 CHAPTER 4 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 being what a heavy 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 stairs, 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 walls, of the flaws in the window glass making ripples and dimples on the prospect, of the washing stand being rickety 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 crying 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 dreadfully in love with little Emily, 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 corner of the counterpane, and cried myself to sleep. I was awoke by somebody saying, here he is, and uncovering my hot head. My mother and Pagety had come to look for me, and it was one of them who had done it. Davy, said my mother, what's the matter? I thought it was very strange that she should ask me, and answered, nothing. I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling lip, which answered her with greater truth. Davy, said my mother, Davey, my child! I daresay 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, Pagety, you cruel thing, said my mother. I have no doubt at all about it. How can you reconcile it to your conscience, I wonder, to prejudice my own boy against me, or against anybody who is dear to me? What do you mean by it, Pagety? Poor Pagety lifted up her hands and eyes, and only answered 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, Pagety, you savage creature! Oh, dear me, cried my mother, turning from one of us to the other in her petish, willful manner. What a troublesome world this is, when one has the most right to expect it to be as agreeable as possible. I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Pagety's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. 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. I am very sorry, Edward, said my mother. 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 leaned down upon his shoulder, and her arm touched his neck, I knew as well that he could mold her plant 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 Pagety 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 Pagety. I ought to know it. That's true, he answered, but I thought I heard you, as I came upstairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has taken mine, you know, will you remember that? Pagety, with some uneasy glances at me, curtsied herself out of the room without replying, seeing I suppose that she was expected to go, and had no excuse for remaining. When 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 thin by pressing them together. If I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do? I don't know. I beat him. I 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'll conquer 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 hands 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 my 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 standing 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 found 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 grandfather'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 and escaped to Pegatee without having the hardy-hood to slip away, lest it should offend the master of the house, a coach drove up to the garden gate, and he went out to receive the visitor. My mother followed him. I was timidly following her when she turned round at the parlor 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 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 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 shot 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 parlor with many tokens of welcome, and there formally recognized 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 do you do, boy?' Under these encouraging circumstances, I replied that I was very well, and I hoped she was the same, with such an indifferent grace that Miss Murdstone disposed of me in two words. "'Once manner!' Having uttered which, with great distinctness, she begged the favor of being shown to her room, 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 unlocked, 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, generally 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 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 somewhere 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 gotten. Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone, she was a perfect lark in the 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. Peggy 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 relieve 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 imposed upon you "'that can be undertaken by me. "'If you'll be so good as to give me your keys, my dear, "'I'll 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 at 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 began to cry "'and said that 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 a firmness, "'but you wouldn't like it yourself.' "'A 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 tyranny. "'And for a certain gloomy, arrogant devil's humor "'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 Murdstone was an exception. "'She might be firm, but only by relationship, "'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, "'than in my own house.' "'My own house,' repeated Mr. Murdstone. "'Clara!' "'Our 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, sobbing. "'Ask Pegadie if I didn't do very well "'when I wasn't interfered with.' "'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 disadvantage 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 anyone 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 garless, 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 handkerchief "'and held it before her eyes. "'Clara,' he continued, looking at my mother, "'you surprise me. "'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 endeavor, "'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. "'No one ever said I was before. "'I have many faults, but not that. "'Oh, don't, my dear.' "'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 sure that I am. "'Ask Pegatee. "'I am sure she'll tell you I'm affectionate.' "'There is no extent of mere weakness, Clara,' said Mr. 