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authornfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 15:48:24 -0800
committernfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 15:48:24 -0800
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-<title>STORIES FROM DICKENS</title>
-<meta name="DC.Creator" content="J. Walker McSpadden" />
-<meta name="DC.Created" content="1906" />
-<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-06-03" />
-<meta name="PG.Id" content="49125" />
-<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" />
-<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" />
-<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" />
-<meta name="PG.Title" content="Stories from Dickens" />
-<meta name="DC.Title" content="Stories from Dickens" />
-<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" />
-
-<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" />
-<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" />
-<meta content="Stories from Dickens" name="DCTERMS.title" />
-<meta content="/home/ajhaines/dickens/dickens.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" />
-<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" name="DCTERMS.language" />
-<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-06-03T16:45:14.316179+00:00" name="DCTERMS.modified" />
-<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" />
-<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" />
-<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49125" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" />
-<meta content="J. Walker McSpadden" name="DCTERMS.creator" />
-<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-06-03" name="DCTERMS.created" />
-<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" />
-<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner &lt;webmaster@gutenberg.org&gt;" name="generator" />
-</head>
-<body>
-<div class="document" id="stories-from-dickens">
-<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">STORIES FROM DICKENS</span></h1>
-
-<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet -->
-<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats -->
-<!-- default transition -->
-<!-- default attribution -->
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="clearpage">
-</div>
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
-and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
-restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with
-this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws
-of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Stories from Dickens
-<br />
-<br />Author: J. Walker McSpadden
-<br />
-<br />Release Date: June 03, 2015 [EBook #49125]
-<br />
-<br />Language: English
-<br />
-<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>STORIES FROM DICKENS</span><span> ***</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container coverpage">
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 66%" id="figure-91">
-<span id="cover-art"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container frontispiece">
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-92">
-<span id="david-copperfield-and-little-emily"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="DAVID COPPERFIELD AND LITTLE EMILY." src="images/img-front.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">DAVID COPPERFIELD AND LITTLE EMILY.</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container titlepage">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">Stories From Dickens</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">J. WALKER McSPADDEN</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">Author of "Stories of Robin Hood," "Synopses
-<br />of Dickens's Novels," etc.</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK
-<br />THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
-<br />PUBLISHERS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container verso">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1906
-<br />BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL &amp; COMPANY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Preface</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The title of this book rings in the ear
-with a pleasant sound. "Stories from
-Dickens"! "Stories" alone usually
-suggests such delightful rambles in the land of
-dreams! And when it is coupled with the name
-of a king of story-tellers by divine right, the
-charm is increased a hundredfold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>These stories are—as the title indicates—taken
-directly from Dickens, very largely in his
-own language, and always faithful to his spirit.
-They are the stories of his most famous boys
-and girls, merely separated from the big books
-and crowded scenes where they first appeared.
-In stage talk, the "lime-light" has been turned
-upon them alone. Their early joys and sorrows
-are shown, but always with more of the smiles
-than the tears. There is sadness enough in real
-life without emphasizing it in books for young
-people, and so only two of the numerous deathbed
-scenes found in Dickens are given place
-here.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The book is not intended as a substitute,
-however small, for the complete texts; but is
-offered in the reverent hope that it will serve
-as both introduction and incentive to the bulky
-volumes which so often alarm young people by
-their very size. The compiler has in mind one
-child of the "long ago" who looked with awe
-upon a stately row of fat books kept for show,
-like mummies in a high glass case, and labelled
-"Dickens." This child never suspected that the
-books were intended for reading—at any rate,
-not by children; so he contented himself for
-the time with trashy little books with highly
-colored pictures "intended for children." What a
-world of delight would have been opened to him
-if some one had placed in his hands the story
-of Oliver Twist; or the first part of Nicholas
-Nickleby relating to Dotheboy's Hall; or the
-early history of David Copperfield (he might
-have demanded </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> of </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> story!); or some of
-the inimitable Christmas tales! Afterwards he
-would have read on and on for himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To other such children this book comes as a
-friendly guide to Dickens-land.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is barely necessary to add that the book
-is in different vein from an earlier handbook,
-"Synopses of Dickens's Novels," which is a
-quick guide and index to all the plots and
-characters in full.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>J.W.M.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<dl class="docutils">
-<dt class="noindent"><span>NEW YORK CITY,</span></dt>
-<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>May, 1906.</span></p>
-</dd>
-</dl>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Contents</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-oliver-twist">THE STORY OF OLIVER TWIST</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#oliver-begins-life-in-a-hard-way">Oliver Begins Life in a Hard Way</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#oliver-falls-from-bad-to-worse">Oliver Falls from Bad to Worse</a><span>
-<br />III. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#oliver-makes-his-way-into-good-society">Oliver Makes his Way into Good Society</a><span>
-<br />IV. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-end-of-evil-days">The End of Evil Days</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-smike-and-his-teacher">THE STORY OF SMIKE AND HIS TEACHER</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-nicholas-nickleby-came-to-dotheboys-hall">How Nicholas Nickleby Came to Dotheboys Hall</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-smike-went-away-from-dotheboys-hall">How Smike Went Away from Dotheboys Hall</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-little-nell">THE STORY OF LITTLE NELL</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#in-the-old-curiosity-shop">In the Old Curiosity Shop</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#out-in-the-wide-world">Out in the Wide World</a><span>
-<br />III. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#at-the-end-of-the-journey">At the End of the Journey</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-paul-and-florence-dombey">THE STORY OF PAUL AND FLORENCE DOMBEY</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-house-of-dombey-and-son">The House of Dombey and Son</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-florence-came-into-her-own">How Florence Came into her Own</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-pip-as-told-by-himself">THE STORY OF PIP AS TOLD BY HIMSELF</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-pip-helped-the-convict">How Pip Helped the Convict</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#pip-and-estella">Pip and Estella</a><span>
-<br />III. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-pip-fell-heir-to-great-expectations">How Pip Fell Heir to Great Expectations</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-story-of-little-dorrit">THE STORY OF LITTLE DORRIT</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-child-of-the-marshalsea">The Child of the Marshalsea</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#how-the-prison-gates-were-opened">How the Prison Gates were Opened</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><a class="bold reference internal" href="#the-personal-history-of-david-copperfield">THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD</a><span class="bold">:</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#my-earliest-recollections">My Earliest Recollections</a><span>
-<br />II. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#i-fall-into-disgrace">I Fall into Disgrace</a><span>
-<br />III. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#school-steerforth-and-traddles">School. Steerforth and Traddles</a><span>
