 CHAPTER XVI I am a new boy in more sense 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 courtyard with a learn-dear about it that seemed very well suited to the stray rooks and jack-daws who came down from the cathedral towers to walk with the clerkly bearing on the grass plot, and was introduced to my new master, Dr. Strong. Dr. Strong looked almost as rusty to my thinking as the tall iron rails and gates outside the house, and almost as stiff and heavy as the gravestone urns that flanked them, and were set up on the top of the red brick wall, in regular distances, all round the court, like sublimated skittles, for time to play at. He was, in his library, I mean, Dr. Strong was, with his clothes not particularly well-brushed, and his hair not particularly well-combed. His knes more embraced, his long black gaiters unbuttoned, and his shoes yawning like two caverns sewn the hearth-rub. Turning upon me a lusterless eye that remind me of a long-forgotten blind old horse who once used to crop the grass and tumble over the graves in Blunderstone's 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, and it did nothing for itself. But sitting at work, not far from Dr. Strong, was a very pretty young lady whom he called Annie, and who was his daughter, I suppose, who got me out of my difficulty by kneeling down to put Dr. Strong's shoes on and button his gaiters, which I 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, invading her good morning, address her as Mrs. Strong. And I was wondering, could she be Dr. Strong's son's wife, or could she be Mrs. Dr. Strong, whom Dr. Strong himself unconsciously enlightened me? By the by, Wickfield, he said, stopping in a passage with his hand on my shoulder. You have not found any suitable provision for my wife's cousin yet? No, said Mr. Wickfield. No, not yet. I could wish it done as soon as it can be done, Wickfield, said Dr. Strong, for Jack Maldon is needy and idle, and all those two bad things, world things, sometimes come. What does Dr. Watts say, he added, looking at me, and moving his head to the time of his quotation. Satan finds some, his chief still, for idle hands to do. He got Dr. Newton and Mr. Wickfield. If Dr. Watts knew mankind, he might have written with as much truth. Satan finds some, his chief still, for busy hands to do. The busy people achieve the 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, I expect, said Dr. Strong, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 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. I believe he says this with some hesitation. I penetrate your motive, and it makes the thing more difficult. My motive, we turn Dr. Strong, is to make some suitable provision for a cousin and an old play-fellow of Venice. Yes, I know, said Mr. Wickfield, at home or abroad? I replied a doctor, apparently wondering why he emphasized those words so much. At home or abroad? Your own expression, you know, said Mr. Wickfield. Or abroad? Surely, the doctor answered surely, one or other. One or other? Have you no choice, asked Mr. Wickfield? No, returned the doctor. No, with astonishment. Not the least. No motive, said Mr. Wickfield, for meaning 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 entertained another impression. Dr. 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 amubility and sweetness, and there was a simplicity in it, and indeed in his whole manner, when the studious, pondering frost upon it, was got through, very attractive and hopeful to a young scholar like me. Noting no, and not the least, in other short assurances to the same purport, Dr. Strong jogged on before us at a queer uneven pace, and we followed Mr. Wickfield looking grave, observed, and shaking his head to himself, without knowing that I saw him. The schoolroom 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 secluded garden belonging to the doctor, where the peaches were ripening on the sunny south wall. There were two great owls 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 being symbolical to me of silence and retirement. About five and twenty boys were studiously engaged at their books when we went in, where they rose to give the doctor good morning, and remained standing when they sought Mr. Wickfield and me. A new boy, young gentlemen, said the doctor, thought would copperfield. Then Adams, who was a hair-boy, then stepped out of his place and welcomed me. He looked like a young clergyman in his white cravat, but he was very affable and good humor, 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 anything could. It seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among such boys, or among any companions of my own age, said Mick Walker and me lay potatoes that I thought as strange as ever I have done in my life. I was so conscious of having past-truth scenes of which they could have no knowledge, and of having acquired experiences faring to a my age, appearance and condition as one of them, that I have believed it was an imposter to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy. I had become, in the mud-staining green-bed 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 in the commonest things belonging to them. Whatever I had learned had so slipped away from me in the sordid cares of my life from day to night, that now when I was exempt about what I knew, I knew nothing and was put into the lowest form of the scope. With trouble there as I was, by my won't-talk-boyish skill and of book-learning, too, I was made infinitely more uncomfortable 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 Banished Prison. Was there anything about me which would reveal my proceedings in connection with the Mekoba family? All those mornings and selling and suppers, in spite of myself? Suppose some of the boys had seen me coming through Canterbury, way-worn and red and should find me out. What would they say? Who made so light of money if they could know how I had scraped my half-pants together for the purchase of my daily-saved royal beer and all my slices of pudding? How would it affect them, who were so innocent of London life and London streets to be discovered how knowing I was, and was ashamed to be, in some of the meanest phases of both? All these ran in my head so much, on that first day atop the stones, that I felt distrustful of my slightest look and gesture, shrunk within myself whensoever I was approached by one of my new school fellows, and heard of the minute the 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 school books under my arm, I began to feel my uneasiness softening away. As I went up to my eerie 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, steadily conning my 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 drying room, waiting for her father, was detained by someone 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 very much, I hoped, but I was a little strange to it at first. You have never been to school, I said, have you? Oh yes, every day. Ah, but to me here, at your own home. Papa couldn't spare me to go anywhere else, she answered, smiling, shaking her head. His housekeeper must be in his house, you know. He is very fond of you, I am sure, I said. She nodded yes, and went to the door after listening 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 a quiet way. I only know her picture downstairs. I saw her 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 Agnes, pleased. What? 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 Dr. Strong, who was one of the gentlest of men. There may be some, perhaps, I don't know, that there are, who abuse kindness, said Mr. Wickfield. Never be one of those, thought would, in anything. He is the least suspicious of mankind, and whether that's a merit, or whether 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 my mind for dinner was just then announced, and we went down and took the same seats as before. We had scarcely done so, when Uriah heaped, put in his red head and his blank hand at the door, and said, Here's Mr. Maldon begs the favor of award, sir. I am but his moment, quit of Mr. Maldon, said his master. Yes, sir, we turn Uriah, but Mr. Maldon has come back, and he begs the favor of award. I see how the door opened 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 in reflection observed a voice behind Uriah, and Uriah's head was pushed away and the speakers substituted. Excuse me for this intrusion, that as it seems I had no choice in the matter sooner ago brought the better, my cousin Annie did say, when you talked of it, that she liked to have her friends within reach rather than to have them banished, and the old doctor. Dr. Strong was what, Mr. Week filled in to pose, gravely. Dr. Strong, of course, returned the other, I call him the old doctor, it's all the same, you know? I don't know, returned Mr. Week filled. Well, Dr. Strong said the other, Dr. Strong was of the same mind, I believed, but as it appears for the curse you take with me, he has changed his mind, why there's no more to be said, said 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 I plant is to be made into the water, it's of no use linger on the bank. There shall be as little lingering as possible in your case, Mr. Model. You may depend upon it, said Mr. Week filled. Thank you, 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. Week filled. 