 
 and all about it." 
 
288 
 
 "Before I can advise you properly," said Mr. VVickficld, 
 — " the old question, you know. What 's your motive in this ? 
 
 "Deuce take the man!" exclaimed my aunt. "Always 
 fishing for motives, when they're on the surface! Why, to 
 make the child happy and useful." 
 
 "It must be a mixed motive, Ithink," said Mr. Wickfield, 
 shaking his head and smiling incredulously. 
 
 "A mixed fiddlestick!" returned my aunt. "You claim 
 to have one plain motive In all you do yourself. You don't 
 suppose, I hope, that you are the only plain dealer in the 
 world?" 
 
 "Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Mss Trotwood," 
 he rejoined, smiling. "Other people have dozens, scores, 
 hundreds. I have only one. There 's the difference. How- 
 ever, that 's beside the question. The best school? Whatever 
 the motive, you want the best?" 
 
 My aunt nodded assent. 
 
 "At the best we have," said Mr. Wickfield, considering, 
 " your nephew couldn't board just now." 
 
 "But he could board somewhere else, I suppose?" sug- 
 gested my aunt. 
 
 Ml'. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, 
 he proposed to take my aunt to the school, that she might sec 
 it and judge for herself; also , to take her, with the same ob- 
 ject, to two or three houses where he thought I could be 
 boarded. My aunt embracing the proposal , we were all three 
 going out together, when he stopped and said : 
 
 "Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, 
 for objecting to the arrangements. I think we had better leave 
 him behind?" 
 
 My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point ; but to faci- 
 litate matters I said I would gladly remain behind, if they 
 pleased; and returned Into Mr. Wickfield's office, where I 
 
289 
 
 sat down again, in the cliair I had tirst occupied, to await 
 their return. 
 
 It so happened that this chair was opposite a narrow pas- 
 sage, which ended in the little circular room where I had seen 
 Uriah Heep's pale face looking out of window. Uriah, having 
 taken the pony to a neighbouring stable, was at work at a desk 
 in this room, which had a brass frame on the top to hang 
 papers upon, and on which the writing he was making a copy 
 of was then hanging. Though his face was towards me, I 
 thought, for some time, the ^v^'iting being between us, that 
 he could not see me; but looking that way more attentively, 
 it made me uncomfortable to observe that, every now and 
 then, his sleepless eyes would come below the writing, like 
 two red suns, and stealthily stare at me for I dare say a whole 
 minute at a time, during which his pen went, or pretended to 
 go , as cleverly as ever. I made several attempts to get out of 
 their way — such as standing on a chair to look at a map on 
 the other side of the room, and poring over the columns of a 
 Kentish newspaper — but they always attracted me back 
 again; and whenever I looked towards those two red suns, I 
 was sure to find them, either just rising or just setting. 
 
 At length , much to my relief, my aunt and Mr. Wickfield 
 came back, after a pretty long absence. They were not so 
 successful as I could have wished; for though the advantages 
 of the school were undeniable, my aunt had not approved of 
 any of the boarding-houses proposed for me. 
 
 •'It 's very unfortunate," said my aunt. "I don't know 
 what to do, Trot." 
 
 "It rfoej happen unfortunately," said Mr. Wickfield. "But 
 1 '11 tell you what you can do , Miss Trotwood." 
 
 "Wliat 's that?" inquired my aunt. 
 
 "Leave your nephew here , for the present. He 's a quiet 
 fellow. He won't disturb me at all. It 'e a capital house for 
 David Copperfield. I. I'J 
 
290 
 
 study. As quiet as a monastery , and almost as roomy. Leave 
 him here." 
 
 My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate 
 of accepting it. So did I. 
 
 "Come, Miss Trotwood," said Mr. Wickfield. "This is 
 tlie way out of the difficulty. It 's only a temporary arrange- 
 ment, you know. If it don't act well, or don't quite accord 
 with our mutual convenience, he can easily go to the right 
 about. There will be time to find some better place for him 
 in the meanwhile. You had better determine to leave him 
 here for the present! " 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you," said my aunt; "and so 
 is he, I see; but — '* 
 
 "Come! I know what you mean," cried Mr. Wickfield. 
 "You shall not be oppressed by the receipt of favours, Miss 
 Trotwood. You may pay for him if you like. We won't be 
 hard about terms, but you shall pay if you will." 
 
 "On that understanding," said my aunt, "though it doesn't 
 lessen the real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him." 
 
 "Then come and see my little housekeeper," said Mr. 
 AVickfield. 
 
 We accordingly went up a wonderful old staircase; with a 
 balustrade so broad that we might have gone up that, almost 
 as easily; and into a shady old drawing-room, lighted by some 
 three or four of the quaint windows I had looked up at from 
 the street: which had old oak seats in them, that seemed to 
 have come of the same trees as the shining oak floor, and the 
 great beams in the ceiling. It was a prettily furnished room, 
 with a piano and some lively furniture in red and green , and 
 some flowers. It seemed to be all old nooks and corners; and 
 in every nook and corner there was some queer little table, 
 or cupboard, or bookcase, or seat, or something or other, 
 that made me think there was not such another good corner 
 
291 
 
 in the room; until I looked at the next one, and found it 
 equal to it, if not better. On everything there was the same 
 air of retirement and cleanliness that marked the house out- 
 side. 
 
 Mr. Wickfield tapped at a door in a corner of the panneled 
 wall, and a girl of about my own age came quickly out and 
 kissed him. On her face, I saw immediately the placid and 
 sweet expression of the lady whose picture had looked at me 
 down-stairs. It seemed to my imagination as if the portrait 
 had grown womanly, and the original remained a child. 
 Although her face was quite bright and happy, there was a 
 tranquillity' about it, and about her — a quiet, good, calm 
 spirit — that I never have forgotten ; that I never shall forget. 
 
 This was his little housekeeper, his daughter Agnes, Mr. 
 Wickfield said. When I heard how he said it, and saw how he 
 held her hand, I guessed what the one motive of his life was. 
 
 She had a little basket-trifle hanging at her side, with keys 
 in it; and looked as staid and as discreet a housekeeper as the 
 old house could have. She listened to her father as he told 
 her about me, with a pleasant face; and when he had con- 
 cluded, proposed to my aunt that we should go up-stairs and 
 see my room. We all went together; she before us: and a 
 glorious old room it was , with more oak beams , and diamond 
 panes; and the broad balustrade going all the way up to it. 
 
 I cannot call to mind where or when, in my childhood, 
 I had seen a stained glass window in a church. Nor do I recol- 
 lect its subject. But I know that when I saw her turn round, 
 in the grave light of the old staircase, and wait for us, above, 
 I thought of that window; and that I associated something of 
 its tranquil brightness with Agnes Wickfield ever afterwards. 
 
 My aunt was as happy as I was, in the arrangement made 
 for me; and we went down to the drawing-room again, well 
 pleased and gratified. As she would not hear of staying to 
 
 10' 
 
292 
 
 dinner, lest she should by any chance fail to arrive at home 
 with the grey pony before dark; and as I apprehend Mr. 
 Wickfield knew her too well, to argue any point with her; 
 some lunch was provided for her there, and Agnes went back 
 to her governess, and Mr. Wickfield to his office. So we 
 were left to take leave of one another without any restraint. 
 