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 live 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 endeavor to correct them for me. "'Jane, I don't object to anything. "'I should be quite brokenhearted "'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 tonight. "'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 Peggadie "'or to get a candle from her. "'When her coming up to look for me "'an hour or so afterwards awoke me, "'she said that my mother had gone to bed poorly "'and that Mr. and Ms. Murdstone were sitting alone. "'Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, "'I paused outside the parlor door "'on hearing my mother's voice. "'She was very earnestly and humbly "'in treating Ms. Murdstone's pardon, "'which that lady granted "'and a perfect reconciliation took place. "'I never knew my mother afterwards "'to give an opinion on any matter "'without first appealing to Ms. Murdstone "'or without having first ascertained "'by some sure means what Ms. Murdstone's opinion was. "'And I never saw Ms. Murdstone when out of temper. "'She was infirm that way. "'Move her hand toward her bag "'as if she were going to take out the keys "'and offer to resign them to my mother "'without 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 it's assuming "'that character was a necessary consequence "'of Mr. Murdstone's firmness, "'which wouldn't allow him to let anybody off "'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, Ms. Murdstone in a black velvet gown "'that looks as if it had been made of a pall "'follows close upon me than my mother, "'than her husband. "'There is no peggedy now, as in the old time. "'Again, I listen to Ms. Murdstone "'mumbling the responses and emphasizing "'all the dread words with a cruel relish. "'Again, I see her dark eyes roll around 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 timidly between the two, "'with one of them muttering at each ear, "'like the low thunder. "'Again, I wonder with a sudden fear "'whether it is likely that our good old clergyman "'can be wrong and Mr. and Ms. Murdstone write, "'and that all the angels in heaven "'can be destroying angels. "'Again, if I move a finger "'or relax a muscle of my face, "'Ms. Murdstone pokes me with her prayer book "'and makes my side ache. "'Yes, and again, as we walk home, "'I note some neighbors looking at my mother in 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 really 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 neighbors "'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 Ms. 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 learned 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 favorable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miss-called firmness 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 learning 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 do. But they recall no feelings 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 of my peace and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were very long, very numerous, very hard, perfectly and intelligible 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 morning back again. I come into the second best parlor 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 is Ms. 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 all 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 grammar, perhaps a history or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give it into her hand and start off 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. Ms. Murdstone looks up. I read and 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, Davey, Davey. Now Clara says Mr. Murdstone, be firm with the boy. Don't say, oh, Davey, Davey, that's childish. He knows his lesson or he does not know it. He does not know it, Ms. Murdstone interposes awfully. I am really afraid he does not, says my mother. Then you see, Clara, returns Ms. 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 Davey, try once more and don't be stupid. I obey the first clause of the injunction by trying once more but I'm 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 stopped to think. But I can't think about the lesson. I think of the number of yards of net in Ms. Murdstone's cap or the price of Mr. Murdstone's dressing gown for 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 impatience which I've been expecting for a long time. Ms. 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 I 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, Ms. Murdstone, who has been lying in wait for nothing else all along, says in a deep warning voice, Clara. My mother starts, colors and smiles faintly. Mr. Murdstone 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 cheese monger shop and buy 5,000 double-gloucester cheeses at four pence half penny each, present payment, at which I see Ms. Murdstone secretly overjoyed. I pour over these cheeses without any result or enlightenment until dinner time, when, having made a mulatto 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 unfortunate 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 Ms. 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 labor there and then. As to any recreation with other children of my age, I had very little of that, for the gloomy theology of the Murdstones made all children out to be a swarm of little vipers, though there was a child once set in the 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 stupefied but for one circumstance. It was this, my father had left a small collection of books in a little room upstairs 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 Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gilbla, 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 knights and the tales of the genie and did me no harm for whatever harm was and some of them was not there for me. I knew nothing of it. It is astonishing to me now how I found time in the midst of my pourings and blunderings over heavier themes to read those books as I did. It is curious to me how I ever could have consoled myself under my small troubles, which were great troubles to me by impersonating my favorite 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 we're on those shelves and for days and days I can remember to have gone about my region of our house, armed with a centerpiece out of an old set of boot trees, the perfect realization 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 grammar. 