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. Model, asked Mr. Week filled sedately eating his dinner. Why, because Annie is a charming young girl and the old doctor, Dr. Strong, I mean, is not quite a charming young boy, said the Jack Model, laughing. No offense to anybody, Mr. Week filled, I only mean that I suppose some compensation is fair and reasonable in that sort of marriage. Compensation to the lady, sir, asked Mr. Week filled gravely. To the lady, sir, Mr. Jack Model answered, laughing. And appearing to remark that Mr. Week filled went on with his dinner in the same sedate, immovable 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 to say, and with another apology for this intrusion, I may take myself off. Of course I shall observe your directions in considering the matter as one to be arranged between you and me solely, and not to be referred to after the doctors. Have you dined, asked Mr. Week filled with emotion or desire towards the table. Thank thee, I am going to dine, said Mr. Model, with my causing Annie. Goodbye. Mr. Week filled without rising, looked after him thoughtfully as he went armed. He was rather a shallow sort of young gentleman, I thought, with a handsome face, wrapped utterance in a confident bolder, and this was the first I ever saw of Mr. Jack Model, whom I had not expected to see so soon when I heard the doctor speak of him that morning. When we had dined we went upstairs again, where everything went on exactly as on the previous day. Mrs. set the glasses and the cantors in the same corner, and Mr. Week filled sat down to drink and drank a good deal. Agnes played the piano to him, sat by him, and worked and talked, and played some games that 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 Emily, and I don't love Agnes, no, not at all in that way, but I feel that there are goodness, peace, and truth for whatever Agnes is, and that the soft light of the colored window in the church, seen long ago, falls on her always, and on me when I am near her, and on everything around. The time having come for her withdrawn for the night, and she having left us, I gave Mr. Week filled my hand preparatory to go away myself, but he checked me and said, should you like to stay with us to Outwood, 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'm afraid, he said. Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir, not dull at all. Than Agnes, he repeated, walking slowly to the great chimney-piece and leaning against it. Than Agnes, he had drank wine at the evening, or I fancied it, until his eyes were a bloodshot, that I could see them now, for they were cast down and shaded by his hand, but I had noticed them a little while before. Now I wonder, he muttered, were there my Agnes' tires of me? Why should I ever tire of her? But that's different, that's quite different. He was musing, not speaking to me, so I remained quiet. A dull-world house, he said, and I'm not in his life, but I must have 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 action 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. If it is miserable to bear, when she is here, he said, what would it be, is she away? No, no, no, I cannot try that. He leaned against a chimney piece, building 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 revering. A length he aroused himself, and looked about the room until his eyes encountered mine. Stay with us, thought with ear, he said in his usual manner, as if he were answering something I had just said. I am glad of it, you accompanied it with 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 new 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 you were there, and if I desired it for company's sake, or to sit with him. I thanked him for his consideration, and as he went down soon afterwards, and I was not tired when down to, with a book in my hand, to avail myself for half an hour of his permission. But seeing a light in the little round office, and immediately feeling myself attracted towards Raya hip, who had a sort of fascination for me, I went in there instead. I found Raya reading a great, fat book with such demonstrative attention that his long forefinger followed up every line as he read, and made clammy tracks along the bait, or so I fully believed, like his nail. You are working late tonight, Raya, says I. Yes, Master Copperfield, says Raya. As I was getting on this tool opposite, to talk to him more conveniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as his smile about him, and that he could only widen his mouth and make two heart-preezes down his cheeks, all on each side, stand for one. I am not doing office work, Master Copperfield, said Raya. What work, then, I asked. I am improving my legal knowledge, Master Copperfield, said Raya. I'm going through Ted's practice. Oh, what a writer, Mr. Ted, 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 linings with his forefingers, I observed that his nostrils, which were thin and pointed, with sharp dents in them, had a singular and most uncomfortable way of expanding and contracting themselves, that they seemed to twinkle instead of his eyes, with hardly ever twinkled at all. I suppose you are quite a great lawyer, I said, after looking at him for some time. Me, Master Copperfield, said Raya. Oh, no, I'm a very humble person. It was no 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 his stealthily way on his pocket-tank at you. I'm well aware that I am the humblest person going, said Raya, hip, modestly. Let the other be where he may. My mother is likewise a very humble person. We live in an humble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My father's former calling was humble. He was a sexton. What is he now, I asked. He's a partaker of glory, a present, Master Copperfield, said Raya, hip, but we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be thankful for in living with Mr. Wigfield? I asked Raya if he had been with Mr. Wigfield long. I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield, said Raya, 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. Wigfield's kind of intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise not lay within the humble means of mothering self? Then when your article time is over, you'll be a regular lawyer, I suppose, said I. With the blessing of Providence, Master Copperfield returned to Raya. Perhaps it'll be a partner in Mr. Wigfield's business one of these days, I said, to make myself agreeable. And it will be Wigfield and Hib, or Hib, late, Wigfield. Oh, no, Master Copperfield returned to Raya, shaking his head. I am much wumber for that. He certainly did look uncommonly like the card placed on the beam outside my window, that is set in his humility, eyeing me sideways with his mouth widened, and the creases in his cheeks. Mr. Wigfield is the most excellent man, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. If you have known him long, you know it, I am sure, much better than I can inform you. I replied that I was certain he was, but that I had not known him long myself, though he was a friend of my hands. Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. Your aunt is a sweet lady, Master Copperfield. He had a way of writing when he wanted to express enthusiasm, which was very ugly, in which he divided my attention from the compliment he had paid my relation to those naked Christians of his throat and body. A sweet lady, Master Copperfield, said Uriah, heep. She has a great admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield, I believe. I said, yes, boldly. Not that I knew anything about it, haven't forgive me. I hope you have, too, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. But I'm sure you must have. Everybody must have, I returned. Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield, said Uriah, heep. For that remark, it is so true, humble as I am. I know it is so true. I thank you, Master Copperfield. We write himself quite off his tool and 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 and expressive face watching his pocket and getting uneasy. For, though we were very humble, Master Copperfield, 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 Copperfield, you turned Uriah, putting his book away upon the shelf. I suppose you stop here some time, Master Copperfield. 