 She told me that everything would be arranged forme by 
 Mr. Wickfield, and that I should want for nothing, and gave 
 me the kindest words and the best advice. 
 
 "Trot," said my aunt in conclusion, "be a credit to 
 yourself, tome, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you!" 
 
 I was greatly overcome, and could only thank her, again 
 and again, and send my love to Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Never," said my aunt, "be mean in anything; never be 
 false; never be cruel. Avoid those three vices. Trot, and 1 
 can always be hopeful of you." 
 
 I promised, as well as I could, that I would not abuse her 
 kindness or forget her admonition. 
 
 "The pony 'sat the door," said my aunt, "andlamoffl 
 Stay here." 
 
 With these words she embraced me hastily, and went out 
 of the room, shutting the door after her. At first I was 
 startled by so abrupt a departure, and almost feared I had 
 displeased her; but when I looked into the street, and saw 
 how dejectedly she got into the chaise, and drove away with- 
 out looking up, I understood her better, and did not do her 
 that injustice. 
 
 By five o'clock, which was Mr. Wickfield's dinner hour, I 
 had mustered up my spirits again, and was ready for my knife 
 and fork. The cloth was only laid for us two ; but Agnes was 
 waiting in the drawing-room before dinner, went down with 
 her father, and sat opposite to him at table. I doubted whe- 
 ther he could have dined without lier. 
 
293 
 
 We did not stay there, after dinner, but came up-stairs 
 into the drawing-room again: in one snug comer of which, 
 Agnes set glasses for her father, and a decanter of port wine, 
 I thought he would have missed its usual flavour, if it had been 
 put there for him by any other hands. 
 
 There he sat, taking his wine, and taking a good deal of 
 it, for two hours; while Agnes played on the piano , worked, 
 and talked to him and me. He was, for the most part, gay 
 and cheerful with us; but sometimes his eyes rested on her, 
 and he fell into a brooding state , and was silent. She always 
 observed this quickly, as I thought, and always roused him 
 with a question or caress. Then he came out of his meditation, 
 and drank more wine. 
 
 Agnes made the tea, and presided over it; and the time 
 passed away after it, as after dinner, until she went to bed; 
 when her father took her in his arms and kissed her, and, 
 she being gone, ordered candles in his office. Then I went 
 to bed too. 
 
 But in the course of the evening I had rambled down to 
 the door, and a little way along the street, that I might have 
 another peep at the old houses, and the grey Cathedial; and 
 might think of my coming through that old city on my journey, 
 and of my passing the very house I lived in, without knowing 
 it. As I came back, I saw Uriah Heep shutting up the office; 
 and feeling friendly towards everybody, went in and spoke to 
 him, and at parting, gave him my hand. But oh, what a 
 clammy hand his was! as ghostly to the touch as to the sightl 
 I rubbed mine afterwards, to warm it, and to rub his off. 
 
 It was such an uncomfortable hand, that, when I went to 
 my room, it was still cold and wet upon my memory. Leaning 
 out of window, and seeing one of the faces on the beam-ends 
 looking at me sideways, I fancied it was Uriah Heep got up 
 there somehow, and shut him out in a huiT}-. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I am a new boy in more senses than one 
 
 Next morning, after breakfast, I entered on school life 
 again. I went, accompanied by Mr. Wickfield, to the scene of 
 my future studies — a grave building in a court-yard, with a 
 learned air about it that seemed very well suited to the stray 
 rooks and jackdaws who came down from the cathedral towers 
 to walk with a clerkly bearing on the grass-plot — and was in- 
 troduced to my new master, Doctor Strong. 
 
 Doctor Strong looked almost as rusty, to my thinking, as 
 the tall iron rails and gates outside the house, and almost as 
 stiffand heavy as the great stone urns that flanked them, and 
 were set up, on the top of the red brick-wall, at regular 
 distances all round the court, like sublimated skittles, for Time 
 to play at. He was in his library (I mean Doctor Strong was) 
 with his clothes not particularly well brushed, and his hair not 
 particularly well combed; his knee-smalls unbraced; his long 
 black gaiters unbuttoned; and his shoes yawning like twa 
 caverns on the hearth-rug. Turning upon me a lustreless eye 
 that reminded me of a long-forgotten blind old horse who once 
 used to crop the grass, and tumble over the graves, in Blunder- 
 stone churchyard , he said he was glad to see me, and then he 
 gave me his hand: which I didn't know what to do with, as it 
 did nothing for Itself. 
 
 But, sitting at work, not far off from Doctor Strong, was a 
 very pretty young lady — whom he called Annie , and who was 
 his daughter, I supposed — who got me out of my difficulty by 
 kneeling down to put DoctorStrong's shoes on, and button his 
 
295 
 
 gaiters , which she did with great cheerfulness and quickness. 
 When she had finished, and we were going out to the school- 
 room, I was much surprised to hear Mr. WIckfield, in bidding 
 her good morning, address her as "Mrs. Strong," and I was 
 wondering could she be Doctor Strong's son's wife, or could 
 she be Mrs. Doctor Strong, when Doctor Strong himself un- 
 consciously enlightened me. 
 
 "By the bye, WIckfield," he said, stopping in a passage 
 with Ills hand on my shoulder; "you have not found any 
 suitable provision for my wife's cousin yet?" 
 
 "No," said Mr. WIckfield. "No. Notyet." 
 
 "I could wish It done as soon as it can be done, WIckfield," 
 said Doctor Strong, "for Jack Maldon is needy, and idle; and 
 of those too bad things , worse things sometimes come. What 
 does Doctor Watts say," he added, looking at me, and moving 
 his head to the time of his quotation, " * Satan finds some mis- 
 chief still, for idle hands to do.' " 
 
 "Egad, Doctor," returned Mr." WIckfield, "if Doctor Watts 
 knew mankind, he might have written, with as much truth, 
 'Satan finds some mischief still, for busy hands to do.' The 
 busy people achieve their full share of mischief in the world, 
 you may rely upon It. What have the people been about, who 
 have been the busiest in getting money and In getting power, 
 this century or two? No mischief?" 
 
 "Jack Maldon will never be very busy in getting either, 
 1 exjieot,"' said Doctor Strong, rubbing his chin thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Mr. WIckfield, "and you bring me 
 back to the question, with an apology for digressing. No, I 
 have not been able to dispose of Mr. Jack Maldon yet. 1 be- 
 lieve:" he said this with some hesitation: "I penetrate your 
 motive , and it makes the thing more difficult." 
 
296 
 
 "My motive," returned Dr. Strong, "is to make some 
 suitable provision for a cousin, and an old playfellow, of 
 Annie's." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Mr. Wickfield, "at home or 
 abroad." 
 
 "Aye!" replied tlie Doctor, apparently wondering why 
 he emphasised those words so much. "At home or 
 abroad." 
 
 "Your own expression, you know," said ]\Ir. Wickfield. 
 " Or abroad." 
 
 "Surely," the Doctor answered. "Surely. One or 
 other." 
 
 "One or other? Have you no choice?" asked Mr. Wick- 
 field. 
 
 "No , " returned the Doctor. 
 
 "No? " with astonishment. 
 
 "Not the least." 
 
 "No motive," said 'Mr. Wickfield, "for meaniiig abroad, 
 and not at home ? " 
 
 "No," returned the Doctor. 
 