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. That was my only and my constant comfort. When I think of it, the picture always rises in my mind of a summer evening, the boys at play in the churchyard and I sitting on my bed, reading as if for life. Every barn in the neighborhood, 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 Commodore Trennian held that club with Mr. Pickle in the parlor 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 parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, Ms. Murdstone looking firm and Mr. Murdstone binding something around 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 Ms. Murdstone. Certainly my dear Jane faltered my mother meekly, but do you think it did Edward good? Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara, asked Mr. Murdstone gravely? That's the point, 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 today 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 impressive 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 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 so that 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 was very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to the heap of failures, Ms. Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came at last to the 5,000 cheeses, Keynes he made it that day, I remember, my mother burst out crying. Clara, said Ms. 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 occasioned her today. That would be stoical. Clara is greatly strengthened and improved, but we can hardly expect so much from her. David, you and I will go upstairs, boy. As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Ms. Murdstone said, Clara, are you a perfect fool? And interveered. I saw my mother stop her ears then and I heard her crying. 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 Ms. Murdstone are by. I can't indeed. Can't you indeed, David, he said, we'll try that. He had my head as if in a vice, but I twined round him somehow and stopped him for a moment in treating him not to beat me. It was only a moment that I stopped him for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards. And in the same instant, I 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 peggedy. Then he was gone and the door was locked outside. 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 unnatural stillness seemed to rain through the whole house. How well I remember when my smart and passion began to cool. How wicked I began to feel. 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 it made me cry 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 criminal, 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 crying, dozing and looking listlessly out. When the key was turned and Ms. 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 the 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, whether I should be taken into custody and sent to prison, whether 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 remembrance. Ms. 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 be sought her forgiveness, but I saw no one Ms. Murdstone accepted during the whole time, accepted evening prayers in the parlor to which I was escorted by Ms. Murdstone after everybody else was placed, where I was stationed a young outlaw all alone by myself near the door and once I was solemnly conducted by my jailer before anyone arose from the devotional posture. I only observed that my mother was as far off for 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 anyone. They occupied 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 morning and find 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 myself speak, the fleeting intervals of something like cheerfulness which came with eating and drinking and went away with it, the setting in of rain one evening with a fresh smell and it's 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 in my remembrance. On the last night of my restraint, I was awakened by hearing my own name spoken in a whisper. I started up in bed and putting out my arms in the dark, said, is that you, Piggity? There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my name again and atone 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, Piggity, dear? Yes, my own precious Davy, she replied, be soft as a mouse or the cattle hear us. I understood this to mean Ms. Murdstone and was sensible of the urgency of the case, her room being close by. Host Mama, dear Piggity, is she very angry with me? I could hear Piggity crying softly on her side of the keyhole as I was doing on mine before she answered, no, not very. What is going to be done with me, Piggity, dear? Do you know? School near London, was Piggity's answer. I was obliged to get her to repeat it before she spoke at 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, Piggity? Tomorrow. Is that the reason why Ms. Murdstone took the clothes out of my drawers? Which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it. Yes, said Piggity, box. Shant I see Mama? Yes, said Piggity. Morning. Then Piggity 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 communicating, I will venture to assert, shooting in each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst of its own. Davey, dear, if I ain't been exactly as intimate with you, lately as I used to be, it ain't because I don't love you, just as well and more, my pretty poppet. It's because I thought it better for you and for someone else besides. Davey, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear? Yes, Piggity! I sobbed. My own, said Piggity with infinite compassion. What I want to say is that you must never forget me, for I'll never forget you. And I'll take as much care of your mama, Davey, as ever I took of you, and I won't leave her. The day may come when she'll be glad to lay her poor head on her stupid cross old Piggity's arm again. And I'll write to you, my dear, though I ain't no scholar. And I'll, I'll, Piggity fell to kissing the keyhole as she couldn't kiss me. Thank you, dear Piggity, said I. Oh, thank you, thank you. Will you promise me one thing, Piggity? Will you write