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 their sort and that no such skin was entertained on my behalf by anybody, but Uriah insisted on blindly 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 he would suit my convenience to have the light put out and all 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 of very little and crept out and shut it, leaving me to grope my way back into the house, which caught me some trouble in a fall over his stool. This was the approximate 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. Purgati's house on a piratical expedition with a black flag on the mass-head, bearing the inscription, tits, practice, and with the apolical hand-side he was carrying me in little limelight to the Spanish main to be drowned. I got a little bit better of my uneasiness when I went to school next day and a good deal of 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 respect. 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, the more sunny and green the life became so strange to me that I hardly believed in it while my present life grew so familiar that I seem to have been leading it a long time. Dr. Strong's was an excellent school, as different from Mr. Crickles' as Good is from Evil. He was very gravely and decorously ordered and on a sound system, with an appeal in everything to the honoring good faith of the boys and an avowed intention to rely on their possessions of those qualities unless they proved themselves worthy of it, which worked wonders. We all felt that we had a part in the management of the place and in sustaining its character indignity, hence we soon became warmly attached to it. I'm sure I did, for one, and I never knew in all my time of any other boy being otherwise, and learned with a good will designed to do it credit. We had noble gains out of ours 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 appearance or manner, to the reputation of Dr. Strong and Dr. Strong's boys. Some of the higher scholars boarded in the doctor's house and through them I learned, at second hand, some particulars of the doctor's history, as how he had not yet been married 12 months to the beautiful young lady I had seen in the study, whom he had married for love, but had not a sixpence and had a world of poor relations, so our fellow said, ready to swarm the doctor out of house and home. Also, how the doctor's cogitating manner was attributable to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek roots, which, in my innocence and ignorance, I suppose to be a botanical furor of the doctor's part, especially as he always looked at the ground and 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 head boy, who had a turn for mathematics, had made a calculation when he 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 1649 years, counting from the doctor's last or 60-second birthday. But the doctor himself was the idol of the whole school and he 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 stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their heads cocked lightly, 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, the vagabond was made for the next two days. He was a notorious in the house that the masters and head boys took pains to cut these marauders off the angles and to get out of windows and turn them out onto the court yard before they could make the doctor aware of their presence, which was sometimes happily affected within a few yards of him without his knowing anything of the matter as he jogged to and fro. Outside his own domain and unprotected, he was very sheep for the shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his leg to give away. In fact, there was a story current among us. I have no idea I 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 vagabooner who occasioned some scandal in the neighborhood by exhibiting a fine infant from door to door wrapped in those garments which were universally recognized as being as well-known in the vicinity as the cathedral. The legend added that the only person who did not identify them was a doctor himself who, when they were shortly afterwards, displayed at the door of a little secondhand 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 in considering them as an improvement of his own. It was very pleasant to see the doctor with his pretty young wife. He had a fatherly, but ignorant way of showing his fondest for her, which seemed in itself to express a good man and often saw them walking in the garden where the beaches were and I sometimes had a newer observation of them in the studio or the parlor. 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 cumbers fragments of which work the doctor always carried in his pocket and in the lining of his head 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 in the morning of my introduction to the doctor and was always afterwards kind to me and interested 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 off. 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 Mordom who was always surprised to see us. Mrs. Strong's mama was a lady who took great lighting. Her name was Mrs. Michaelham but our boys used to call her the old soldier, an account of her generalship and the skill with which she marshaled great forces of relations against the doctor. She was a little, sharp-tide woman who used to wear when she was dressed. One unchangeable cap ornamented with some artificial flowers and two artificial butterflies posed 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 where, however, Mrs. Michaelham made her appearance that he was cared about to friendly meetings in a Hindu basket, that the butterflies had a gift of trembling constantly and that they improved the shining hours of Dr. Strong's expense like busy bees. I observed the old soldier, not adopted names disrespectfully, to pretty good advantage on a night which is made memorable to me by something else I shall relate. It was a night of a little party at the doctors which was given on the occasion of Mr. Jack Moldon's departure for India. Whether 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 harsh and until he hatched tears. And now in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes and I went to have tea with him in his private capacity. Mr. Jack Moldon 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 in flower like as usual, I thought, when she turned around but she looked very pretty, wonderfully pretty. I have forgotten, doctor, said Mrs. 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 Moldon's and many other people's. He seems but yesterday to me, John, when you were a little creature, you had 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 were an old married woman, when are you not to blush to hear of them? Old exclaimed Mr. Jack Moldon. 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, who has ever heard me say that a girl of twenty was old by years? Your cousin is the wife of the doctor, and I search what I have described her. It is well for you, John, that your cousin is the wife of the doctor. You have found in him an influential and kind friend, who will be kinder yet, I've entered to predict, if you deserve it. I have no false pride. I never hesitated, made 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. The doctor, in the goodness of his heart, waved his hand as if to make light of it, and saved Mr. Jack Moldon from any further reminder. But Mrs. Markleham chanted her chair for one next to the doctors, and put a half fan on his coat sleeve set. No, really, my dear doctor, you must excuse me if I appear to dwell on these 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, you thought of the old soldier. With nobody present but our dear and confidential friend Mr. Wickfield, I cannot consent to be put down. I shall begin to assert the privileges of our mother-in-law, if you go on like that, and scold you. I am perfectly honest and outspoken. What I am saying is what I said when you first overpowered me with surprise. You remember how surprised I was? By proposing for any. Not that there was anything so very much out of the way in the new effect 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 married man in any way. Simply that, you know. I, I return the doctor good-humoredly, 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 Dr. Strong has positively been and may do the subject of a handsome declaration and an offer. Did I press it in the least? No, I said. Now, Annie, tell me the truth this moment. Is your heart free? Mama, she said, crying. I am extremely young. Which was perfectly true. And I hardly know if I have a heart at all. There, my dear, I said, you may rely upon it. It's free. At all events my love, I said. Dr. 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, not till then, I said to Annie, Annie, Dr. 