-<br />IV. </span><a class="reference internal" href="#i-begin-life-on-my-own-account">I Begin Life on my Own Account</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="oliver-begins-life-in-a-hard-way"><span id="the-story-of-oliver-twist"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF OLIVER TWIST</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. OLIVER BEGINS LIFE IN A HARD WAY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Some years ago when the poorhouses of
-England were in a bad state and the poor
-people housed within them were often ill-treated,
-a little waif began his life under the roof
-of one of the worst of them. His mother had
-wandered there, weak, wretched and without
-friends, it seemed, for she gave no clue to her
-identity; and after her little boy was born she
-had only strength enough to kiss him once
-before she breathed her last. As no one knew
-anything about her, the child became a charge
-upon the parish. He was sent with other
-orphans and homeless little ones to be cared for
-by an elderly woman named Mrs. Mann, who
-received from the parish officers but a scant
-allowance for the needs of the children, to
-whom she gave, in the shape of food and
-attention, a still shorter return.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so the first years of this child's life were
-devoted mainly to the struggle to keep body
-and soul together. He won the fight by the
-narrowest of margins, and his ninth birthday
-found him a pale, thin lad, somewhat short in
-stature and decidedly small in girth. But
-nature had placed a good sturdy spirit in his
-breast. It had plenty of room to expand,
-thanks to the spare diet, else he might not have
-had any ninth birthday at all.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On this momentous day he received a visitor,
-in the person of Mr. Bumble, the fat and
-pompous beadle of the workhouse, who came to see
-Mrs. Mann in all the glory of his cocked hat
-and brass buttons.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, ma'am," said the beadle,
-taking out a leathern pocket-book. "The child
-that was half baptized Oliver Twist is nine year
-old to-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless him!" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming
-her left eye with the corner of her apron.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And notwithstanding a offered reward of
-ten pound, which was afterwards increased to
-twenty pound; notwithstanding the most
-superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions
-on the part of this parish," said Bumble, "we
-have never been able to discover who is his
-father, or what was his mother's settlement,
-name, or con-dition."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment;
-but added, after a moment's reflection, "How
-comes he to have any name at all, then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The beadle drew himself up with great pride,
-and said, "I inwented it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Mr. Bumble!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings in
-alphabetical order. The last was a S,—Swubble,
-I named him. This was a T,—Twist I named
-</span><em class="italics">him</em><span>. The next one as comes will be Unwin,
-and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready
-made to the end of the alphabet, and all the
-way through it again, when we come to Z."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!"
-said Mrs. Mann.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," said the beadle, evidently
-gratified with the compliment; "perhaps I
-may be. But the boy Oliver being now too
-old to remain here, the Board have determined
-to have him back into the house. I have come
-out myself to take him there. So let me see
-him at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann,
-leaving the room for that purpose. And so
-Oliver, having had as much of the outer coat of
-dirt which encrusted his face and hands removed
-as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was
-presently led into the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said
-Mrs. Mann.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver made a bow, which was divided
-between the beadle on the chair and the cocked
-hat on the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said
-Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver was about to say that he would go
-along with anybody with great readiness, when,
-glancing upwards, he caught sight of
-Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair,
-and was shaking her fist at him with a furious
-countenance. He took the hint at once, for
-the fist had been too often impressed upon
-his body not to be deeply impressed upon his
-memory.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> go with me?" he inquired.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble, "but
-she'll come and see you sometimes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was no very great consolation to the
-child. Young as he was, however, he had
-sense enough to pretend great regret at going
-away. It was no very difficult matter for the
-boy to call the tears into his eyes. Hunger
-and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you
-want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally
-indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand
-embraces, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal
-more, a piece of bread and butter, lest he
-should seem too hungry when he got to the
-workhouse. With the slice of bread in his
-hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on
-his head, the boy was then led away by
-Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one
-kind word or look had never lighted the gloom
-of his infant years.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides,
-and little Oliver, firmly grasping his
-gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him; inquiring at the
-end of every quarter of a mile whether they
-were "nearly there." To these interrogations
-Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish
-replies; for was he not a beadle? But at last they
-were there, and the boy was looking at his new
-home with interest not unmixed with dread.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver had not been within the walls of the
-workhouse a quarter of an hour, and had
-scarcely completed the slice of bread, when
-Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the
-care of an old woman, returned, and, telling
-him it was a board night, took him before
-that august body forthwith.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bow to the Board," said Bumble. Oliver
-brushed away two or three tears that were
-lingering in his eyes, and seeing no board but
-the table, fortunately bowed to that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's your name, boy?" said a gentleman
-in a high chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many
-fat, red-faced gentlemen, and the beadle gave
-him another tap behind, which made him cry.
-These two causes made him answer in a very
-low and hesitating voice; whereupon a
-gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a
-fool,—which was a capital way of raising his spirits
-and putting him quite at his ease.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair,
-"listen to me. You know you're an orphan, I
-suppose?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that, sir?" inquired poor Oliver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> a fool—I thought he was," said
-the gentleman in the white waistcoat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said the gentleman who had spoken
-first. "You know you've got no father or
-mother, and that you were brought up by the
-parish, don't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you crying for?" inquired the
-gentleman in the white waistcoat. And, to be
-sure, it was very extraordinary. What </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> the
-boy be crying for?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you say your prayers every night,"
-said another gentleman, in a gruff voice, "and
-pray for the people who feed you, and take care
-of you—like a Christian."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman
-who spoke last was unconsciously right.
-It would have been </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> like a Christian, and a
-marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had
-prayed for the people who fed and took care
-of </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>. But he hadn't, because nobody had
-taught him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! You have come here to be educated,
-and taught a useful trade," said the red-faced
-gentleman in the high chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow
-morning at six o'clock," added the surly one in
-the white waistcoat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For the combination of both these blessings
-in the one simple process of picking oakum,
-Oliver bowed low, by the direction of the beadle,
-and was hurried away to a large ward, where, on
-a rough hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Oliver! He little knew, as he fell
-asleep, that the Board had just reached a sage
-decision in his and other cases. But they had,
-and this was it. The members of this Board
-were very wise men, and when they came to
-turn their attention to the work-house, they
-found out at once, what ordinary folks would
-never have discovered—that the poor people
-liked it!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho!" said the Board, "we'll stop all this
-high living in no time!" So they brought
-the diet down to the edge of starvation. They
-contracted with the waterworks to lay on an
-unlimited supply of water, and with a mill to
-supply small quantities of oatmeal; and issued
-three meals of thin gruel a day, and half a roll
-on Sundays.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For the first six months after Oliver Twist
-was removed, the system was in full operation.