until Mr. Piggity and Little Emily and Mrs. Gummidge and Ham that I am not so bad as they might suppose and that I sent them all my love, especially to Little Emily? Will you, if you please, Piggity? The kind soul promised and we both of us kissed the keyhole 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 Piggity which I cannot very well define. She did not replace 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, Miss Murdstone appeared as usual and 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 downstairs into the parlor and have my breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and with red eyes, into whose arms I ran and begged her pardon from my suffering soul. Oh, Davy, she said, that you could hurt anyone I love. Try to be better, pray to be better. I forgive you, but I am so grieve, 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 hurt at the gate. I looked for Pegadie, 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, said Miss Murdstone in her warning note. Ready, my dear Jane, returned my mother. Goodbye, Davy, you are going for your own good. Goodbye, my child. You will come home in the holidays and be a better boy. Clara, 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 before I came to a bad end and then I got into the cart and the lazy horse walked off with it. This is the end of Chapter 4 of David Copperfield, read by Laurel Anderson, Sanford, Florida. Chapter 5 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 Simon Evers. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Chapter 5, I am sent away from home. We might have gone about half a mile and my pocket-hank-chief was quite wet through when the carrier stopped short. Looking out to ascertain for what, I saw to my amazement, pegaty, 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 pegaty 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 ground. I picked up one of several that were really about and treasured it as a keepsake 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 accordingly. Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began 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 trying situations. The carrier, seeing me in this resolution, proposed that my pocket handkerchief should be spread upon the horse's back to dry. I thanked him and assented, and particularly small it looked under those circumstances. I had now had leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff leather purse with a snap and had three bright shillings in it, which Pegaty 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 to 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 he 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, joking the rain to point him out, would be deader than pork before he got over half the ground. Are you only going to Yarmouth, then, I asked. That's about it, said the carrier, and there I shall take you to the stage-coach, and the stage-coach shall 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 conversational, I offered him a cake as a mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp exactly like an elephant, and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have done on an elephant's. Did she make him now? Said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward in his slouching way on the footboard of the cart, with an arm on each knee. Pegaty, do you mean, sir? Ah, said Mr. Barkis, er. 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 something new there, and sat so for a considerable time. By and by, he said, no sweet-arts, I believe. Sweetmeats, did you say, Mr. Barkis? For I thought he wanted something else to eat, and appointedly alluded to that description of refreshment. Arts, said Mr. Barkis, sweet-arts, no person walk with her. With Pegaty? Ah, he said, er. Oh, no, she never had a sweet-art. Didn't she, though, 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-pasties, and does all the cooking, do she? I replied that such was the fact. Well, I'll tell you what, said Mr. Barkis. Perhaps you might be right into her. I shall certainly write to her, I rejoined. Ah, he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. Well, if you was right into her, perhaps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was willing, would you? That Barkis is willing, I repeated innocently. Is that all the message? Yes, he said, considering. Yes, Barkis is willing. But you will be at Blunderstone again tomorrow, Mr. Barkis, I 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 you repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, I once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound gravity, Barkis is willing. That's the message. I readily undertook its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and an ink-stand and wrote a note to Pegaty which ran this. My dear Pegaty, 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 on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkis relapsed into perfect silence. And I, feeling 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 Yarmouth, which was so entirely new and strange to me in the inn-yard to which we drove, that I once abandoned a latent taupe I have had of meeting with some of Mr. Pegaty's family there, perhaps even with little Emily herself. The 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 that it's ever going to London. I was thinking this and wondering what would ultimately become 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 foals 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! 