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 use the word at a time and I have used again today if I have any merit in this consistency. The daughter had said quiet silent and still during the speech with her eye fixed on the ground, her cousin standing 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, return the old soldier. I have not quite finished. Since you ask me my love, I reply that I have not. I complain that you really are 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 a smile of simplicity and gentleness toward 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, who stood her mother shaking her head and effing at her playfully, that there was a family circumstance she might mention to you, indeed, I think was bound to mention, she said that to mention it was to ask a favor, in that, as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was always to have, she wouldn't. Any, my dear, said the doctor. That was wrong. You brought me of a pleasure. Almost the very words I said to her, exclaimed her mother. Not really. Another time, when I know that she would tell you, but for this reason and want, I have a great mind, my dear doctor, to tell you myself. I shall be glad if you will return the doctor. Shall I? Certainly. Well, then I will, said the old soldier. That's a bargain. And having, I suppose, cared 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 he naturally turned on Mr. Jack Mordell in his voyage, and in the country he was going to, and his various plans and prospects. He was to leave that night, at the supper, in a poor chest for bravescent. Where the ship in which he was to make the voyage lay, and was to be gone, unless he had come on leave, or for his health, I don't know how many years. I recollected for settle by general consent that India was quite a misrepresented country, and had nothing objectionable in it, but a tiger or two, and a little hit in the warm part of the day. For my own part I looked on Mr. Jack Mordell as a modern singbot, and pictured him the bosom friend of all the Rajas in the East, sitting under canopies, smoking curly golden pipes, a mile long 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 the evening, it was certain that she couldn't sing at all. She tried to do it 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 of cards, of which she knew as much as of the art of playing the trombone. But I remarked that the outsorder took him into custody directly for her partner, and instructed him, as a first preliminary of initiation, to give her all the silver he had in his pocket. We had a merry game, not made the last merry by the doctor's mistakes, of which he committed an innumerable quantity, in spite of the rewardfulness of the butterflies, into 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 he were so. As supper we were hardly so gay. Everyone 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 ease, and may matters worse. And they were not improved, as it appeared to me by the old soldiers, who continually called passages of Mr. Jack Maldon's view. 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 enjoyment. Any my dear, said he, looking at his watch, and filling his glass. It is past your cousin's Jack's time, and we must not detain him since time and time, both concerning, 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 till 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, however, 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. The young man really well deserves constant support 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. Next best thing is to hope to do it, and that's my case. I shall not really you with good advice. You have long had a good model before you in your cousin Annie, imitated virtues as nearly as you can. Mrs. Markleham fanned herself and took her head. Farewell, Mr. Jack, said the doctors, standing up, on which we all stood up. A prosperous voyage out, a thriving career brought, and a happy return home. We all drank the 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 chest, with the tremendous broad side of tears 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 chest when it rolled away, and I had a lively impression made upon me, in the midst of the noise and dust, of having seen Mr. Jack Maldon rattle pass, with an agitated face, in something cherry-colored in his hand. After another broad side 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. Markerham cried, Where's Annie? Now 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 wielding to the usual means of recovery, when the doctor had lifted her head upon his knee, but her coat aside with his hand and said, looking around. Poor Annie, she is so faithful and tender-hearted, is departing from her old play-fellow and friend, her favorite cousin that has done this. Ah, it's a pity, I am very sorry. 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 set 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-colored ribbon? It was the one she had wanted, her bosom. We all looked for it. I myself looked everywhere, I am certain, but nobody could find it. Do you recollect where you had lost 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 it safe a little while ago, she thought, but it was not worth looking for. Nevertheless, it was looked for again and still not found. She entreated that 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 Mr. Wickfield scarcely raising his eyes from the ground. When we at last reached our own door, Agnes discovered that she had left her little vertical behind. Delighted to be of any service to her, I went back to fetch it. I went into the supper-room, where it had been left, which was deserted in dark, but a door of communication between that and the doctor's study where there was a light being opened, I passed on there to see 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 his stool at his feet. The doctor, with a complacent smile, was reading aloud some manuscript explanation, or statement of a theory out of that internal double dictionary, 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 into rich clusters on her shoulders, and on her white dress, disordered by the warmth 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 again before my older judgement. Penitence, humiliation, shame, pride, love, in 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 a candle I had taken from the table, he was patting 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 murmurs in broken words this effect, that she was in his confidence that night, and as she turned again towards him, after glancing at me as I left the room and went out at the door, I saw her cross her hands upon his knee, and look up at him with the same face, something quiet but as he reached into his reading. It made a great impression on me, and I remembered it a long time afterwards, as I shall have occasion to narrate when the time comes. Chapter 17 of David Copperfield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Red Abras David Copperfield by Charles Dickens Chapter 17 Somebody Turns Up It has not occurred to me to mention Pegaty since I ran away, but of course I wrote her a letter almost as soon as I was housed at Dover, and another and a longer letter containing all particulars fully related when my aunt took me formally under her protection. On my being settled at Dr. Strong's, I wrote to her again detailing my happy condition and prospects. I never could have derived anything like the pleasure from spending the money Mr. Dick had given me, that I felt in sending a gold half-ginny to Pegaty, per post enclosed in this last letter to discharge the sum I had borrowed of her, in which a pistol not before I mentioned about the young man with the donkey cart. To these communications Pegaty replied as promptly, if not as concisely, as a merchant's clerk. Her utmost powers of expression, which were certainly not great in ink, were exhausted in the attempt to write what she felt on the subject of my journey. Four sides of incoherent and interjectional beginnings of sentences that had no end, except blots, were inadequate to afford her any relief. But the blots were more expressive to me than the best composition, for they showed me that Pegaty had been crying all over the paper, and what could I have desired more? I made out without much difficulty that she could not take quite kindly to my aunt yet. The notice was too short after so long a prepossession the other way. We never knew a person, she wrote, but to think that Miss Betsy should seem to be so different from what she had been thought to be was a moral. That was her word. She was evidently still afraid of Miss Betsy, for she sent her grateful duty to her but timidly, and she was evidently afraid of me too, and entertained the probability of my running away again soon. If I might judge from the repeated hints she threw out, that the coachfare to Yarmouth was always to be had of her for the asking. She gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me very much, namely that there had been a sale of the furniture at our old home, and that Mr. and Miss Mirdstone were gone away, and the house was shut up to be let or sold. God knows I had no part in it while they remained there, but it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether abandoned, of the weeds growing tall in the garden, and the fallen leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how the winds of the winter would