 "I am bound to believe you, and of course I do believe 
 you," said Mr. Wickfield. " It might have simplified my office 
 very much, if I had known it before. But I confess I enter- 
 tained another impression." 
 
 Doctor Strong regarded him with a puzzled and doubting 
 look, which almost immediately subsided into a smile that gave 
 me great encouragement, for it was full of amiability and sweet- 
 ness, and there was a simplicity In it, and indeed in his whole 
 manner, when the studious, pondering frost upon it was got 
 through, verj' attractive and hopeful to a young scholar like me. 
 Repeating "No," and "not the least," and other short assu- 
 rances to the same purport. Doctor Strong jogged on before 
 us, at a queer, uneven pace, and we followed: Mr. VV'ickfield 
 
297 
 
 looking grave, I observed, and shaking his head to himself, 
 without knowing that I saw him. 
 
 The school-room was a pretty large hall, on the quietest 
 side of the house, confronted by the stately stare of some half- 
 dozen of the great urns , and commanding a peep of an old se- 
 cluded garden belonging to the Doctor, where the peaches 
 were ripening on the sunny south wall. There were too great 
 aloes In tubs, on the turf outside the windows; the broad hard 
 leaves of which plant (looking as if they were made of painted 
 tin) have ever since, by association, been symbolical to me ot 
 silence and retirement. About five-and-twenty boys were 
 studiously engaged at their books when we went in, but they 
 rose to give the Doctor good morning, and remained standing 
 when they saw Mr. WIckfield and me. 
 
 "A new boy, young gentlemen," said the Doctor; "Trot- 
 wood Copperfield." 
 
 One Adams, who was the head-boy, then stepped out of his 
 place and welcomed me. He looked like a young clergjTnan, in 
 his white cravat, but he was very affable and good-humoured; 
 and he showed me my place and presented me to the masters, 
 in a gentlemanly way that would have put me at my ease if any- 
 thing could. 
 
 It seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among 
 such boys, or among any companions of my own age, except 
 Mick Walker and Mealey Potatoes, that I felt as strange as 
 ever I have done in all my life. I was so conscious of having 
 passed through scenes of which they could have no knowledge, 
 and of having acquired experiences foreign to my age, ap- 
 pearance, and condition, as one of them, that I half believed it 
 was an Imposture to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy. 
 I had become, in the Murdstone and Grinby time, however 
 short or long it may have been, so unused to the sports and 
 games of boys, that I knew I was awkward and Inexperienced 
 
298 
 
 in the commonest things belonging to them. Whatever I Iiad 
 learnt, had so slipped away from me in the sordid cares of my 
 life from day to night, that now, when I was examined about 
 what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put Into the lowest form 
 of the school. But, troubled as I was, by my "want of boyish 
 skill, and of book-learning too, I was made infinitely more un- 
 comfortable by the consideration that in what I did know, I was 
 much farther removed from my companions than in what I did 
 not. My mind ran upon what they would think , if they knew 
 of my familiar acquaintance with the King's Bench Prison? 
 Was there anything about me which would reveal my pro- 
 ceedings in connexion with the Micawber family — all those 
 pawnings and sellings and suppers — in spite of myself ? Sap- 
 pose some of the boys had seen me coming through Canter- 
 bury, wayworn and ragged, and should find me out. What 
 would they say, who made so light of money, if they could 
 know how I had scraped my halfpence together, for the pur- 
 chase of my daily saveloy and beer, or my slices of pudding? 
 How would it aifect them, who were so innocent of London 
 life, and London streets, to discover how knowing I was (and 
 was ashamed to be) in some of the meanest phases of both? 
 All this ran in my head so much, on that first day at Doctor 
 Strong's, that I feltdistrustfulof my slightest look and gesture; 
 shrunk within myself whensoever I was approached by one of 
 my new schoolfellows; and hurried off the minute school was 
 over, afraid of committing myself in my response to any 
 friendly notice or advance. 
 
 But there was such an influence in Mr. Wickfield's old 
 house, that when I knocked at it, with my new schoolbooks 
 under my arm, I began to feel my uneasiness softening away. 
 As I went up to my airy old room, the grave shadow of the 
 staircase seemed to fall upon my doubts and fears, and to make 
 the past more Indistinct. I sat there, sturdily conning my 
 
299 
 
 books, until dinner time (we were out of school for good at 
 three), and went down, hopeful of becoming a passable sort 
 of boy yet. 
 
 Agnes was in the drawing-room, waiting for her fatlier, 
 who was detained by some one in his office. She met me with 
 her pleasant smile, and asked me how I liked the school. 
 I told her I should like it verj- much, I hoped ; but I was a little 
 strange to it at first. 
 
 "low have never been to school," I said, "have you?" 
 
 '* Oh yes I Every day." 
 
 "Ah, but you mean here, at your own home? " 
 
 "Papa couldn't spare me to go anywhere else," she an- 
 swered, smiling and shaking her head. "His housekeeper 
 must be in his house, you know." 
 
 "Heis very fond of you, 1 am sure," I said. 
 
 She nodded "Yes," and went to the door to listen for his 
 coming up, that she might meet him on the stairs. But, as he 
 was not there, she came back again. 
 
 "Mama has been dead ever since I was born," she said, in 
 her quiet way. "I only know her picture, down stairs. I saw 
 you looking at it yesterday. Did you think whose it was? " 
 
 I told her yes , because it was so like herself. 
 
 "Papa says so too," said Agues, pleased. "Hark! That 's 
 papa now!" 
 
 Her bright calm face lighted up with pleasure as she went 
 to meet him , and as they came in, hand in hand. He greeted 
 me cordially, and told me I should certainly be happy under 
 Doctor Strong, who was one of the gentlest of men." 
 
 "There may be some, perhaps — I don't know that there 
 are — who abuse his kindness," said Mr. Wickfield. "Never 
 be one of those, Trotwood, in anything. He is the least 
 suspicious of mankind; and whether that's a merit, or whether 
 
300 
 
 it's a blemish, it deserves consideration in all dealings with 
 the Doctor, great or small." 
 
 He spoke , I thought , as if he were weary , or dissatisfied 
 with something; but I did not pursue the question in roy mind, 
 for dinner was just then announced, and we went down and 
 took tlie same seats as before. 
 
 We had scarcely done so, when Uriah Heep put in his red 
 head and his lank hand at the door, and said: 
 
 "Here 's Mr. Maldon begs the favour of a word, Sir." 
 
 "I am but this moment quit of Mr. Maldon," said his 
 master. 
 
 "Yes, Sir," returned Uriah , "but Mr. Maldon has come 
 back, and he begs the favour of a word." 
 
 As he held the door open with his hand, Uriah looked at 
 me, and looked at Agnes, and looked at the dishes, and looked 
 at the plates, and looked at every object in the room I thought: 
 yet seemed to look at nothing; he made such an appearance 
 all the while of keeping his red eyes dutifully on his master. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. It 's only to say, on reflection," 
 observed a voice behind Uriah, as Uriah's head was pushed 
 away, and the speaker's substituted — "pray excuse me for 
 this intrusion — that as it seems I have no choice in the matter, 
 the sooner I go abroad, the better. My cousin Annie did say 
 when we talked of it that she liked to have her friends within 
 reach rather than to have them banished, and the old 
 Doctor—" 
 
 "Doctor Strong, was that?' Mr. VVickfield interposed, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Doctor Strong of course," returned the other, "I call 
 him the old Doctor — it 's all the same, you know." 
 