-It was rather expensive at first, in consequence
-of the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the
-necessity of taking in the clothes of all the
-paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted,
-shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel.
-But the number of workhouse inmates got thin
-as well as the paupers, and the Board were delighted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The room in which the boys were fed was a
-large stone hall, with a copper kettle at one end,
-out of which the master, dressed in an apron for
-the purpose, and assisted by one or two women,
-ladled the gruel at meal times. Of this festive
-composition each boy had one porringer, and
-no more—except on occasions of great public
-rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a quarter
-of bread besides. The bowls never wanted
-washing. The boys polished them with their
-spoons till they shone again; and when they
-had performed this operation (which never took
-very long, the spoons being nearly as large as
-the bowls), they would sit staring at the kettle,
-with eager eyes, as if they could have devoured
-the very bricks of which it was composed;
-employing themselves, meanwhile, in sucking their
-fingers, with the view of catching up any stray
-splashes of gruel that might have been cast
-thereon.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-93">
-<span id="oliver-asks-for-more"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="OLIVER ASKS FOR MORE." src="images/img-010.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">OLIVER ASKS FOR MORE.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Boys have generally excellent appetites.
-Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the
-tortures of slow starvation for three months,
-until at last they got so voracious and wild with
-hunger that one boy, who was tall for his age
-and hadn't been used to that sort of thing
-(for his father had kept a small cook's shop),
-hinted darkly to his companions that unless he
-had another basin of gruel, he was afraid he
-might eat the boy who slept next him, who
-happened to be a weakly youth of tender age.
-He had a wild hungry eye, and they implicitly
-believed him. A council was held, and lots were
-cast to decide who should walk up to the master
-after supper that evening and ask for more;
-and it fell to Oliver Twist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The evening arrived, and the boys took their
-places. The master, in his cook's uniform,
-stationed himself at the kettle; his pauper
-assistants ranged themselves behind him; the gruel
-was served out, and a long grace was said over
-the short rations. The gruel disappeared; the
-boys whispered to each other, and winked at
-Oliver, while his next neighbors nudged him.
-Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger and
-reckless with misery. He rose from the table and
-advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand,
-said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, I want some more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The master was a fat, healthy man, but he
-turned very pale. He gazed in stupefied
-astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds,
-and then clung for support to the copper. The
-assistants were paralyzed with wonder; the boys
-with fear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" said the master at length, in a faint
-voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head
-with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, and
-shrieked aloud for the beadle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Board were sitting in solemn conclave,
-when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great
-excitement, and, addressing the gentleman in the
-high chair, said:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir!
-Oliver Twist has asked for more!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a general start. Horror was
-depicted on every countenance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For </span><em class="italics">more</em><span>!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose
-yourself, Bumble, and answer me distinctly.
-Do I understand that he asked for
-more, after he had eaten the supper allotted
-by the dietary?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He did, sir," replied Bumble.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That boy will be hung," said the gentleman
-in the white waistcoat. "I know that boy will
-be hung."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nobody disputed this opinion. An animated
-discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into
-instant confinement; and a bill was posted on
-the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five
-pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist
-off the hands of the parish. In other words, five
-pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any
-man or woman who wanted an apprentice to
-any trade, business, or calling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver had a very narrow escape a few days
-later, as the result of this bill, from a
-villanous-looking man who wanted a chimney-sweep. But
-finally he became the apprentice of an
-undertaker named Sowerberry. His life here was
-some improvement over the workhouse, but still
-hard enough. Nevertheless he did get enough
-to eat, in the shape of broken victuals, and he
-slept among the coffins in the shop.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Unfortunately there was another apprentice,
-a great overgrown fellow named Noah Claypole,
-who delighted to bully Oliver in every way
-possible. Oliver stood it as long as he could, but
-Noah mistook his attitude for cowardice and
-added insults to rough usage. But, one day,
-Noah spoke ill of the boy's dead mother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you say?" asked Oliver quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A regular right-down bad 'un, she was,
-Work'us," repeated Noah coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Crimson with fury, Oliver started up,
-overthrew the chair and table, seized Noah by the
-throat, shook him, in the violence of his rage,
-till his teeth chattered in his head, and, collecting
-his whole force into one heavy blow, felled
-him to the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet,
-mild, dejected creature that harsh treatment had
-made him. But his spirit was roused at last;
-the cruel insult had set his blood on fire. His
-breast heaved, and he defied his tormentor
-with an energy he had never known before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll murder me!" blubbered Noah.
-"Charlotte! missis! Here's the new boy
-a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's
-gone mad! Char-lotte!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His cries brought the fat maid-servant running
-to the scene.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you little wretch!" screamed Charlotte,
-seizing Oliver with her utmost force, which was
-about equal to that of a strong man in good
-training. "Oh, you little un-grate-ful,
-mur-der-ous, hor-rid villain!" And between every
-syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all
-her might, accompanying it with a scream, for
-the benefit of society.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one;
-but, lest it should not be effectual in calming
-Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into
-the kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one
-hand while she scratched his face with the other.