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 was only to show it to me. It was a large, 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 casters 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, who took my seat at the board. But found it 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 blush 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. Would 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 lights and made it look beautiful. My eye, he said, 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 standing upright all over his head. And as he stood with one arm akimbo holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, he looked quite friendly. There was a gentleman here yesterday. He said, I stout, gentlemen, by the name of Topsoyer. Perhaps you know him? No, I said. I don't think. In britches and gaiters, broad-brimmed ap, grey coat, speckled choker, 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. He'd ordered to be drawn. That's the fact. I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I thought I'd 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. Oh, people don't like things being ordered and left. It offends them. But I'll drink it, if you like. I'm used to it, and use his everything. I don't think it'll 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. Topsoyer 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. I 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 extreme 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 said it before me, seemed to ruminate and to become absent in his mind for some moments. I was the pie, he said, rising himself. It's a pudding, I made answer. A pudding, he exclaimed. Why, bless me, so it is what. Ha, look 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 tablespoon is my favourite pudding. Ain't that lucky? Come on, little one, and let's see you'll get most. The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in and win, what with his tablespoon to my teaspoon, 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. I never saw any one enjoy 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 companiable, it was then that I asked him for the pen and ink and the paper to write to Pegatee. 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 eye, 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, little boy he was. I should say he was, um, 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, eight 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. With whoppin'! The blowing of the coach horn and the yard was a caesimal diversion, which made me get up and hesitate in the inquire in the mingled pride and dividends of having a purse which I took out of my pocket if there were anything to pay. There was a sheet of leather-piper, he returned. Did you ever buy a sheet of leather-piper? I could not remember that I ever had. Well, it's dear, he said, on account of the duty. Frippence, that's the why we are taxed in this country. There's nothing else except the waiter. Never mind the ink, I lose by that. What should I, how much I try to, what would be right to pay the waiter, if you please? I stammered, blushing. If I hadn't a family in that family, if I hadn't the cow-pock, said the waiter, I wouldn't take a sixpence. If I didn't support an agey parent and a lovely sister, he and the waiter was greatly agitated, I wouldn't take a farving. If I had a good place and was treated well here, I should beg acceptance of a trifle instead of taking of it. I live on broken whittles 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 you'll burst! I'm from observing that the women-servants who were about the place came out to look and giggle at me as a young phenomenon. My unfortunate friend the waiter who had quite recovered his spirits did not appear to be disturbed by this but joined in the general admiration without being at all confused. If I had any doubt of him, I would have opposed 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 sorry 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 of my sitting there and as to the greater expediency of my travelling by wagon. 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 anything 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 voice gentleman with a rough face who'd been eating out of a sandwich box nearly all the way except when he'd been drinking out of a bottle said I was like a burr 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 the next morning it was mid-summer weather and the evening was 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 have plenty 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 pegaty 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. Mirdstone 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 may be 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 cruelest poke with her foot and said come, don't you fidget your bones are young enough, I'm sure at last, the sun rose and then my companions seemed to sleep 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 faint everybody made then of not having me to sleep at all and by the uncommon indignation which with everyone repelled the charge I labour under the same kind of astonishment 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 of wickedness than all the cities of the earth 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 eyes lighted on me as he was getting down and he said at the booking-office-door is anybody here for a youngster booked in the name of Murdston from Blunderston Suffolk to be left till call four? nobody answered try Copperfield if you please sir said I looking helplessly down is there anybody here for a youngster booked in the name of Murdston from Blunderston Suffolk but owing to the name of Copperfield to be left till call four? said the guard come, is there anybody? no, there was nobody I looked anxiously around but the inquiry made no impression on any of the bystanders if I accept a man in Gators with one eye who suggested that they better put a brass collar around my neck and tie me up in a stable a ladder was brought and I got down after the lady who was like a haystack not daring to stir till 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 Blunderston Suffolk more solitary than Robertson Crusoe who had nobody to look at him and see that he was solitary I went to the booking office and by invitation of the Clarcon 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 staples ever since associated with that morning a procession 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 bins with the other luggage and watch 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 the next day supposing there was no mistake in the case and Mr. Murdstone had devised this plan to get rid of me what should I do? if they allowed me to remain there until my seven 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 if I 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 anybody but Pegaty even if I 