 ^^1 don't know," returned Mr. WIckfield. 
 
 "Well, Doctor Strong," said the other — "Doctor Strong 
 was of the same mind , I believed. But as it appears from the 
 
301 
 
 course you take with me that he has changed his mind, -why 
 there 's no more to be said, except that the sooner I am off, 
 the better. Therefore, I thought I'd come back and say, 
 that the sooner I am off, the better. When a plunge is to be 
 made into the water, it 's of no use lingering on the bank." 
 
 "There shall be as little lingering as possible, in your case, 
 Mr. Maldon, you may depend upon it," said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 "Thank'ee," said the other. "Much obliged. I don't 
 want to look a gift-horse in the mouth, which is not a gracious 
 thing to do, otherwise I dare say my cousin Annie could easily 
 arrange it in her own way. I suppose Annie would only have 
 to say to the old Doctor — " 
 
 "Meaning that Mrs. Strong would only have to say to her 
 husband — do I follow you? " said Mr. "Wickfield. 
 
 "Quite so," returned the other, "—would only have to 
 say, that she wanted such and such a thing to be so and so; 
 and it would be so and so, as a matter of course." 
 
 "And why as a matter of course, Mr. Maldon?" asked 
 ^Ir. Wickfield, sedately eating his dinner. 
 
 "Why, because Annie 's a charming young girl, and the 
 old Doctor — Doctor Strong, I mean — is not quite a charming 
 young boy," said Mr. Jack Maldon, laughing. "No offence 
 to anybody, IVIr. Wickfield. I only mean that I suppose some 
 compensation is fair and reasonable in that sort of mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "Compensation to the lady, Sir?" asked Mr. AVicktield 
 gravely. 
 
 " To the lady, Sir," Mr. Jack Maldon answered, laughing. 
 But appearing to remark that Mr. Wickfield went on with 
 his dinner in the same sedate, immoveable manner, and that 
 there was no hope of making him relax a muscle of his face, 
 he added: 
 
 "However, I have said what I came hack to say, and, with 
 
302 
 
 another apology for this intrusion, I may take myself off. Of 
 course I shall observe your directions in considering the mat- 
 ter as one to be arranged between you and me solely, and not 
 to be referred to, up at the Doctor's." 
 
 "Have you dined?" asked Mr. Wickfield, with a motion 
 of his hand towards the table. 
 
 "Thank'ee. I am going to dine," said Mr. Maldon, "with 
 my cousin Annie. Good byel " 
 
 Mr. Wickfield, without rising, looked after him thought- 
 fully as he went out. He was rather a shallow sort of young 
 gentleman, I thought, with a handsome face, a rapid utterance, 
 and a confident, bold air. And this was the first I ever saw of 
 Mr. Jack Maldon, whom I had not expected to see so soon, 
 when I heard the Doctor speak of him that morning. 
 
 WTien we had dined, we went up-stairs again, where 
 everything went on exactly as on the previous day. Agnes 
 set the glasses and decanters in the same corner, and Mr. 
 Wickfield sat down to drink, and drank a good deal. Agnes 
 played the piano to him, and worked and talked , and played 
 some games at dominoes with me. In good time she made 
 tea; and afterwards, when I brought down my books, looked 
 into them, and showed me what she knew of them (which was 
 no slight matter, though she said it was), and what was the 
 best way to learn and understand them. I see her, with her 
 modest, orderly, placid manner, and I hear her beautiful 
 calm voice, as I write these words. The influence for all 
 good, which she came to exercise over me at a later time, 
 begins already to descend upon my breast. I love little Em'ly, 
 and I don't love Agnes — no, not at all in that way — but I feel 
 that there are goodness, peace, and truth wherever Agnes is, 
 and that the soft light of the coloured window in the church, 
 seen long ago, falls on her always, and on me when I am near 
 her, and on every thing around. 
 
303 
 
 The time having come for her withdrawal for the night, 
 and she having left us, I gave ]\Ir. Wickfield my hand, pre- 
 paratory to going away myself. But he checked me and 
 said: "Should you like to stay with us, Trotwood, or to go 
 elsewhere?" 
 
 "To stay;" I answered, quickly. 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "If you please. If I may!" 
 
 "Why, it's but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I am 
 afraid," he said. 
 
 "Not more dull for me than Agnes, Sir. Not dull at 
 aUI" 
 
 "Than Agnes," he repeated, walking slowly to the great 
 chimney-piece, and leaning against it. " Than Agnes ! " 
 
 He had drank wine that evening (or I fancied it) until his 
 eyes were bloodshot. Not that I could see them now, for they 
 were cast down, and shaded by his liand; but I had noticed 
 them a little while before. 
 
 "Now I wonder," he muttered, "whether my Agnes tires 
 of me. When should I ever tire of her ! But that 's diflerent 
 — that 's quite different." 
 
 He was musing — not speaking to me; so I remained 
 quiet. 
 
 "A dull old liouse," he said, "and a monotonous life — 
 but I must have her near me. I must keep her near me. If 
 the thought that I may die and leave my darling, or that my 
 darling may die and leave me, comes like a spectre, to distress 
 my happiest hours, and is only to be drowned in — " 
 
 He did not supply the word, but pacing slowly to the place 
 where he had sat, and mechanically going through the action 
 of pouring wine from the empty decanter, set it down and 
 paced back again. 
 
304 
 
 "If it is miserable to bear when she is here," he said, 
 ''what would it be, and she away? No, no, no. I can not 
 try that." 
 
 He leaned against the chimney-piece, brooding so long 
 that I could not decide whether to run the risk of disturbing 
 him by going, or to remain quietly where I was, until he 
 should come out of his reverie. At length he aroused him- 
 self, and looked about the room until his eyes encountered 
 mine. 
 
 "Stay with us, Trotwood, eh?" he said, in his usual 
 manner, and as if he were answering something I had just 
 said. "I am glad of it. You are company to us both. It is 
 wholesome to have you here. Wholesome for me, wholesome 
 for Agnes, wholesome perhaps for all of us." 
 
 "I am sure it is for me. Sir," I said. "I am so glad to be 
 here." 
 
 "That's a fine fellow!" said Mr. Wickfield. "As long 
 as you are glad to be here, you shall stay here." He shook 
 hands with me upon it, and clapped me on the back, and told 
 me that when I had anything to do at night after Agnes had 
 left us, or when I wished to read for my own pleasure, I was 
 free to come down to his room, if he were there, and if I 
 desired it for company's sake, and to sit with him. I thanked 
 him for his consideration, and as he went down soon after- 
 wards, and I was not tired, went down too, with a book 
 in my hand, to avail myself, for half-an-hour, of his per- 
 mission. 
 
 But, seeing a light in the little round office, and imme- 
 diately feeling myself attracted towards Uriah Heep, who had 
 a sort of fascination for me, I went in there instead. I found 
 Uriah reading a great fat book, with such demonstrative at- 
 tention, that his lank fore-linger followed up every line as he 
 
305 
 
 read , and made clammy tracks along the page (or so I fully 
 believed) like a snail. 
 
 "You are working late to-night, Uriah," says I. 
 