howl round it, how the cold rain would beat upon the window glass, how the moon would make ghosts on the walls of the empty rooms, watching their solitude all night. I thought afresh of the grave in the churchyard, underneath the tree, and it seemed as if the house were dead too. Now and all connected with my father and mother were faded away. There was no other news in Pegaty's letters. Mr. Barkis was an excellent husband, she said, though still a little near, but we all had our faults, and she had plenty, though I am sure I don't know what they were, and he sent his duty, and my little bedroom was always ready for me. Mr. Pegaty was well, and Ham was well, and Mrs. Gummidge was but poorly, and little Emily wouldn't send her love, but said that Pegaty might send it if she liked. All this intelligence I dutifully imparted to my aunt, only reserving to myself the mention of little Emily, to whom I instinctively felt that she would not very tenderly incline. While I was yet new at Dr. Strong's, she made several excursions over to Canterbury to see me, and always at unseasonable hours. With the view I suppose of taking me by surprise, but finding me well employed and bearing a good character, and hearing on all hands that I rose fast in the school, she soon discontinued these visits. I saw her on a Saturday, every third or fourth week, when I went over to Dover for a treat, and I saw Mr. Dick every alternate Wednesday, when he arrived by stagecoach at noon to stay until next morning. On these occasions, Mr. Dick never travelled without a leather and writing desk, containing a supply of stationery and the memorial, in relation to which document he had a notion that time was beginning to press now, and that it really must be got out of hand. Mr. Dick was very partial to gingerbread. To render his visits the more agreeable my aunt had instructed me to open a credit for him at a cake shop, which was hampered with the stipulation that he should not be served with more than one shillings worth in the course of any one day. This, and the reference of all his little bills at the county inn where he slept to my aunt before they were paid, induced me to suspect that he was only allowed to rattle his money and not spend it. I found on further investigation that this was so, or at least there was an agreement between him and my aunt that he should account to her for all his disbursements. As he had no idea of deceiving her and always desired to please her, he was thus made chari of launching into expense. On this point, as well as on all other possible points, Mr. Dick was convinced that my aunt was the wisest and most wonderful of women, as he repeatedly told me with infinite secrecy and always in a whisper. Trotterd said Mr. Dick with an air of mystery after imparting this confidence to me one Wednesday. Who's the man that hides near our house and frightens her? Frightens my aunt, sir? Mr. Dick nodded. I thought nothing would have frightened her, he said, for she is here he whispered softly, don't mention it. The wisest and most wonderful of women, having said which, he drew back, to observe the effect which this description of her made upon me. The first time he came, said Mr. Dick, was let me see 1649 was the date of King Charles execution. I think you said 1649. Yes, sir. I don't know how it can be, said Mr. Dick, sorely puzzled and shaking his head. I don't think I'm as old as that. Was it in that year that the man appeared, sir? I asked. Why, really, said Mr. Dick? I don't see how it can have been in that year, Trotterd. Did you get that date out of history? Yes, sir. I suppose history never lies, does it? said Mr. Dick with a gleam of hope. Oh, dear, no, sir, I replied most decisively. I was ingenuous and young, and I thought so. I can't make it out, said Mr. Dick, shaking his head. There's something wrong somewhere. However, it was very soon after the mistake was made of putting some of the trouble out of King Charles' head into my head that the man first came. I was walking out with Mr. Trotterd after tea, just at dark, and there he was, close to our house. Walking about, I inquired. Walking about? repeated Mr. Dick. Let me see. I must recollect a bit. No, no, he was not walking about. I asked, as this artist's way to get at it, what he was doing. Well, he wasn't there at all, said Mr. Dick, until he came up behind her and whispered. Then she turned round and fainted. And I stood still and looked at him, and he walked away. But that he should have been hiding ever since in the ground or somewhere is the most extraordinary thing. Has he been hiding ever since? I asked. To be sure he has, retorted Mr. Dick, nodding his head gravely. Never came out till last night. We were walking last night, and he came up behind her again, and I knew him again. And did he frighten my aunt again? All of a shiver, said Mr. Dick, counterfeiting that affection and making his teeth chatter. Held by the pawlings. Cried. But shot would come here, getting me close to him that he might whisper very softly. Why did she give him money, boy, in the moonlight? He was a beggar, perhaps. Mr. Dick shook his head, as utterly renouncing the suggestion, and having replied a great many times and with great confidence. No beggar, no beggar, no beggar, sir. Went on to say that from his window he had afterwards and late at night seen my aunt give this person money outside the garden rails in the moonlight, who then slunk away into the ground again, as he thought probable, and was seen no more while my aunt came hurriedly and secretly back into the house. And had even that morning been quite different from her usual self, which preyed on Mr. Dick's mind. I had not the least belief in the outset of this story, that the unknown was anything but a delusion of Mr. Dick's, and one of the line of that ill-fated prince who occasioned him so much difficulty. But after some reflection I began to entertain the question whether an attempt or threat of an attempt might have been twice made to take poor Mr. Dick himself from under my aunt's protection, and whether my aunt, the strength of whose kind feeling towards him I knew from herself, might have been induced to pay a price for his peace and quiet. As I was already much attached to Mr. Dick and very solicitous for his welfare, my fears favoured this supposition, and for a long time his Wednesday hardly ever came round, without my entertaining a misgiving that he would not be on the coach-box as usual. There he always appeared, however, grey-headed, laughing and happy, and he never had anything more to tell of the man who could frighten my aunt. These Wednesdays were the happiest days of Mr. Dick's life. They were far from being the least happy of mine. He soon became known to every boy in the school, and though he never took an active part in any game but kite-flying, was as deeply interested in all our sports as anyone among us. How often have I seen him intent upon a match at Marbles or pegged up, looking on with a face of unutterable interest and hardly breathing at the critical times? How often at hair and hounds have I seen him mounted on a little knoll, cheering the whole field on to action, and waving his hat above his grey head, oblivious of King Charles, the martyr's head, and all belonging to it? How many a summer hour have I known to be but blissful minutes to him in the cricket field? How many winter days have I seen him standing blue-nosed in the snow and east wind, looking at the boys going down the long slide and clapping his worsted gloves and rapture? He was an universal favourite, and his ingenuity in little things was transcendent. He could cut oranges into such devices as none of us had an idea of. He could make a boat out of anything from a skewer upwards, he could turn cramped bones into chessmen, fashion Roman chariots from old court cards, make spoked fields out of cotton reels, and bird cages of old wire. But he was greatest of all, perhaps in the articles of string and straw, with which we were all persuaded he could do anything that could be done by hands. Mr. Dick's renown was not long confined to us. After a few Wednesdays, Dr. Strong himself made some inquiries of me about him, and I told him all my aunt had told me, which interested the doctor so much that he requested on the occasion of his next visit to be presented to him. This ceremony I performed, and the doctor begging Mr. Dick, when so ever, he should not find me at the coach office to come on there, and rest himself until our morning's work was over. It soon passed into a custom for Mr. Dick to come on as a matter of course, and if we were a little late, as often happened on a Wednesday, to walk about the courtyard waiting for me. Here he made the acquaintance of the doctor's beautiful young wife, paler than formerly all this time, more rarely seen by me or anyone, I think, and not so gay, but not less beautiful. And so became more and more familiar by degrees until at last he would come into the school and wait. He always