-In this favorable position of affairs Noah rose
-from the ground and pommelled him behind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was rather too violent exercise to last
-long. When they were all three wearied out
-and could tear and beat no longer, they
-dragged Oliver, struggling and shouting but
-nothing daunted, into the dust-cellar, and there
-locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry
-sank into a chair and burst into tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Charlotte!" she cried; "what a mercy
-we have not all been murdered in our beds,
-with such a little villain in the house!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when Mr. Sowerberry presently came
-home, he gave Oliver a whipping on his own
-account for good measure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until he was left alone in the
-silence and stillness of the cellar that Oliver
-gave way to the feelings which the day's
-treatment had awakened. He had listened to their
-taunts with a look of contempt; he had borne
-the lash without a cry, for he felt that pride
-swelling in his heart which would have kept
-down a shriek to the last, though they had
-roasted him alive. But now, when there was
-none to see or hear him, he fell upon his knees
-on the floor, and, hiding his face in his hands,
-wept bitter tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a long time Oliver remained motionless
-in this attitude. The candle was burning low
-in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having
-gazed cautiously round him and listened
-intently, he gently undid the fastenings of the
-door and looked abroad.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed,
-to the boy's eyes, farther from the earth than he
-had ever seen them before. There was no wind,
-and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees
-upon the ground looked sepulchral and death-like,
-from being so still. He softly re-closed
-the door. He resolved to run away in the early
-morning—to go to that great city of London.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With the first ray of light that struggled
-through the crevices in the shutters, Oliver
-arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid
-look around,—one moment's pause of hesitation,—he
-had closed it behind him, and was
-in the open street.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked to the right and to the left,
-uncertain whither to fly. He remembered to have
-seen the wagons, as they went out, toiling up
-the hill. He took the same route, and arriving
-at a footpath across the fields, which he knew
-led out again into the road, struck into it and
-walked quickly on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was then only ten years old.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="oliver-falls-from-bad-to-worse"><span class="bold large">II. OLIVER FALLS FROM BAD TO WORSE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It was seventy miles to London, and the
-poor boy made his way thither only with
-great difficulty. Begging was not allowed
-in many of the villages, and nearly everybody
-viewed him with doubt, or else shut the door in
-his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Early on the seventh morning of his flight
-Oliver limped slowly into the little town of
-Barnet, near the outskirts of London. The
-window-shutters were closed, the street was
-empty, and the boy sank down with bleeding
-feet and covered with dust upon a door-step.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By degrees the shutters were opened, the
-window-blinds were drawn up, and people began
-passing to and fro. Some few stopped to gaze
-at Oliver for a moment or two, or turned round
-to stare at him as they hurried by; but none
-relieved him, or troubled themselves to inquire
-how he came there. He had no heart to beg,
-and there he sat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had been crouching on the step for some
-time when he was roused by observing that a
-boy, who had passed him carelessly some
-minutes before, had returned, and was now surveying
-him most earnestly from the opposite side of
-the way. He took little heed of this at first;
-but the boy remained in the same attitude of
-close observation so long that Oliver raised his
-head and returned his steady look. Upon this
-the boy crossed over, and, walking close up to
-Oliver, said:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo! my covey, what's the row?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The boy who addressed this inquiry was
-about his own age, but one of the queerest-looking
-fellows Oliver had ever seen. He was
-a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy
-enough, and as dirty as one would wish to
-see; but he had about him all the airs and
-manners of a man. He was short of his age,
-with rather bow legs, and little, sharp, ugly
-eyes. He wore a man's coat, which reached
-nearly to his heels. He had turned the cuffs
-back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out
-of the sleeves, apparently with the ultimate view
-of thrusting them into the pockets of his
-corduroy trousers, for there he kept them. He was
-altogether as swaggering a young gentleman as
-ever stood four feet six, or something less, in
-his shoes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo! my covey, what's the row?" said
-this strange young gentleman to Oliver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very hungry and tired," replied Oliver,
-the tears standing in his eyes as he spoke. "I
-have walked a long way. I have been walking
-these seven days."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The boy looked at him narrowly, and asked
-him some questions. He took Oliver for a
-vagrant or worse, but led him into a small
-tavern, and gave him a feast of ham and bread;
-and Oliver, falling to at his new friend's bidding,
-made a long and hearty meal, during the
-progress of which the strange boy eyed him from
-time to time with great attention.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Going to London?" said the strange boy,
-when Oliver had at length concluded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Got any lodgings?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The strange boy whistled, and put his arms
-into his pockets as far as the big coat-sleeves
-would let them go.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you live in London?" asked Oliver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do when I'm at home," replied the
-strange boy. "Want to go along with me? I
-know an old gen'elman as lives there wot'll give
-you lodgings for nothink."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The unexpected offer was too tempting to
-be resisted, especially when Oliver was told that
-the old gentleman would doubtless get him a
-good place without loss of time. This led to a
-more friendly and confidential chat, in which
-Oliver learned that his new friend's name was
-Jack Dawkins, commonly called "The Artful
-Dodger."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As Dawkins objected to entering London
-before nightfall, it was nearly eleven o'clock
-before he piloted Oliver down some of the
-worst streets of the city's worst section. Finally
-they entered a tumbledown building, and groped
-their way up a rickety stairway. Then Dawkins
-threw open the door of a back room and drew
-Oliver in after him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The walls and ceiling of the room were
-perfectly black with age and dirt. There was a
-deal table before the fire, upon which were
-a candle stuck in a bottle, some pewter pots,
-bread and butter. Several rough beds were
-huddled side by side upon the floor. Seated
-around the table were four or five boys, none
-older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes
-and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged
-men. But the chief figure was an old shrivelled
-Jew, whose villanous face was offset by a mass
-of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy
-flannel gown, and was busily at work frying
-sausages over a fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The boys crowded around Dawkins as he
-whispered a few words in the ear of the Jew.
-Then they all turned, as did the Jew, and
-grinned at Oliver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins;
-"my friend Oliver Twist."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Jew made a low bow to Oliver, took
-him by the hand, and hoped he should have
-the honor of his intimate acquaintance. Upon
-this, the young gentlemen with the pipes came
-round him, and shook both his hands very
-hard—especially the one in which he held his
-little bundle. One young gentleman was very
-anxious to hang up his cap for him; and
-another was so obliging as to put his hands
-in Oliver's pockets, in order that, as he was very
-tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying
-them himself when he went to bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are very glad to see you, Oliver—very,"
-said the Jew. "Dodger, take off the
-sausages, and draw a tub near the fire for
-Oliver."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed
-him a glass of hot gin and water, telling him he
-must drink it off directly, because another
-gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he
-was desired. Immediately afterwards, he felt
-himself gently lifted on to one of the sacks,
-and then he sank into a deep sleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning, Oliver watched the Jew,
-Dawkins, and Charley Bates, another of the
-boys, play a curious game. The old man
-would place a purse and other valuables in
-his pockets, whereupon the boys would try to
-slip them out without his knowledge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver didn't understand in the least what
-it was all about, even when Fagin gave him
-some lessons in the same game. But he was
-to learn with a shock, a few days later, when
-Bates and Dawkins took him with them for a
-walk about town.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were just emerging from a narrow court
-not far from the open square in Clerkenwell,
-when the Dodger made a sudden stop, and,
-laying his finger on his lip, drew his companions
-back again with the greatest caution.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter?" demanded Oliver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" replied the Dodger. "Do you see
-that old cove at the book-stall?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The gentleman over the way?" said Oliver.