 "Yes, Master Copperfield," says Uriah. 
 
 As I was getting on the stool opposite, to talk to him more 
 conveniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as a 
 smile about him, and that he could only widen his mouth and 
 make two hard creases down his cheeks, one on each side, to 
 stand for one. 
 
 "I am not doing office-work. Master Copperfield," said 
 Uriah. 
 
 "What work, then?" Tasked. 
 
 "I am improving my legal knowledge, Master Copper- 
 field," said Uriah. "I am going through Tidd's Practice. 
 Oh, whata writer Mr. Tidd is, Master Copperfield!" 
 
 My stool was such a tower of observation, that as I watched 
 him reading on again, after this rapturous exclamation, and 
 following up the lines with his fore-finger, I observed that his 
 nostrils, which were thin and pointed, with sharp dints in 
 them, had a singular and most uncomfortable way of ex- 
 panding and contracting themselves — that they seemed to 
 twinkle, instead of his eyes, which hardly ever twinkled 
 at all. 
 
 "I suppose you are quite a great lawj'er?" I said, after 
 looking at him for some time. 
 
 •-'Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no!, I'm 
 a very urable person." 
 
 Itwasno fancy of mine about his hands, I observed, for 
 he frequently ground the palms against each other as if to 
 squeeze them dry and warm, besides often wiping them, in a 
 stealthy way, on his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 "I am well aware that I am the umblest person going," 
 said Uriah Heep, modestly, "let the other be where he may. 
 David Cnpjierfield. L 20 
 
306 
 
 My mother Is likewise a very umble person. We live in a 
 numble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be 
 thankful for. My father's former calling was umble. He was 
 a sexton." 
 
 "What is he now?" I asked. 
 
 "He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," 
 said Uriah Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. 
 How much have I to be thankful for, in living with Mr. Wick- 
 field!" 
 
 I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long? 
 
 "I have been with him, going on four year, Master Cop- 
 perfield," said Uriah, shutting up his book, after carefully 
 marking the place where he had left off. " Since a year after 
 my father's death, how much have I to be thankful for, in 
 that ! How much have I to be thankful for, in Mr. Wickfield's 
 kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise 
 not lay within the umble means of mother and self! " 
 
 "Then, when your articled time is over, you '11 be a re- 
 gular lawyer, I suppose?" said I. 
 
 "With the blessing of Providence, Master Copperfield," 
 returned Uriah. 
 
 "Perhaps you '11 be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's busi- 
 ness, one of these days," I said, to make myself agreeable; 
 "and it will be Wickfield and Heep, or Heep late Wickfield." 
 
 "Oh, no. Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking 
 his head, "I am much too umble for that! " 
 
 He certainly did look uncommonly like the carved face on 
 the beam outside my window, as he sat, in his humility, eyeing 
 me sideways, with his mouth widened, and the creases in his 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Mr. Wickfield is a most excellent man. Master Copper- 
 field," said Uriah. "If you have known him long, you know 
 it, I am sure, much better than I can inform you." 
 
307 
 
 I replied that I was certain he was ; but that I had not 
 known him long myself, though he was a friend of my aunt's. 
 
 "Oh, indeed, ISIaster Copperfield," said Uriah. "Your 
 aunt is a sweet lady, Master Copperfield! " 
 
 He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express en- 
 thusiasm, which was very ugly, and which diverted my atten- 
 tion from the compliment he had paid my relation to the snaky 
 twistings of his throat and body. 
 
 "A sweet lady. Master Copperfield!" said Uriah Heep. 
 "She has a great admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copper- 
 field, I believe?" 
 
 I said "Yes," boldly; not that I knew anything about it, 
 Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 "I hope you have too, Master Copperfield," said Uriah. 
 "But I am sure you must have." 
 
 "Everybody must have," I returned. 
 
 "Oh, thank you. Master Copperfield," said Uriah Heep, 
 " for that remark ! It is so true! Umble as I am, Iknow it is 
 so true ! Oh , thank you , Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 He writhed himself quite off his stool in the excitement of 
 his feelings, and, being off, began to make arrangements for 
 going home. 
 
 "Mother will be expecting me," he said, referring to a 
 pale, inexpressive-faced watch in his pocket, "and getting 
 uneasy, for though we are very umble, Master CopperfieUl, 
 we are much attached to one another. If you would come 
 and see us, any afternoon , and take a cup of tea at our lowly 
 dwelling, mother would be as proud of your company as I 
 should be." 
 
 I said I should be glad to come. 
 
 "Thank you, Master Copperfiehl," returned Uriah , put- 
 ting his book away upon a shelf. — "I suppose you stop here, 
 some time, Master Copperfield?" 
 
 20* 
 
308 
 
 I said I was going to be brought up there, I believed, as 
 long as I remained at school. 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Uriah. "I should think you 
 would come into the business at last, Master Copperfield! " 
 
 I protested that I had no views of that sort; and that no 
 such scheme was entertained in my behalf by anybody; but 
 Uriah insisted on blandly replying to all my assurances, "Oh, 
 yes. Master Copperfield, I should think you would, indeed ! " 
 and, "Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, I should think you 
 would, certainly!" over and over again. Being, at last, 
 ready to leave the office for the night, he asked me if it would 
 suit my convenience to have the light put out, and on my 
 answering "Yes," instantly extinguished it. After shaking 
 hands with me — his hand felt like a fish, in the dark — he 
 opened the door into the street a very little, and crept out, 
 and shut it, leaving me to grope ray way back into the house: 
 which cost me some trouble and a fall over his stool. This was 
 the proximate cause, I suppose, of my dreaming about him, 
 for what appeared to me to be half the night, and dreaming, 
 among other things, that he had launched Mr. Peggotty's 
 house on a piratical expedition, with a black flag at the mast- 
 head, bearing the inscription " Tidd's Practice," under which 
 diabolical ensign he was carrying me and little Em'ly to the 
 Spanish Main to be drowned. 
 
 I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to 
 school next day, and a good deal the better next day, and so 
 shook it off by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was 
 quite at home, and happy, among my new companions. I 
 was awkward enough in their games, and backward enough in 
 their studies, but custom would improve me in the first re- 
 spect, I hoped, and hard work in the second. Accordingly, 
 I went to work very hard, both in play and in earnest, and 
 gained great commendation. And, in a very little while, 
 
309 
 
 the Murdstone and Grinby life became so strange to me that 
 I hardly believed in it, while my present life grew so familiar, 
 that I seemed to have been leading it a long time. 
 
 Doctor Strong's was an excellent school; as different from 
 Mr. Creakle's as good is from evil. It was very gravely and 
 decorously ordered, and on a sound system, with an appeal 
 in everything, to the honour and good faith of the boys, and 
 an avowed intention to rely on their possession of those qua- 
 lities unless they proved themselves unworthy of it, which 
 worked wonders. "VV'e all felt that we had a part in the manage- 
 ment of the place , and in sustaining its character and 
 dignity. Hence, we soon became warmly attached to it — I 
 am sure I did for one, and I never knew, in all my time, of 
 any other boy being otherwise — and learnt w^ith a good will, 
 desiring to do it credit. We had noble games out of hours, 
 and plenty of liberty; but even then, as I remember, we 
 were well spoken of in the town, and rarely did any disgrace, 
 by our appearanc-e or manner, to the reputation of Doctor 
 Strong and Doctor Strong's boys. 
 