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 he presently slanted me off the scale and pushed me over to him as if I were weighed, bought, delivered and paid for as I went out of the office hand in hand with this new acquaintance I stood a look at him he was a gaunt, sallow young man with hollow cheeks and a chin almost as black as Mr. Murdston'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 neckerchief on that was not over-clean I did not and do not suppose that this neckerchief was all the linen he wore but it was all he showed or gave any hint of the other nearby he said yes sir I said I suppose 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 over-awed I was so ashamed to allude to a common house thing like my box to a scholar and a master at Salem House there be gone some little distance from the yard before I had the hardyhood to mention it we turned back on my humbling 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 we made accomplished about the same distance before is it far? it's down by Blackheath, he said is that far sir? I evidently asked it's a good step, he said we shall go by the stagecoach, 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 he 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 off and that the best way would be to buy some bread or whatever I liked best that was wholesome and make my breakfast at our house where he could get some milk accordingly, we looked in at a baker's window and after I made a series of proposals to buy everything that was bilious in the shop and he had rejected them one by one we decided in favour of a nice little loaf of brown bread which cost me thruppance then at a grocer'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 shillings and maybe consider London a very cheap place these provisions laid in we went on through a great noise and uproar that confused my weary head beyond description an over-a-bridge which no doubt was London Bridge indeed I think he told me so but I was half asleep until we came to the poor person's house which was a part of some arm's houses as I knew by their look and by an inscription on a stone over the gate which said they 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 darman-pained window on one side another little darman-pained 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 Charlie but on seeing me come in too she got up, unrubbing her hands made a confused sort of half curtsy 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. Fippitzen today? said the master looking at another old woman in a large chair by the fire there 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 accident I very 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 found 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 boiling my bacon in Dungeon for I saw her with my own discomforted eyes shake my fist at me once when those culinary operations were going on and no one else was looking the sun streamed in at the little window but she sat with her own back and the back of the large chair towards it screening the fire and said duelessly keeping it warm instead of it keeping her warm I'm watching it in a most distrustful manner the completion of my preparations for my breakfast by relieving the fire gave her such extreme joy that she laughed aloud and a very unmalodious laugh she had I must say I sat down to my brown loaf my egg and my ratter of bacon with a basin of milk besides and made a most delicious 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-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 could 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 peacocks feathers displayed over the mantelpiece I remember wondering when I first went in what that peacock 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 an affectionous 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 this same old woman ask Mrs. Fibbertson if it wasn't delicious meaning the flute to which Mrs. Fibbertson replied Hi, hi, yes and nodded at the far to which I persuaded and gave the whole credit of the whole performance when I seemed to be 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 passengers and where I slept profoundly until I found the coach going at a foot pace 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 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 newbie said the master the man with a 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 hello 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 yeah, goblers been he said since you've been out Mr. Mel and he says he can't mend him any more he says there ain't a bit of the original boot left and he wonders you expected with these words he threw the boots towards Mr. Mel who went back a few paces to pick them up and looked at them very disconsonately 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 worst for D'Ware and that his stocking was just breaking out in one place like a bud Salem 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. Mel I suppose 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 seaside with Mrs. and Miss Creakle and that I was sent in holiday time as a punishment for my misdoing all of which he explained to me as we went along I gazed upon the school room into which she 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 copy books and exercises lit at the dirty floor some silkworms' houses made of the same materials scattered over the desks two miserable little white mice left behind by their owner a running up and down in a fustic castle made of pasteboard and wah looking in all the corners with their red eyes for anything to eat a bird in a cage very much 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 unhosom smell about the room like mildewed corduroys 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. Mel having left me while he took his irreparable boots upstairs 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 though I looked all round with anxious eyes I could see nothing of him I was still engaged in a period about when Mr. Mel came back and asked him what I did up there I beg your pardon, sir, says I if you please, I'm looking for the dog dog, he says, what dog? isn't it a dog, sir? isn't what a dog? that's to be taken care of, sir, that bites