-"Yes, I see him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll do," said the Dodger.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A prime plant," observed Master Charley Bates.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver looked from one to the other with
-surprise, but he was not permitted to make any
-inquiries; for the two boys walked stealthily
-across the road, and slunk close behind the old
-gentleman. Oliver walked a few paces after
-them, and, not knowing whether to advance or
-retire, stood looking on in silent amazement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The gentleman was a very respectable-looking
-person who had taken up a book from the stall
-and was reading away as hard as if he were in
-his own study.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What was Oliver's horror and alarm as he
-stood a few paces off, looking on with his
-eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to
-see the Dodger plunge his hand into the gentleman's
-pocket, and draw from thence a handkerchief;
-to see him hand the same to Charley
-Bates; and finally to behold them both running
-away round the corner at full speed!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver saw in a flash that they were
-pickpockets, and that he would be classed among
-them! He turned to run—the worst possible
-thing to do—for just then the gentleman missed
-his handkerchief and glanced around in time to
-see Oliver scudding away for dear life; and
-shouting "Stop thief!" made off after him,
-book in hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was not alone in the cry, for Bates and
-Dawkins, willing to divert attention from
-themselves, also shouted "Stop thief!" and joined
-in the pursuit like good citizens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop thief! Stop thief!" There is a magic
-in the sound. The tradesman leaves his counter,
-and the carman his wagon; the butcher throws
-down his tray; the baker his basket; the
-milkman his pail; the errand-boy his parcels; the
-school-boy his marbles. Away they run, pell-mell,
-helter-skelter, slap-dash, tearing, yelling,
-screaming and knocking down the passengers
-as they turn the corners.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop thief! Stop thief!" The cry is taken
-up by a hundred voices, and the crowd
-accumulates at every turning. Away they fly,
-splashing through the mud and rattling along the
-pavements. Up go the windows, out run the
-people, and lend fresh vigor to the cry, "Stop
-thief! Stop thief!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Stopped at last! A well-aimed blow laid
-Oliver upon the pavement. Then a policeman
-seized him by the collar and he was hustled off
-for trial before a magistrate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The magistrate was a surly boor who was
-in the habit of committing prisoners to jail
-with the merest pretence of a trial. It did not
-take him long to decide that Oliver was a
-hardened criminal, in spite of the protests of
-the kindly old gentleman whose pocket had
-been picked; and the boy was, in fact, being
-carried away in a fainting condition, when the
-bookseller whose shop had been the scene of
-action and who had witnessed the whole thing,
-rushed in and declared Oliver's innocence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The poor child was thereupon released; and
-the old gentleman—Mr. Brownlow by name—was
-so sorry for him, and so taken by his frank
-face, that he took him to his own home and
-nursed him through a severe illness, the result
-of all his early privations and recent trouble.
-Mr. Brownlow even thought of adopting him,
-and, as soon as he was well enough, let him
-have books to read out of his own well-stocked
-library, greatly to the eager Oliver's
-delight.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-94">
-<span id="sikes-had-him-by-the-collar"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="SIKES HAD HIM BY THE COLLAR." src="images/img-026.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">SIKES HAD HIM BY THE COLLAR.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It did indeed seem as though the sky had
-cleared for the boy, but instead still darker
-days were threatening. Fagin the Jew heard of
-Oliver's escape with fear and anger. He knew
-that it would never do for the boy to tell what
-he knew about the thieves' den. Their one
-chance of safety lay in seizing him again and
-making him a thief like themselves, so that his
-mouth would be closed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Fagin called to his aid a burglar, a big,
-brutal fellow named Bill Sikes, who always went
-around with a knotted stick and a surly dog.
-Nancy, a poor girl of the streets, was also put
-upon the search, and soon their united efforts
-were successful.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One day after Oliver had begun to grow
-strong, he was sent by Mr. Brownlow on an
-errand to a bookshop. He was well dressed in
-a new suit, and had some books and a
-five-pound note of Mr. Brownlow's. It was not far,
-but he accidentally turned down a by-street that
-was not exactly in his way. He started to turn
-back, when he heard a girl's voice screaming,
-"Oh, my dear brother!" And he had hardly
-looked up to see what the matter was, when he
-was stopped by having a pair of arms thrown
-tight around his neck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go
-of me! Who is it? What are you stopping
-me for?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The only reply to this was a great number of
-loud lamentations from the young woman who
-had embraced him, and who had a little basket
-and a large key in her hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my gracious!" said the young woman,
-"I've found him! Oh, Oliver! Oliver! Oh, you
-naughty boy, to make me suffer sich distress on
-your account! Come home, dear, come! Oh,
-I've found him! Thank gracious goodness
-heavins, I've found him!" With these
-exclamations the young woman burst into another
-fit of crying.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, ma'am?" inquired a woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ma'am," replied the girl, "he ran
-away, near a month ago, from his parents,
-who are hard-working and respectable people,
-and went and joined a set of thieves and
-bad characters, and almost broke his mother's
-heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Young wretch!" said the woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed.
-"I don't know her. I haven't any sister, or
-father and mother either. I'm an orphan; I
-live at Pentonville."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out!"
-cried the young woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it's Nancy!" exclaimed Oliver, who
-had known her at the Jew's, and now saw her
-face for the first time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see he knows me!" cried Nancy,
-appealing to the bystanders. "He can't help
-himself. Make him come home, there's good
-people, or he'll kill his dear mother and father,
-and break my heart!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting
-out of a beer-shop, with a white dog at his
-heels; "young Oliver! Come home to your
-poor mother, you young dog! Come home,
-directly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't belong to them. I don't know
-them. Help! help!" cried Oliver, struggling
-in the man's powerful grasp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes; I'll
-help you, you young rascal! What books are
-these? You've been a stealing 'em, have you?
-Give 'em here." With these words, the man
-tore the volumes from his grasp and struck him
-on the head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right!" cried a looker-on from a
-garret window. "That's the only way of
-bringing him to his senses!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure!" cried a sleepy-faced carpenter,
-casting an approving look at the garret
-window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll do him good!" said the woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And he shall have it, too!" rejoined the
-man, administering another blow, and seizing
-Oliver by the collar. "Come on, you young
-villain! Here, Bull's-eye, mind him, boy! Mind
-him!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Weak from his recent illness and with no
-one in the idle crowd to befriend him, poor
-Oliver could only suffer himself to be led away
-sobbing. Bill Sikes saw his advantage, and
-pushed him rapidly down the street. Then,
-turning to Oliver, he commanded him to take
-hold of Nancy's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you hear?" growled Sikes, as Oliver
-hesitated, and looked round.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were in a dark corner, quite out of
-the track of passengers. Oliver saw, but too
-plainly, that resistance would be of no avail.
-He held out his hand, which Nancy clasped
-tight in hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me the other," said Sikes. "Here,
-Bull's-eye!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dog looked up and growled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, boy!" said Sikes, putting his
-other hand to Oliver's throat; "if he speaks
-ever so soft a word, hold him! D'ye mind?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dog growled again, and, licking his
-lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious to attach
-himself to his windpipe without delay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And in this fashion Oliver saw with unspeakable
-horror that he was being taken back to the
-Jew. What would the trusting Mr. Brownlow
-think of him? What, indeed! The hot tears
-blinded Oliver's eyes at the bare thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently they arrived before the house but
-found it perfectly dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have a glim," said Sikes, "or we shall
-go breaking our necks, or treading on the dog.