sat in a particular corner on a particular stool, which was called Dick after him. Here he would sit with his gray head bent forward, attentively listening to whatever might be going on, with a profound veneration for the learning he had never been able to acquire. This veneration Mr. Dick extended to the doctor, whom he thought the most subtle and accomplished philosopher of any age. It was long before Mr. Dick ever spoke to him otherwise than bare-headed, and even when he and the doctor had struck up quite a friendship, and would walk together by the hour on that side of the courtyard, which was known among us as the doctor's walk, Mr. Dick would pull off his hat at intervals to show his respect for wisdom and knowledge. How it ever came about that, the doctor began to read out scraps of the famous dictionary in these walks I never knew. Perhaps he felt it all the same, at first, as reading to himself. However, it passed into a custom to, and Mr. Dick, listening with a face shining with pride and pleasure, in his heart of hearts, believed the dictionary to be the most delightful book in the world. As I think of them going up and down before those schoolroom windows, the doctor reading with his complacent smile, an occasional flourish of the manuscript, or grave motion of his head, and Mr. Dick listening, enchained by interest with his poor wits, calmly wondering God knows where, upon the wings of hard words, I think of it as one of the pleasentest things in a quiet way that I have ever seen. I feel as if they might go walking to and fro forever, and the world might somehow be the better for it, as if a thousand things it makes a noise about, were not one half so good for it, or me. Agnes was one of Mr. Dick's friends, very soon, and in often coming to the house, he made acquaintance with Eurya. The friendship between himself and me increased continually, and it was maintained on this odd footing, that while Mr. Dick came professely to look after me as my guardian, he always consulted me in any little matter of doubt that arose, and invariably guided himself by my advice, not only having a high respect for my native sagacity, but considering that I inherited a good deal from my aunt. One Thursday morning, when I was about to walk with Mr. Dick from the hotel to the coach office before going back to school, for we had an hour's school before breakfast, I met Eurya in the street, who reminded me of the promise I had made to take tea with himself and his mother, adding with her wreath, but I didn't expect you to keep it, Mr. Copperfield, we are so very humble. I really had not yet been able to make up my mind whether I liked Eurya or detested him, and I was very doubtful about it still, as I stood looking him in the face in the street, but I felt it quite an affront to be supposed proud, and said I only wanted to be asked. Oh, if that's all, Mr. Copperfield, said Eurya, and it really isn't our humbleness that prevents you, will you come this evening? But if it's our humbleness, I hope you won't mind owning to it, Mr. Copperfield, for we are well aware of our condition. I said I would mention it to Mr. Wickfield, and if he approved as I had no doubt he would, I would come with pleasure, so at six o'clock that evening, which was one of the early office evenings, I announced myself as ready to Eurya. Mother will be proud indeed, he said, as we walked away together, or she would be proud if it wasn't sinful, Mr. Copperfield. Yet you didn't mind supposing I was proud this morning, I returned. Oh, dear no, Mr. Copperfield, returned Eurya. Oh, believe me, no, such a thought never came into my head. I shouldn't have deemed it at all proud if you had thought us too humble for you, because we are so very humble. Have you been studying much law lately? I asked to change the subject. Oh, Master Copperfield, he said with an air of self-denial. My reading is hardly to be called study. I have passed an hour or two in the evening sometimes with Mr. Tidd. Rather hard, I suppose, said I. He is hard to me sometimes, returned Eurya. But I don't know what he might be to a gifted person. After beating a little tune on his chin as he walked on, with the two forefingers of his skeleton right hand, he added, There are expressions. You see, Master Copperfield, Latin words and terms in Mr. Tidd, that are trying to a reader of my humble attainments. Would you like to be taught Latin? I said briskly. I will teach it to you with pleasure as I learn it. Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield, he answered, shaking his head. I'm sure it's very kind of you to make the offer, but I am much too humble to accept it. What nonsense, Eurya. Oh, indeed you must excuse me, Master Copperfield. I am greatly obliged and I should like it of all things, I assure you. But I am far too humble. There are people enough to tread upon me in my lowly state, without my doing outrage to their feelings by possessing learning. Learning ain't for me. A person like myself had better not aspire. If he is to get on in life, he must get on humbly, Master Copperfield. I never saw his mouth so wide, or the creases in his cheeks so deep, as when he delivered himself of these sentiments, shaking his head all the time, and ridding modestly. I think you're wrong, Eurya, I said. I dare say there are several things I could teach you, if you would like to learn them. Oh, I don't doubt that, Master Copperfield, he answered. Not in the least, but not being humble yourself, you don't judge well, perhaps for them that are. I won't provoke my betters with knowledge. Thank you. I am much too humble. Here is my humble dwelling, Master Copperfield. We entered a low old-fashioned room, walked straight into from the street, and found there Mrs. Heap, who was the dead image of Eurya. Only shot. She received me with utmost humility, and apologized to me for giving her son a kiss, observing that, lowly as they were, they had their natural affections, which they hoped would give no offence to anyone. It was a perfectly decent room, half parlor and half kitchen, but not at all a snug room. The tea-things were set upon the table, and the kettle was boiling on the hob. There was a chest of drawers with an excretory top, for Eurya to read or write at an evening. There was Eurya's blue bag lying down and vomiting papers. There was a company of Eurya's books commanded by Mr. Tid. There was a corner cupboard, and there were the usual articles of furniture. I don't remember that any individual object had a bare, pinched, spare look, but I do remember that the whole place had. It was perhaps a part of Mrs. Heap's humility that she still wore weeds, not withstanding the lapse of time that had occurred since Mr. Heap's disease. She still wore weeds. I think there was some compromise in the cap, but otherwise she was as weedy as in the early days of her morning. This is the day to be remembered, my Eurya, and sure, said Mrs. Heap, making the tea, when Master Copperfield pays us a visit. I said, you would think so, mother, said Eurya. If I could have wished father to remain among us for any reason, said Mrs. Heap, it would have been that he might have known his company this afternoon. I felt embarrassed by these compliments, but I was sensible, too, of being entertained as an honored guest, and I thought Mrs. Heap an agreeable woman. My Eurya, said Mrs. Heap, has looked forward to this, sir, a long while. He had his fears that our umbleness stood in the way, and I joined in them myself. Umble we are, umble we have been, umble we shall ever be, said Mrs. Heap. I'm sure you have no occasion to be so, ma'am, I said, unless you like. Thank you, sir, retorted Mrs. Heap. We know our station and are thankful in it. I found that Mrs. Heap gradually got nearer to me, and that Urya gradually got opposite to me, and that they respectfully plied me with the choicest of the eatables on the table. There was nothing particularly choice there, to be sure, but I took the will for the deed, and felt that they were very attentive. Presently they began to talk about aunts, and then I told them about mine, and about fathers and mothers, and then I told them about mine, and then Mrs. Heap began to talk about fathers-in-law, and then I began to tell her about mine, but stopped, because my aunt had advised me to observe a silence on that subject. A tender young cork, however, would have had no more chance against a pair of corkscrews, or a tender young tooth against a pair of dentists, or a little shuttlecock against two battle-doors than I had against Urya and Mrs. Heap. They did just what they liked with me, and warmed things out of me, that I had no desire to tell with a certainty I blushed to think of. The more especially as in my juvenile frankness, I took some credit to myself for being so confidential, and felt that I was quite the patron of my two respectful entertainers. They were very fond of one another, that was certain. I take it that had its effect upon me as a touch of nature, but the skill with