no, Copperfield says he gravely that's not a dog that's a boy my instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back I'm 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 an absac and wherever I went afterwards I had the consolation of carrying it what I suffered from that placard nobody can imagine whether it was possible for people to see me or not I always fented that somebody was reading it it was no relief to turn round and find nobody for wherever my black was there I imagined somebody always to be that cruel man with a 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 his lodge house in a stupendous voice hello, you, sir, you, Copperfield show that badge conspicuous and all our report you the playground was a bare gravel 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 positively began to have a dread of myself as a kind of wild boy who did bite more 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 there coming back I could not read a boy's name without inquiring in what tone and with what emphasis he would read take care of him he bites there was one boy a certain Jay Steerforth who cut his name very deep 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 seemed to send me to Coventry by a gentle acclamation and a crowd 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 Peggatt's or of travelling outside the stagecoach or of dining again with my unfortunate friend the waiter and in all these circumstances making people scream and stare by the unhappy disclosure that I had nothing on but my little night-shirt and that placard in the monotony of my life and in my constant apprehension of the reopening of the school it was such an insupportable affliction I had long tasks every day to do with Mr Mel but I did them, there being no Mr and Ms Murdstone here and got through them without disgrace before 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 flagstones in the court an old leaky water-but and the discoloured 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 at one we dined Mr Mel 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 Mel drank out of a blue tea-cup and I out of a tin pot all day long until seven or eight in the evening Mr Mel, 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 his things up 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 of 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 dullful performance of Mr Mel and conning to-morrow's lessons I picture myself with my books shut up still listening to the dullful performance of Mr Mel 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 bedside crying for a comfortable word from Pegaty I picture myself coming downstairs in the morning and looking through a long ghastly gash of a staircase window at the school bell hanging on the top of an out-house with a weather-cock above it and dreading the time when it shall ring J's tear-forth and the rest to work which is only second in my foreboding apprehensions to the time when the man with the wooden leg shall unlock the rusty gate to give a commission 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 Mel 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 put his hair in an unaccountable manner but he had these peculiarities and at first they frightened me though I soon got used to them End of Chapter 5 Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 6 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 Simon Evers I had led this 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 preparations 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 Mel and me who lived where we could and got on how we could for some days during which we were always in the way of two or three young women who had really 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 Mel that Mr Creakle would be home that evening In the evening after tea I heard that he was come Before bedtime I was fetched by the man with the wooden leg to appear before him Mr Creakle's part of the 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 camel or a dromedary could have felt at home in it it seemed to me a bold thing even to take notice that the passage looked comfortable as I went on my way trembling to Mr Creakle's presence which 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 armed chair with a tumbler and bottle beside him so said Mr Creakle this is the young gentleman whose teeth are to be filed turn him round the wooden legate 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 there were 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 made his angry face so much more angry and his thick veins so much thicker when he spoke that I'm not surprised on looking back at this peculiarity striking me as his chief one No! said Mr Creakle what's the report on this boy? there's nothing against him yet returned the man with wooden leg there's been no opportunity I thought Mr Creakle was disappointed I thought Mrs a Miss Creakle at whom I now had last 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 repeating 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 is and a man of a strong character he knows me and I know him do you know me? hey! said Mr Creakle pinching my ear with a ferocious playfulness not yet sir I said flinching with 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 hope so if he pleased I felt all this while as if my ear were blazing he pinched it so hard I'll tell you what I am 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'll do a thing I do it said Mr Creakle and when I say I will have a thing done I will have it done whatever 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 I 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 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 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 with wiping their eyes and I felt as uncomfortable 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 that I wondered at my own courage if you please sir Mr Creakle whispered 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 to be allowed I'm 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 I never once stopped until I reached my own bedroom where finding I was not pursued I went to bed as it was time to be quaking for a couple of hours next morning Mr Sharpe