 Some of the higher scholars boarded in the Doctor's 
 house, and through them I learnt, at second hand, some 
 particulars of the Doctor's history — as how he had not yet 
 been married twelve months to the beautiful young lady I had 
 seen in the study, whom he had married for love, as she had 
 not a sixpence, and had a world of poor relations (so our 
 fellows said) ready to swarm the Doctor out of house and 
 home. Also, how the Doctor's cogitating manner was attri- 
 butable to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek 
 roots; which, in my innocence and ignorance, I supposed to 
 be a botanical furor on the Doctor's part, especially as he 
 always looked at the ground when he walked about — until I 
 understood that they were roots of words, with a view to a 
 new Dictionary, which he had in contemplation. Adams, our 
 
310 
 
 head boy, who Lad a turn for mathematics, had ma<le a cal- 
 culation, I was informed, of the time this Dictionary would 
 take in completing, on the Doctor's plan, and at the Doctor's 
 rate of going. He considered that it might be done in one 
 thousand six hundred and forty-nine years, counting from 
 the Doctor's last, or sixty-second, birthday. 
 
 But the Doctor himself was the idol of the whole school; 
 and it must have been a badly composed school if he had been 
 anything else, for he was the kindest of men: with a simple 
 faith in him that might have touched the stone hearts of the 
 very urns upon the wall. As he walked up and down that 
 part of the courtyard which was at the side of the house, with 
 the stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their 
 heads cocked slyly, as if they knew how much more knowing 
 they were in worldly affairs than he, if any sort of vagabond 
 could only get near enough to his creaking shoes to attract 
 his attention to one sentence of a tale of distress, that vaga- 
 bond was made for the next two days. It was so notorious 
 in the house, that the masters and head boys took pains to 
 Cut these marauders off at angles, and to get out of windows, 
 and turn them out of the courtyard, before they could make 
 the Doctor aware of their presence; which was sometimes 
 happily effected within a few yards of him, without his know- 
 ing anything of the matter as he jogged to and fro. Outside 
 his own domain, and unprotected, he was a very sheep for 
 the shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his legs, 
 to give away. In fact, there was a story current among us 
 (I have no idea, and never had, on what authority, but I have 
 believed it for so many years, that I feel quite certain it is 
 true), that on a frosty day, one winter time, he actually did 
 bestow his gaiters on a beggar-woman, who occasioned some 
 scandal in the neighbourhood by exhibiting a fine infant from 
 door to door, wrapped In those garments, which were uni- 
 
311 
 
 versally recognised, being as well known in the vicinity as the 
 Cathedral. The legend added that the only person who did 
 not identify them was the Doctor himself, who, when they 
 were shortly afterwards displayed at the door of a little 
 second-hand shop of no very good repute, where such things 
 were taken in exchange for gin, was more than once observed 
 to handle them approvingly, as if admiring some curious 
 novelty in the pattern, and considering them an improvement 
 on his own. 
 
 It was very pleasant to see the Doctor with his pretty 
 young wife. He had a fatherly, benignant way of showing 
 his fondness for her, which seemed in itself to express a good 
 ,man. I often saw them walking in the garden where the 
 peaches were, and I sometimes had a nearer observation of 
 them in the study or the parlour. She appeared to me to take 
 great care of the Doctor, and to like him very much, though 
 I never thought her vitally interested in the Dictionary: some 
 cumbrous fragments of which work the Doctor always carried 
 in his pockets and in the lining of his hat, and generally 
 seemed to be expounding to her as they walked about. 
 
 I saw a good deal of Mrs. Strong, both because she had 
 taken a liking for me on the morning of my introduction to 
 the Doctor, and was always afterwards kind to me and in- 
 terested in me; and because she was very fond of Agnes, and 
 was often backwards and forwards at our house. There was 
 a curious constraint between her and Mr. Wickfield, I thought 
 (of whom she seemed to be afraid), that never wore ofi\ 
 When she came there of an evening, she always shrunk from 
 accepting his escort home, and ran away with me instead. 
 And sometimes, as we were running gaily across the Cathedral 
 yard together, expecting to meet nobody, we would meet 
 Mr. Jack Maldon, who was always surprised to see ue. 
 
 Mr?;. Strong's mama was a lady I took great delight in. 
 
312 
 
 Her name was Mrs. Markleham, but our boys used to call her 
 the old soldier, on account of her generalship , and the skill 
 with which she marshalled great forces of relations against 
 the Doctor. She was a little, sharp-eyed woman, who used 
 to wear, when she was dressed, one unchangeable cap, or- 
 namented with some artificial flowers, and two artificial but- 
 terflies, supposed to be hovering above the flowers. There 
 was a superstition among us that this cap had come from 
 France, and could only originate in the workmanship of that 
 ingenious nation; but all I certainly know about it, is, that it 
 always made its appearance of an evening, wheresoever Mrs. 
 Markleham made her appearance: that it was carried about to 
 friendly meetings in a Hindoo basket: that the butterflies 
 had the gift of trembling constantly : and that they improved 
 the shining hours at Doctor Strong's expense, like busy bees. 
 
 I observed the old soldier — not to adopt the name dis- 
 respectfully — to pretty good advantage on a night which is 
 made memorable to me by something else I shall relate. It 
 was the night of a little party at the Doctor's , which was given 
 on the occasion of Mr. Jack Maldon's departure for India, 
 whither he was going as a cadet, or something of that kind: 
 Mr. Wickfield having at length arranged the business. It 
 happened to be the Doctor's birthday, too. We had had a 
 holiday, had made presents to him in the morning, had made 
 a speech to him through the head boy, and had cheered him 
 until we were hoarse , and until he had shed tears. And now, 
 in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I, went to have tea 
 with him in his private capacity. 
 
 Mr. Jack Maldon was there, before us. Mrs. Strong, 
 dressed in white, with cherry-coloured ribbons, was playing 
 the piano, when we went in, and he was leaning over her to 
 turn the leaves. The clear red and white of her complexion 
 was not so blooming and flower-like as usual, I thought, when 
 
iii-6 
 
 she turned round; but she looked very pretty, wonderfully 
 pretty. 
 
 "I have forgotten, Doctor," said Mi's. Strong's mama, 
 when we were seated, "to pay you the compliments of the 
 day — though they are, as you may suppose, very far from 
 being mere compliments in my case. Allow me to wish you 
 many happy returns." 
 
 *'I thank you. Ma'am," replied the Doctor. 
 
 "Many, many, many, happy returns," said the old soldier. 
 "Not only for your own sake, but for Annie's, and John 
 Maldon's, and many other peoples'. It seems but yesterday 
 to me, John, when you were a little creature, a head shorter 
 than Master Copperfield, making baby love to Annie behind 
 the gooseberry bushes in the back garden." 
 
 "My dear Mama," said Mrs. Strong, "never mind that 
 now." 
 
 "Annie, don't be absurd," returned her mother. "If 
 you are to blush to hear of such things, now you are an 
 old married woman, when are you not to blush to hear of 
 them?" 
 
 "Old?" exclaimed Mr. Jack Maldon. "Annie? Come!" 
 