-Look after your legs if you do! That's all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one,"
-replied a voice. The footsteps of the speaker
-were heard, and in another minute the form of
-Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the Artful Dodger,
-appeared. He bore in his right hand a tallow
-candle stuck in the end of a cleft stick.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The young gentleman did not stop to bestow
-any other mark of recognition upon Oliver than
-a humorous grin; but, turning away, beckoned
-the visitors to follow him. As they entered the
-low, dingy room, they were received with a
-shout of laughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my wig, my wig!" cried Charley Bates;
-"here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin,
-look at him; Fagin, do look at him! I
-can't bear it; it is such a jolly game, I can't
-bear it! Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With this, Master Bates laid himself flat on
-the floor, and kicked convulsively for five
-minutes, in an ecstasy of joy. Then jumping to
-his feet, he snatched the cleft stick from the
-Dodger, and, advancing to Oliver, viewed him
-round and round, while the Jew, taking off his
-nightcap, made a great number of low bows to
-the bewildered boy. The Artful, meantime, who
-seldom gave way to merriment when it
-interfered with business, rifled Oliver's pockets
-thoroughly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at his togs, Fagin!" said Charley,
-putting the light so close to his new jacket as
-nearly to set him on fire. "Look at his
-togs,—superfine cloth, and the heavy-swell cut! Oh,
-my eye, what a game! And his books, too;
-nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Delighted to see you looking so well, my
-dear," said the Jew, bowing with mock humility.
-"The Artful shall give you another suit, my
-dear, for fear you should spoil that Sunday one.
-Why didn't you write, my dear, and say you
-were coming? We'd have got something warm
-for supper."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this Master Bates roared again so loud
-that Fagin himself relaxed, and even the
-Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth
-the five-pound note at that instant, it is
-doubtful whether the sally or the discovery awakened
-his merriment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo! what's that?" inquired Sikes,
-stepping forward as the Jew seized the note.
-"That's mine, Fagin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine,
-Bill, mine. You shall have the books."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They belong to Mr. Brownlow!" cried
-Oliver, wringing his hands. "Oh, pray send
-them back! He'll think I stole them!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy's right," replied Fagin, with a sly
-wink. "He </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> think you've stole them!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver saw by his look that all chance of
-rescue was gone, and shrieking wildly he made
-a dash for the door. But the dog arrested him
-with a fierce growl, while a blow laid him upon
-the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For several days Fagin kept him hid close,
-for fear of searching parties. Then, resolving
-to get the boy deeply into crime as soon as
-possible, he forced him to accompany Bill Sikes
-upon a house-breaking expedition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly, one raw evening they set
-forth—Oliver, Sikes, and another burglar, Toby
-Crackit—the ruffians threatening to shoot the
-boy if he so much as uttered one word. On
-account of his small size he was chosen to creep
-through a little window of the house which was
-to be robbed. The opening was about five feet
-from the ground, and so small that the inmates
-did not think it worth while to defend it
-securely. But it was large enough to admit a boy
-of Oliver's size, nevertheless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now listen, you young limb," whispered
-Sikes, drawing a dark-lantern from his pocket
-and throwing the glare full in Oliver's face:
-"I'm going to put you through there. Take
-this light and go softly up the steps straight
-afore you, and along the little hall to the street
-door. Unfasten it and let us in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, the burglar boosted Oliver up on
-his back, and put him through the window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see the stairs, don't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out
-"Yes." Sikes pointed the pistol at him, and
-advised him to take notice that he was within
-shot all the way. Nevertheless, the boy had
-firmly resolved that, whether he died in the
-attempt or not, he would make one effort to
-dart upstairs from the hall and alarm the family.
-Filled with this idea, he advanced at once, but
-stealthily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back!" suddenly cried Sikes aloud.
-"Back! back!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead
-stillness of the place, and by a loud cry which
-followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew
-not whether to advance or fly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The cry was repeated—a light appeared—a
-vision of two terrified half-dressed men at the
-top of the stairs swam before his eyes—a
-flash—a loud noise—a smoke—a crash somewhere,
-but where he knew not,—and he staggered back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sikes had disappeared for an instant; but he
-was up again and had him by the collar before
-the smoke had cleared away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He fired his own pistol after the men, who
-were already retreating, and dragged the boy up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes, as he
-drew him through the window. "Give me a
-shawl here. They've hit him. Quick! How
-the boy bleeds!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled
-with the noise of firearms, and the shouts of
-men, and the sensation of being carried over
-uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then, the
-noises grew confused in the distance. A cold
-deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart, and
-he saw or heard no more.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="oliver-makes-his-way-into-good-society"><span class="bold large">III. OLIVER MAKES HIS WAY INTO GOOD SOCIETY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Bill Sikes and Toby Crackit were so
-hard pressed that they were soon forced
-to leave Oliver lying in a ditch. The
-hue and cry passed him to one side, leaving
-him alone and unconscious through the long
-cold night. Morning drew on apace. The
-rain came down thick and fast, but Oliver felt
-it not as it beat against him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At length a low cry of pain broke the stillness;
-and uttering it, the boy awoke. His left
-arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy
-and useless at his side; and the bandage was
-saturated with blood. He was so weak that
-he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting
-posture. When he had at last done so, he
-looked feebly round for help, and groaned with
-agony. Trembling in every joint from cold and
-exhaustion, he made an effort to stand upright;
-but, shuddering from head to foot, fell prostrate
-on the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After a short return of the stupor in which
-he had been so long plunged, Oliver got upon
-his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was
-dizzy, and he staggered to and fro like a
-drunken man. But he kept up, nevertheless,
-and, with his head drooping languidly on his
-breast, went stumbling onward, he knew not
-whither.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The rain was falling heavily now, but the
-cold drops roused him like whiplashes. He
-pressed forward with the last ounce of his
-strength, feeling that if he stopped he must
-surely die, and by chance reached the same
-house of the attempted burglary. He knew
-the place at once, but his strength was at an
-end, and he sank exhausted on the little portico
-by the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The servants who presently opened the door
-were immensely surprised to find the wounded
-boy; and two of them were certain he was the
-same who had broken into the house. But in
-his pitiful condition they put him to bed and
-sent for a surgeon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A very kind-hearted lady, Mrs. Maylie, and
-her adopted niece Rose, lived here. They
-cared for Oliver tenderly; for, like his lost
-friend, Mr. Brownlow, they were greatly taken
-by his open face, and believed in him despite
-the strange story which he presently found
-strength to tell. With the aid of their friend
-the surgeon, they convinced the servants that
-a mistake had been made, and so Oliver was
-not taken to jail. Instead, he was received
-into this kindly home, and it really seemed
-that now his dark days were over at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver resumed the study of his beloved
-books, which he had begun with Mr. Brownlow.