which the one followed up, whatever the other said, was a touch of art which I was still less proof against. When there was nothing more to be got out of me about myself, for on the mudstone and grimby life and on my journey I was dumb, they began about Mr. Wickfield and Agnes. Urya threw the ball to Mrs. Heap. Mrs. Heap caught it and threw it back to Urya. Urya kept it up a little while, then set it back to Mrs. Heap. And so they went on tossing it about until I had no idea what had got it, and was quite bewildered. The ball itself was always changing too. Now it was Mr. Wickfield, now Agnes, now the excellence of Mr. Wickfield, now my admiration of Agnes, now the extent of Mr. Wickfield's business and resources, now our domestic life after dinner. Now the wine that Mr. Wickfield took, the reason why he took it, and the pity that it was he took so much, now one thing, now another, then everything at once and all the time, without appearing to speak very often or to do anything, but sometimes encourage them a little, for fear they should be overcome by their humility and the honour of my company. I found myself perpetually letting out something or other that I had no business to let out and seeing the effect of it in the twinkling of Eurya's dinted nostrils. I had begun to be a little uncomfortable and to wish myself well out of the visit when a figure coming down the street passed the door, it stood open to air the room, which was warm, the weather being close for the time of year came back again, looked in and walked in exclaiming loudly, Copperfield, is it possible? It was Mr. McCobber, it was Mr. McCobber with his eyeglass and his walking stick and his shirt collar and his genteel air and the condescending roll in his voice all complete. My dear Copperfield, said Mr. McCobber, putting out his hand, this is indeed a meeting which is calculated to impress the mind with a sense of the instability and uncertainty of all human. In short, it is a most extraordinary meeting, walking along the street, reflecting upon the probability of something turning up, of which I am at present rather sanguine, I find a young but valued friend turn up who is connected with the most eventful period of my life, I may say, with the turning point of my existence. Copperfield, my dear fellow, how do you do? I cannot say, I really cannot say, that I was glad to see Mr. McCobber there but I was glad to see him too and shook his hands with him, hurtily inquiring how Mrs. McCobber was. Thank you, said Mr. McCobber, weaving his hand as of old and settling his chin in his shirt collar. She is tolerably convalescent. The twins no longer derive their sustenance from nature's founts. In short, said Mr. McCobber, in one of his bursts of confidence, they are weaned and Mrs. McCobber is at present my travelling companion. She will be rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one who has proved himself, in all respects, a worthy minister at the sacred altar of friendship. I said I should be delighted to see her. You are very good, said Mr. McCobber. Mr. McCobber then smiled, settled his chin again and looked about him. I have discovered my friend, Copperfield, said Mr. McCobber gently and without addressing himself, particularly to anyone, not in solitude, but partaking of a social meal in company with a widow lady and one who is apparently her offspring in short, said Mr. McCobber. In another of his bursts of confidence, her son, I shall esteem it an honour to be presented. I could do no less under these circumstances than make Mr. McCobber known to Yuria Heep and his mother. Which I accordingly did, as they abased themselves before him, Mr. McCobber took a seat and waved his hand in his most courtly manner. Any friend of my friend, Copperfields, said Mr. McCobber, has a personal claim upon myself. We are too humble, sir, said Mrs. Heep, my son and me, to be the friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good as take his tea with us, and we are thankful to him for his company also to you, sir, for your notice. Ma'am, return Mr. McCobber with a bow. You are very obliging, and what are you doing, Copperfield? Still in the wine trade? I was excessively anxious to get Mr. McCobber away and replied with my hand in my hand and a very red face. I have no doubt that I was a pupil at Dr. Strong's. A pupil? said Mr. McCobber, raising his eyebrows. I am extremely happy to hear it. Although a mind like my friend Copperfields, to Yuria and Mrs. Heep, does not require that cultivation, which without his knowledge of men and things it would require. Still it is a rich soil teeming with latent vegetation in short, said Mr. McCobber, smiling, in another burst of confidence. It is an intellect capable of getting up the classics to any extent. Yuria, with his long hands slowly turning over one another, made a ghastly wreath from the waist upwards to express his concurrence in this estimation of me. Shall we go and see Mrs. McCobber, sir? I said to get Mr. McCobber away. If you will do her that favour, Copperfield, replied Mr. McCobber, rising. I have no scruple in saying in the presence of our friends here that I am a man who has, for some years, contended against the pressure of pecuniary difficulties. I knew he was certain to say something of this kind. He always would be so boastful about his difficulties. Sometimes I have risen superior to my difficulties. Sometimes my difficulties have, in short, have flowed me. There have been times when I have administered a succession of facers to them. There have been times when they have been too many for me, and I have given in, and said to Mrs. McCobber in the words of Cato, Plato, thou risenest well. It's all up now. I can show fight no more. But at no time of my life, said Mr. McCobber, have I enjoyed a higher degree of satisfaction than in pouring my griefs, if I may describe difficulties chiefly arising out of warrants of atonies, and promissory notes at two and four months by the ward, into the bosom of my friend Copperfield. Mr. McCobber closed this handsome tribute by saying, Mr. Heep, good evening, Mrs. Heep, you're servant, and then walking out with me in his most fashionable manner, making a good deal of noise on the pavement with his shoes, and humming a tune as we went. It was a little in where Mr. McCobber put up, and he occupied a little room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room, and strongly flavored with tobacco smoke. I think it was over the kitchen because a warm, greasy smell appeared to come up through the chinks in the floor, and there was a flabby perspiration on the walls. I know it was near the bar on account of the smelling of spirits and jingling of glasses. Here, recumbent on a small sofa, underneath a picture of a race horse with her head close to the fire, and her feet pushing the mustard off the dumb waiter at the other end of the room, was Mrs. McCobber, to whom Mr. McCobber entered first, saying, my dear, allow me to introduce to you a pupil of Dr. Strong's. I noticed by the by that although Mr. McCobber was just as much confused as ever, about my age and standing, he always remembered as a genteel thing that I was a pupil of Dr. Strong's. Mrs. McCobber was amazed, but very glad to see me. I was very glad to see her too, and after an affectionate greeting on both sides, sat down on the small sofa near her. My dear, said Mr. McCobber, if you will mention to Copperfield what her present position is, which I have no doubt you will like to know, I will go and look at the paper the while, and see whether anything turns up among the advertisements. I thought you were at Plymouth, ma'am, I said to Mrs. McCobber, as he went out. My dear, Master Copperfield, she replied, we went to Plymouth. To be on the spot, I hinted. Just so, said Mrs. McCobber, to be on the spot. But the truth is, talent is not wanted in the custom house. The local influence of my family was quite unavailing to obtain any employment in that department for a man of Mr. McCobber's abilities. They would rather not have a man of Mr. McCobber's abilities. He would only show the deficiency of the others, apart from which, said Mrs. McCobber, I will not disguise from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when that branch of my family, which is settled in Plymouth, became aware that Mr. McCobber was accompanied by myself, and by little Wilkins and his sister, and by the twins, they did not receive him with that order which he might have expected, being so newly released from captivity. In fact, said Mrs. McCobber, lowering her voice, this is between ourselves. Our reception was cool. Dear me, I said. Yes, said Mrs. McCobber. It is truly painful to contemplate mankind in such an aspect, Master Copperfield, but our reception was decidedly cool. There is no doubt about it. In fact, that branch of my family, which is settled in Plymouth, became quite personal to Mr. McCobber before we had been there a week. I said and thought that they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Still, so