 "Yes, John," returned the soldier. "Virtually an old 
 married woman. Although not old by years — for when did 
 you ever hear me say, or who has ever heard me say, that a 
 girl of twenty was old by years ! — your cousin is the wife of 
 the Doctor, and, as such, what I have described her. It is 
 well for you, John, that your cousin /.y the wife of the Doctor. 
 You have found in him an influential and kind friend, who 
 will be kinder yet, I venture to predict, if you deserve it. 
 I have no false pride. I never hesitate to admit, frankly, that 
 there are some members of our family who want a friend. You 
 were one yourself, before your cousin's influence raised up 
 one for you." 
 
314 
 
 The Doctor, in the goodness of his heart, waved his 
 hand as if to make light of it, and save Mr. Jack Maldon from 
 any further reminder. But Mrs. Marklehara changed her chair 
 for one next the Doctor's, and putting her fan on his coat- 
 sleeve, said: 
 
 "No, really, my dear Doctor, you must excuse me if I 
 appear to dwell on this rather, because I feel so very strongly. 
 I call it quite my monomania. It is such a subject of mine. 
 You are a blessing to us. You really are a Boon, you know." 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense," said the Doctor. 
 
 "No, no, I beg your pardon," retorted the old soldier. 
 "With iiobody present, but our dear and confidential friend 
 Mr. Wickfield, I cannot consent to be put down. I shall 
 begin to assert the privileges of a mother-in-law, if you go on 
 like that, and scold you. I am perfectly honest and out- 
 spoken. What I am saying, is what I said when you first over- 
 powered me with surprise — you remember how surprised 
 I was? — by proposing for Annie. Not that there was any- 
 thing so very much out of the way In the mere fact of the 
 proposal — it would be ridiculous to say that! — but because 
 you having known her poor father, and having known her 
 from a baby six months old, I hadn't thought of you in such a 
 light at all, or indeed as a marrying man in any way, — simply 
 that, you know." 
 
 "Aye, aye," returned the Doctor good humouredly. 
 "Never mind." 
 
 "But I do mind," said the old soldier, laying her fan 
 upon his lips. "I mind very much. I recall these things that 
 I may be contradicted if I am wrong. Well ! Then I spoke 
 to Annie, and I told her what had happened. I said, 'My 
 dear, here 's Doctor Strong has positively been and made you 
 the subject of a handsome declaration and an offer.' Did I 
 press it in the least? No. I said, 'Now, Annie, tell me the 
 
315 
 
 truth this moment, Is your heart free?' 'Mama,' she said, 
 crylnor, 'I am extremely young' — which was perfectly true — 
 'and I hardly know if I have a heart at all.' 'Then, my dear,' 
 I said, 'you may rely upon it, it 's free. At all events, my 
 love,' said I, 'Doctor Strong is in an agitated state of mind, 
 and must be answered. He cannot be kept in his present 
 state of suspense.' 'Mama,' said Annie, still crying, 'would 
 he be unhappy without me? If he would, I honour and 
 respect him, so much, that I think I will have him.' So it 
 was settled. And then, and not till then, I said to Annie, 
 'Annie, Doctor Strong will not only be your husband, but 
 he will represent your late father, he will represent the head 
 of our family, he will represent the wisdom and station, and 
 I may say the means, of our family, and will be, in short, 
 a Boon to it.' I used the word at the time, and I have used 
 it again, to-day. If I have any merit, it is consistency." 
 
 The daughter had sat quite silent and still during this 
 speech, with her eyes fixed on the ground; her cousin stand- 
 ing near her, and looking on the ground too. She now said 
 very softly, in a trembling voice : 
 
 *'Mama, I hope you have finished?" 
 
 "No, my dear Annie," returned the soldier, "I have not 
 quite finished. Since you ask me, my love, I reply that I 
 have not. I complain tliat you really arc a little unnatural 
 towards your own family ; and as it is of no use complaining to 
 you, I mean to complain to your husband. Now, my dear 
 Doctor, do look at that silly wife of yours." 
 
 As the Doctor turned his kind face, with its smile of sim- 
 plicity and gentleness, towards her, she drooped her head 
 more. I noticed that Mr. Wickfield looked at her steadily. 
 
 "When I happened to say to that naughty thing, the other 
 day," pursued her mother, shaking her head and her fan at 
 
old 
 
 her, playfully, "that there was a family circumstance she 
 might mention to you — indeed, I think, was bound to men- 
 tion — she said, that to mention it was to ask a favour; and 
 that as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was always 
 to have, she wouldn't." 
 
 "Annie, my dear," said the Doctor. "That was wrong. 
 It robbed me of a pleasure." 
 
 "Almost the very words I said to her!" exclaimed her 
 mother. "Now really, another time, when I know what she 
 would tell you, but for this reason, and won't, I have a great 
 mind, my dear Doctor, to tell you myself." 
 
 "I shall be glad if you will," returned the Doctor. 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, then, I will!" said the old soldier. "That 's a 
 bargain." And having, I suppose, carried her point, she 
 tapped the Doctor's hand several times with her fan (which 
 she kissed first), and returned triumphantly to her former 
 station. 
 
 Some more company coming in, among whom were the 
 two masters and Adams, the talk became general; and it 
 naturally turned onlSir. JackMaldon, and his voyage, and 
 the country he was going to, and his various plans and pro- 
 spects. He was to leave that night, after supper, in a post- 
 chaise, for Gravesend, where the ship, in which he was to 
 make the voyage, lay, and was to be gone — unless he came 
 home on leave, or for his health — I don't know how many 
 years. I recollect it was settled by general consent that India 
 was quite a misrepresented countr}', and had nothing ob- 
 jectionable in it, but a tiger or two, and a little heat in the 
 warm part of the day. For my own part, I looked on Mr. 
 JackMaldon as a modern Sinbad, and pictured him the bosom 
 friend of all theKajahs in the east, sitting under canopies, 
 
317 
 
 smoking curly golden pipes, a mile long, if they could be 
 straightened out. 
 
 Mrs. Strong was a very pretty singer: as I knew, who 
 often heard her singing by herself. But, whether she was 
 afraid of singing before people, or was out of voice that 
 evening, it was certain that she couldn't sing at all. She tried 
 a duet , once , with her cousin Maldon , but could not so much 
 as begin; and afterwards, when she tried to sing by herself, 
 although she began sweetly, her voice died away on a sudden, 
 and left her quite distressed, with her head hanging down 
 over the keys. The good Doctor said she was nervous, and, 
 to relieve her, proposed a round game at cards ; of which he 
 knew as much as of the art of playing the trombone. But I 
 remarked that the old soldier took him into custody directly, 
 for her partner, and instructed him, as the first preliminary 
 of initiation, to give her all the silver he had in his pocket. 
 
 We had a merrj' game, not made the less merry by the 
 Doctor's mistakes, of which he committed an innumerable 
 quantity, in spite of the watchfulness of the butterflies, and 
 to their great aggravation. Mrs. Strong had declined to play, 
 on the ground of not feeling very well, and her cousin Maldon 
 had excused himself because he had some packing to do. 
 When he had done it, however, he returned, and they sat 
 together, talking, on the sofa. From time to time she came 
 and looked over the Doctor's hand, and told him what to play. 
 She was very pale, as she bent over him, and I thought her 
 finger trembled as she pointed out the cards, but the Doctor 
 was quite happy in her attention, and took no notice of this, 
 if it were so. 
 