-But he also spent much time in the open
-fields, and soon grew sturdy and strong, with
-the brown look of health in his face. Between
-him and Rose Maylie a tender affection sprang
-up. He was, in fact, her devoted knight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One beautiful evening, when the first shades
-of twilight were beginning to settle upon the
-earth, Oliver sat at his window, intent upon
-his books. He had been poring over them for
-some time; and, as the day had been
-uncommonly sultry, and he had exerted himself a
-great deal, by slow degrees he fell asleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us
-sometimes, which, while it holds the body
-prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense
-of things about it, or enable it to ramble at
-its pleasure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver knew, perfectly well, that he was in
-his own little room; that his books were lying
-on the table before him; that the sweet air was
-stirring among the creeping plants outside.
-And yet he was asleep. Suddenly, the scene
-changed; the air became close and confined;
-and he thought, with a glow of terror, that he
-was in the Jew's house again. There sat the
-hideous old man, in his accustomed corner,
-pointing at him, and whispering to another
-man, with his face averted, who sat beside him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, my dear!" he thought he heard the
-Jew say; "it is he, sure enough. Come away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He!" the other man seemed to answer;
-"could I mistake him, think you? If a crowd
-of ghosts were to put themselves into his exact
-shape, and he stood among them, there is
-something that would tell me how to point him out!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man seemed to say this with such dreadful
-hatred, that Oliver awoke with the fear and
-started up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Good Heaven! what was that which sent
-the blood tingling to his heart, and deprived
-him of his voice and of power to move!
-There—there—at the window—close before
-him—so close that he could have almost touched
-him before he started back—with his eyes
-peering into the room, and meeting his—there stood
-the Jew! And beside him were the scowling
-features of a dark man whom Oliver had seen
-only once, but had instinctively learned to fear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was but an instant, a glance, a flash, before
-his eyes, and they were gone. But they had
-recognized him, and he them. He knew they
-were once again lying in wait to seize him,
-and that his days of peace and happiness were
-numbered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Voice and motion came back to him with the
-fear; and leaping from the window he called
-loudly for help.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, no trace of Fagin or the
-stranger could be found, though the search
-was pursued with haste; and Oliver's friends
-were forced to believe that it had been only a
-feverish dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Oliver had not been mistaken. The two
-figures at the window were really Fagin and a
-man named Monks, who for some mysterious
-reason had been the boy's most vindictive
-enemy. It was he who had found Oliver again
-and reported the fact to Fagin; and together
-they laid cunning plans to get him once more
-into their clutches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this critical moment in Oliver's welfare,
-an unexpected friend to him appeared in the
-person of Nancy, the street-girl. She had
-bitterly repented her share in kidnapping him
-from Mr. Brownlow, and now longed for a
-chance to do him some service. The chance
-offered, when she happened to overhear the
-interview between Monks and the Jew. She
-could not understand all she heard, but she
-realized that the boy was in great danger unless
-she acted at once.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Hastening to the home of Rose Maylie,
-Nancy contrived to see her alone and repeated
-word for word the conversation she had
-overheard. From the dark threats of this man
-Monks, it seemed that Oliver's very life
-was in danger, because of some secret
-connected with his birth. Nancy knew that it
-meant her own death also if her visit to Miss
-Maylie became known, but she could not
-remain silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Maylie listened to her story with horror
-and amazement. She realized that something
-must be done quickly, but did not know to
-whom to turn. In her perplexity Oliver made
-a discovery of great value to both of them. On
-the very day of Nancy's hurried visit and no
-less hurried departure he came running in, his
-eyes all aglow with excitement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have seen him!" he exclaimed excitedly;
-"I knew that if I kept on looking, I should find
-him again, one day! I mean the gentleman
-who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" asked Rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Getting out of a coach," replied Oliver.
-"I didn't have the chance to speak to him, but
-I took the number of the house he went into.
-Here it is." And he flourished a scrap of
-paper delightedly. "Oh, let us go there at once!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Rose read the address eagerly, and decided
-to put the discovery to account. Not alone
-would Oliver be gratified, but Mr. Brownlow
-might be the very friend they needed at this
-momentous time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick!" she said; "tell them to fetch a
-hackney-coach, and be ready to go with me. I
-will take you there directly, without a minute's
-loss of time. I will only tell my aunt that we
-are going out for an hour, and be ready as soon
-as you are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oliver needed no prompting to hasten, and
-in little more than five minutes they were on
-their way. When they arrived at the address
-noted, Rose left Oliver in the coach, under
-pretence of preparing his friend to receive
-him; and sending up her card by the servant,
-requested to see Mr. Brownlow on very pressing
-business. The servant soon returned, to
-beg that she would walk upstairs; and following
-him into an upper room, Miss Maylie was
-presented to an elderly gentleman of benevolent
-appearance, in a bottle-green coat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me," said the gentleman, hastily
-rising, with great politeness, "I beg your pardon,
-young lady—-I imagined it was some importunate
-person who—I beg you will excuse me.
-Be seated, pray."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?" said Rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is my name."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall surprise you very much, I have no
-doubt," said Rose, naturally embarrassed; "but
-you once showed great kindness to a very dear
-young friend of mine, and I am sure you will
-take an interest in hearing of him again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed!" said Mr. Brownlow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oliver Twist, as you knew him," said Rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Brownlow was naturally surprised, but
-said nothing for a few moments. Then looking
-straight into her eyes, he remarked quietly
-but earnestly, "Believe me, my dear young
-lady, if you can tell me good news of that
-child, or lift the shadow which rests upon
-his name, you will be doing me the greatest
-service."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Rose at once related in a few words all that
-had befallen Oliver since leaving Mr. Brownlow's
-house; how he had searched for him but
-had only seen him that very day; and finally of
-the new danger which threatened the boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>You may believe that Mr. Brownlow sat very
-straight, upon the extreme edge of his chair,
-during the latter part of this recital.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The poor lad!" he exclaimed; "but why
-have you not brought him with you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wished to talk with you alone about this
-plot. He does not know of it. But"—smilingly—"I
-believe he is now waiting in the
-coach at the door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At this door?" cried Mr. Brownlow. And
-without another word he rushed from the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In less than a minute he was back again,
-lugging Oliver in bodily and both laughing—yes,
-and shedding tears—at the same time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then after the jolliest of visits, Rose and
-Oliver took their leave for the present; but not
-before Mr. Brownlow had told Rose privately
-that he would turn his whole attention to the
-new conspiracy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nancy had promised to meet Rose on London
-Bridge, a few nights later, and Mr. Brownlow
-determined to be there also. In the meantime
-he made other plans for capturing the rogues.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-end-of-evil-days"><span class="bold large">IV. THE END OF EVIL DAYS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Now, unbeknown to Nancy, Fagin the
-Jew had become suspicious of her,
-and had set a spy upon her heels.