it was, continued Mrs. McCobber. Under such circumstances, what could a man of Mr. McCobber's spirit do? But one obvious course was left. To borrow of that branch of my family, the money to return to London, and to return at any sacrifice. Then you all came back again, ma'am, I said. We all came back again, replied Mrs. McCobber. Since then I have consulted other branches of my family on the course which it is most expedient for Mr. McCobber to take, for I maintain that he must take some course, Master Copperfield, said Mr. McCobber, argumentatively. It is clear that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live upon air. Certainly, ma'am, said I. Though opinion of those other branches of my family pursued Mrs. McCobber, is that Mr. McCobber should immediately turn his attention to Coles. To what, ma'am? To Coles, said Mrs. McCobber, to the cold trade. Mr. McCobber was induced to think on inquiry that there might be an opening for a man of his talent in the Midway Cold Trade. Then, as Mr. McCobber very properly said, the first step to be taken clearly was to come and see the Midway, which we came and saw. I say, we, Master Copperfield, for I never will, said Mrs. McCobber with emotion. I never will, does it, Mr. McCobber? I murmured my admiration and approbation. We came, repeated Mrs. McCobber, and saw the Midway. My opinion of the cold trade on that river is that it may require talent, but that it certainly requires capital. Talent Mr. McCobber has. Capital Mr. McCobber has not. We saw, I think, the greater part of the Midway, and that is my individual conclusion. Being so near here, Mr. McCobber was of opinion that it would be rash not to come on and see the cathedral. Firstly, on account of its being so well worth seeing, and our never having seen it, and secondly, on account of the great probability of something turning up in a cathedral town. We have been here, said Mrs. McCobber, three days. Nothing has as yet turned up, and it may not surprise you, my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would estranger to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from London to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. Until the arrival of the remittance, said Mrs. McCobber, with much feeling, I am cut off from my home. I allude to lodgings in Pentonville, from my boy and girl and from my twins. I felt the utmost sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. McCobber in this anxious extremity, and said as much to Mr. McCobber, who now returned, adding that I only wished I had money enough to lend them the amount they needed. Mr. McCobber's answer expressed the disturbance of his mind. He said, shaking hands with me, Copperfield, you are a true friend, but when the worst comes to the worst, no man is without a friend who is possessed of shaving materials. At this dreadful hint, Mrs. McCobber threw her arms around Mr. McCobber's neck, and entreated him to be calm. He wept, but so far recovered, almost immediately, as to ring the bell for the waiter, and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of shrimps for breakfast in the morning. When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so much to come and dine before they went away, that I could not refuse. But as I knew I could not come next day when I should have a good deal to prepare in the evening, Mr. McCobber arranged that he would call at Dr. Strunks in the course of the morning, having a pre-sentiment that the remittance would arrive by that post, and propose the day after if it would suit me better. Accordingly, I was called out of school next for noon, and found Mr. McCobber in the parlor, who had called to say that the dinner would take place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had come, he pressed my hand and departed. As I was looking out of the window that same evening, it surprised me and made me rather uneasy to see Mr. McCobber and Yuria heep walk past, arm in arm. Yuria, humbly sensible of the honour that was done him, and Mr. McCobber taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Yuria. But I was still more surprised when I went to the little hotel next day at the appointed dinner hour, which was four o'clock, to find from what Mr. McCobber said that he had gone home with Yuria and had drunk brandy and water at Mrs. Heep's. And I'll tell you what, my dear Copperfield, said Mr. McCobber. Your friend Heep is a young fellow who might be attorney general. If I had known that young man at the period when my difficulties came to a crisis, all I can say is that I believe my creditors would have been a great deal better managed than they were. I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that Mr. McCobber had paid them nothing at all as it was, but I did not like to ask. Neither did I like to say that I hoped he had not been too communicative to Yuria or to inquire if they had talked much about me. I was afraid of hurting Mr. McCobber's feeling or at all events Mrs. McCobber's, she being very sensitive, but I was uncomfortable about it too and often thought about it afterwards. We had a beautiful little dinner, quite an elegant dish of fish, the kidney end of a loin of wheel roasted, fried sausage meat, a partridge and a pudding. There was wine and there was strong ale and after dinner Mrs. McCobber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own hands. Mr. McCobber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good company. He made his face shine with the punch so that it looked as if it had been varnished all over. He got cheerfully sentimental about the town and proposed success to it, observing that Mrs. McCobber and himself had been made extremely snug and comfortable there and that he never should forget the agreeable ours that had passed in Canterbury. He proposed me afterwards and he and Mrs. McCobber and I took a review of our past acquaintance in the course of which we sold the property all over again. Then I proposed Mrs. McCobber or at least said modestly, if you will allow me Mrs. McCobber I shall now have the pleasure of drinking your health, ma'am, on which Mr. McCobber delivered an eulogium on Mrs. McCobber's character and said she had ever been his guide, philosopher and friend and that he would recommend me when I come to a marrying time of life to marry such another woman, if such another woman could be found. As the punch disappeared, Mr. McCobber became still more friendly and convivial. Mrs. McCobber's spirits becoming elevated too, we sang all lang-zine. When we came to, here's a hand, my trusty Freire, we all joined hands round the table and when we declared we would take a right-guid, willy-wot and hadn't the least idea what it meant, we were really affected. In a ward I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. McCobber was, down to the very last moment of the evening when I took a hearty farewell of himself and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not prepared at seven o'clock next morning to receive the following communication, dated half past nine in the evening, a quarter of an hour after I had left him. My dear young friend, the die is cast, all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly mask of mirth, I have not informed you this evening that there is no hope of the remittance. Under these circumstances, a like humiliating to endure, humiliating to contemplate, and humiliating to relate, I have discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this establishment by giving a note of hand made payable 14 days after date at my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it will not be taken up. The result is destruction, the bolt is impending, and the tree must fall. Let the wretched man, who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a beacon to you through life. He rides with that intention and in that hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might, by possibility, penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining existence, though his longevity is, at present, to say the least of it, extremely problematical. This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever receive from the beggard outcast, Wilkins McCarber. I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter that I ran off directly towards a little hotel with the intention of taking it on my way to Dr. Strong's and trying to soothe Mr. McCarber with a ward of comfort. But halfway there, I met the London coach with Mr. and Mrs. McCarber up behind. Mr. McCarber, the very picture of tranquil enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. McCarber's conversation, eating walnuts out of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket, as they did not see me. I thought it best, all things considered, not to see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a by-street that was the nearest way to school, and felt upon the whole, relieved that they were gone, though I still liked them very much, nevertheless.