 At supper, we were hardly so gay. Every one appeared 
 to feel that a parting of that sort was an awkward thing, and 
 that the nearer it approached, the more awkward it was. Mr. 
 Jack Maldon tried to be very talkative, but was not at his 
 
318 
 
 ease , and made matters worse. And they were not improved, 
 as It appeared to me, by the old soldier: who continually re- 
 called passages of Mr. Jack Maldon*s youth. 
 
 The Doctor, however, who felt, I am sure, that he was 
 making everybody happy, was well pleased, and had no 
 suspicion , but that we were all at the utmost height of en- 
 joyment. 
 
 "Annie, my dear," said he, looking at his watch, and 
 filling his glass; "it is past your cousin Jack's time, and we 
 must not detain him, since time and tide — both concerned in 
 this case — wait for no man. Mr. Jack Maldon, you have a 
 long voyage, and a strange country, before you; but many 
 men have had both , and many men will have both , to the end 
 of time. The winds you are going to tempt, have wafted 
 thousands upon thousands to fortune, and brought thousands 
 upon thousands happily back." 
 
 "It 's an affecting thing," said Mrs. Markleham — "how- 
 ever It 's viewed , it 's affecting — to see a fine young man one 
 has known from an infant, going away to the other end of the 
 world, leaving all he knows behind, and not knowing what *s 
 before him. A young man really well deserves constant sup- 
 port and patronage," looking at the Doctor, "who makes 
 such sacrifices." 
 
 " Time will go fast with you , Mr. Jack Maldon," pursued 
 the Doctor, "and fast with all of us. Some of us can hardly 
 expect, perhaps, in the natural course of things, to greet 
 you on your return. The next best thing is to hope to do it, 
 and that 'a my case. I shall not weary you with good advice. 
 You have long had a good model before you in your cousin 
 Annie. Imitate her virtues as nearly as you can." 
 
 Mrs. Markleham fanned herself, and shook her head. 
 
319 
 
 "Farewell, Mr. Jack," said the Doctor, standing up; on 
 which we all stood up. "A prosperous voyage out, a thriving 
 career abroad , and a happy return home ! ' 
 
 We all drank tlie toast, and all shook hands with Mr. Jack 
 Maldon, after which he hastily took leave of the ladies who 
 were there, and hurried to the door, where he was received, 
 as he got into the chaise, with a tremendous broadside of 
 cheers discharged by our boys, who had assembled on the 
 lawn for the purpose. Running in among them to swell the 
 ranks, I was very near the chaise when it rolled away, and I 
 had a lively impression made upon me, in the midst of the 
 noise and dust, of having seen ^Ir. Jack Maldon rattle past 
 with an agitated face, and something cherry-coloured in his 
 hand. 
 
 After another broadside for the Doctor, and another for 
 the Doctor's wife, the boys dispersed, and I went back into 
 the house, where I found the guests all standing in a group 
 about the Doctor, discussing how Mr. Jack Maldon had gone 
 away, and how he had borne it, and how he had felt it, and 
 all the rest of it. In the midst of these remarks, Mrs. Marklc- 
 ham cried: "Where 's Annie!" 
 
 No Annie was there, and when they called to her, no 
 Annie replied. But all pressing out of the room, in a crowd, 
 to see what was the matter, we found her lying on the hall 
 floor. There was great alarm at first, until it was found that 
 she was in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding to the 
 usual means of recover}', when the Doctor, who had lifted 
 her head upon his knee, put her curls aside with his hand, and 
 said looking around: 
 
 ♦'Poor Annie I She 's so faithful and tender-hearted! It "s 
 the parting from her old play-fellow and friend— her favourite 
 cousin — that has done this. Ah! It 's a pity! I am very 
 gon^'!" 
 
820 
 
 When she opened her eyes, and saw where she was, and 
 that we were all standing about her, she arose with assistance : 
 turning her head, as she did so, to lay it on the Doctor's 
 shoulder — or to hide it, I don't know which. We went into 
 the drawing-room, to leave her with the Doctor and her 
 mother; but she said, it seemed, that she was better than she 
 had been since morning, and that she would rather be brought 
 among us; so they brought her in, looking very white and 
 weak, I thought, and sat her on a sofa. 
 
 "Annie, my dear," said her mother, doing something to 
 her dress. "See here! You have lost a bow. Will anybody 
 be so good as find a ribbon ; a cherry-coloured ribbon? " 
 
 It was the one she had worn at her bosom. We all looked 
 for it — I myself looked everywhere, I am certain — but no- 
 body could find it. 
 
 "Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie?" said 
 her mother. 
 
 I wondered how I could have thought she looked white, or 
 anything but burning red, when she answered that she had had 
 it safe, a little while ago, she thought, but it was not wortli 
 looking for 
 
 Nevertheless, it was looked for again, and still not founds 
 She entreated t^at there might be no more searching, but it 
 was still sought for, in a desultory way, until she was quite 
 well, and the company took their departure. 
 
 We walked very slowly home, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and 
 I — Agnes and I admiring the moonlight, and ISlv. Wickfield 
 scarcely raising his eyes from the ground. When we, at last, 
 reached our own door, Agnes discovered that she had left 
 her little reticule behind. Delighted to be of any service to 
 her, I ran back to fetch it. 
 
321 
 
 I went into the supper-room where it had been left, which 
 was deserted and dark. But a door of communication be- 
 tween that and the Doctor's study, where there was a light, 
 being open, I passed on there, to say what I wanted, and to 
 get a candle. 
 
 The Doctor was sitting in his easy chair by the fireside, and 
 his young wife was on a stool at his feet. The Doctor, with a 
 complacent smile, was reading aloud some manuscript expla- 
 nation or statement of a theory out of that interminable Dictio- 
 nar)% and she was looking up at him. But, with such a face as 
 I never saw. It was so beautiful in its form, it was so ashy 
 pale, it was so fixed in its abstraction, it was so full of a wild, 
 sleep-walking, dreamy horror of I don't know what. The eyes 
 were wide open , and her brown hair fell in two rich clusters on 
 her shoulders , and on her white dress , disordered by the want 
 of the lost ribbon. Distinctly as I recollect her look, I cannot 
 say of what it was expressive. I cannot even say of what it is 
 expressive to me now, rising agam before my older judgment. 
 Penitence, humiliation, shame, pride, love, and trustfulness — 
 I see them all, and in them all I see that horror of I don't 
 know what. 
 
 My entrance, and my saying what I wanted, roused her. 
 It disturbed the Doctor too , for when I went back to replace 
 the candle I had taken from the table, he was^atting her head, 
 in his fatherly way, and saying he was a merciless drone to let 
 her tempt him into reading on, and he would have her go 
 to bed. 
 
 But she asked him, in a rapid, urgent manner, to let her 
 stay — to let her feel assured (I heard her murmur some 
 broken words to this effect) that she was in his confidence that 
 night. And, as she tiirned again towards him, after glancing 
 at me asl left tlie room and went out at the door, 1 saw her 
 David Copper field. I. 21 
 
322 
 
 cross her hands upon his knee, and look up at him with the 
 ynme face, sonietliing quieted, as he resumed his reading. 
 
 It made a great impression on mc, and T remembered it a 
 long time afterwards; as I shall have occassion to narrate 
 when the time comes. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY BERKHARD TAUCHXITZ. 
 
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