came back Mr Sharpe was the first master and superior to Mr Mel Mr Mel took his meals with the boys but Mr Sharpe dined and subbed 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 I was informed by the very first boy who came back that it was a wig a second-hand one he said that Mr Sharpe 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 introduced himself by informing me that I should find his name on the right hand corner of the gate over the top bolt on that I said Traddles to which he replied 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 concealment by presenting me to every other boy who came back great or small immediately on his arrival in this form of introduction 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 soothing me lest I should bite and saying lie down sir and calling me Tauza this was naturally confusing among so many strangers it 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 Jay 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 punishment and was pleased to express his opinion that it was a jolly shame for which I became bound to him ever afterwards 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 you better give it to 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 an opening peg at his 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 current wine by and by up in the bedroom I said 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'll 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 air said Steerforth I say young Copperfield you're going it I smiled but I was a little troubled in my mind too well said Steerforth we must make it stretch as far as we can that's all I'll do the best in my path you I can go out when I like and I'll smuggle the prog in with these 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 I had secret misgiving was nearly all wrong for I feared it was a waste of my mother's two half crowns though I had preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped in which was a precious saving when we went upstairs to bed he produced 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 honors of the feast of my time of life while he was by my hand was shocked at the very thought of it I begged him to do me the favor of presiding am I a crest being seconded by the other boys who were in that room he acceded to it and sat upon my pillow handing round the vians with perfect fairness I must say and dispensing the current wine and a little glass without a foot which was his own property as to me I sat on his left hand thinking about us on the nearest beds and on the floor how will I recollect our sitting there talking in whispers or there talking in my respectfully listening I ought rather to say the moonlight falling a little way into the room through the window painting a little window on the floor and the greater part of us in shadow except when Steerforth dipped a match into a phosphorus 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're all so near and frightens me though I faint a laugh when Traddle's pretends to see a ghost in the corner I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belonging to it I heard that Mr. Creakle had not preferred his claim to being a Tata without reason that he was the sternest and most severe of masters that he laid about him right and left every day of his life charging in the monger the boys like a trooper and slashing away unmercifully that he knew nothing himself but the art of slashing being more ignorant, J. Steeffall 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 wondered how they knew I heard that the man with a wooden leg whose name was Tungay was an obstinate barbarian who had formally 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 him and knowing his secrets I heard that with the single exception of Mr. Creakle Tungay considered the whole establishment boys and masters 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 been a master 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 remonstrance with his father on an occasion when his 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 consequence and that Mrs. and Miss Creakle 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 and be asked by a mild boy not me, how you would proceed if he did begin to see him do it he dipped a match into his phosphorus box on purpose to shed a glare over his reply and said he would commence by knocking him down with a blow on the forehead from the seven and six mini ink bottle that was always on the mantelpiece we sat in the dark for some time breathless I heard that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mel 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 corroborated by J. Steerforth the only parlor border 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 very plainly to be seen behind I heard that one boy who is a coal merchant's son came as a set-off 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'm 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. Mel was not a bad sort of fellow but there hadn't a sixpence to bless himself with and there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mel, his mother was as poor as Job I thought of my breakfast then and what had sounded like my Charlie but I was, I'm glad to remember 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 gone to bed as soon as the eating and drinking were over and we, who had remained whispering and listening half undressed at last we took ourselves to bed too Good night, young Copperfield said Steerforth I'll take care of you You're very kind I gratefully returned I'm very much obliged to you You haven't got a sister, have you said Steerforth, yearning No, I answered That's a pity, said Steerforth If you had had one I should think she would have been pretty timid little bright-eyed sort of girl I should have liked to know her Good night, young Copperfield Good night, 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 moonlight with his handsome face turned up and his head reclining 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 dimmed lanced upon him in the moonbeams There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps in the garden that I dreamed of walking in all night End of Chapter 6 Recording by Simon Evers