-This spy was none other than Noah Claypole,
-the undertaker's apprentice, whom Oliver had
-so soundly thrashed. Noah had lately come to
-London to try his fortune in any underhand
-way that might arise. The Jew was always on
-the lookout for just such fellows as he. So
-they soon struck a bargain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the night when Nancy set forth to keep
-her appointment on the Bridge, Noah was kept
-busy darting from pillar to post, but all the
-time keeping her in sight. When she met
-Rose and Mr. Brownlow, the spy quickly slunk
-behind an abutment where he could hear every
-word of what she said. And you may be sure
-he lost no time in taking his story back to the Jew.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Bill Sikes had just returned, in the early
-morning, from a house-breaking jaunt, and was
-as usual in an ugly mood. A word from the
-Jew about Nancy's defection set his brain on
-fire with hatred against the girl. He hastened
-to her room, and, disregarding all her appeals
-for mercy, struck her lifeless to the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This murder proved the beginning of the end
-for all the gang. Mr. Brownlow had already
-set the police to work, and now offered a large
-personal reward for Sikes's arrest. The
-murderer was tracked in and about the city for
-several days, until he finally hung himself in
-endeavoring to escape from the roof of a house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fagin the Jew was captured at last, and for
-his share in this crime, and his other
-wickednesses was condemned to death. A great
-popular clamor had been aroused against him,
-and he was to be hung without delay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the hope that the Jew would throw some
-light upon Monks and some secret papers which
-Mr. Brownlow had traced, that gentleman took
-Oliver with him to the prison to see Fagin on
-his last night upon earth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the young gentleman to come, too, sir?"
-said the man whose duty it was to conduct
-them. "It's not a sight for children, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not indeed, my friend,", rejoined
-Mr. Brownlow; "but my business with this
-man is intimately connected with him; and as
-this child has seen him in the full career of his
-success and villany, I think it well—even at
-the cost of some pain and fear—that he should
-see him now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>These few words had been said apart, so as
-to be inaudible to Oliver. The man touched
-his hat; and glancing at Oliver with some
-curiosity, opened another gate, opposite to that
-by which they had entered, and led them on,
-through dark and winding ways, to the cell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The condemned criminal was seated on his
-bed, rocking himself from side to side, with a
-countenance more like that of a snared beast
-than the face of a man. His mind was
-evidently wandering to his old life, for he
-continued to mutter, without appearing conscious
-of their presence otherwise than as a part of his
-vision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good boy, Charley—well done!"—he
-mumbled. "Oliver too, ha! ha! ha! Oliver
-too—quite the gentleman now—quite
-the—take that boy away to bed!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The jailer took the disengaged hand of
-Oliver, and, whispering to him not to be
-alarmed, looked on without speaking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him away to bed!" cried the Jew.
-"Do you hear me, some of you? He has been
-the—the—somehow the cause of all this!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fagin," said the jailer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's me!" cried the Jew, falling, instantly,
-into the attitude of listening he had
-assumed upon his trial. "An old man, my
-Lord; a very old, old man!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand
-upon his breast to keep him down. "Here's
-somebody wants to see you, to ask you some
-questions, I suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you
-a man?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I sha'n't be one long," replied the Jew,
-looking up with a face retaining no human
-expression but rage and terror. "Strike them
-all dead! What right have they to butcher me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and
-Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to the farthest
-corner of the seat, he demanded to know what
-they wanted there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Steady," said the turnkey, still holding him
-down. "Now, sir, tell him what you want—quick
-if you please, for he grows worse as the
-time gets on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have some papers," said Mr. Brownlow,
-advancing, "which were placed in your
-hands, for better security, by a man called
-Monks."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all a lie together," replied the Jew.
-"I haven't one—not one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow,
-solemnly, "do not tell a lie now, upon the
-very verge of death; but tell me where they
-are. You know that Sikes is dead; and that
-there is no hope of any farther gain. Where
-are those papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oliver," cried the Jew, beckoning to him.
-"Here, here! Let me whisper to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid," said Oliver, in a firm
-voice, as he relinquished Mr. Brownlow's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers," said the Jew, drawing him
-towards him, "are in a canvas bag, in a hole a
-little way up the chimney in the top front room.
-I want to talk to you, my dear. I want to talk
-to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," returned Oliver. "Let me say
-a prayer. Do! Let me say one prayer. Say
-only one, upon your knees, with me, and we
-will talk till morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Outside, outside," replied the Jew, pushing
-the boy before him towards the door, and
-looking vacantly over his head. "Say I've gone to
-sleep—they'll believe </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. You can get me
-out, if you take me so. Now then, now then!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! God forgive this wretched man!" cried
-the boy, with a burst of tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right, that's right," said the Jew.
-"That'll help us on. This door first. If I
-shake and tremble, as we pass the gallows,
-don't you mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?"
-inquired the turnkey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow.
-"If I hoped we could recall him to a sense of
-his position—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man,
-shaking his head. "You had better leave him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door of the cell opened and the attendants
-returned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Press on, press on," cried the Jew. "Softly,
-but not so slow. Faster, faster!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging
-Oliver from his grasp, held him back. He
-struggled with the power of desperation for an
-instant, and then sent up cry upon cry that
-penetrated even those massive walls and rang
-in their ears until they reached the open yard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And this—thought Oliver shudderingly—was
-the last of the Jew—the man from whose
-clutches he had so narrowly escaped!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Noah Claypole turned state's evidence at this
-time, and thus escaped the law. Dawkins, the
-Artful Dodger, had been caught picking pockets
-and was transported from the country. Charley
-Bates was so unnerved by the fate of Nancy,
-and the swift punishment of his companions,
-that he reformed and became an honest,
-hard-working young man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And, finally, what of Monks? He was
-shadowed and seized by Mr. Brownlow's agents,
-and proved to be none other than the
-half-brother of Oliver Twist! Their father was
-dead, but he had left a will providing for the
-boy also. And it was on this account that
-Monks had wished to get him out of the way
-and had employed Fagin in trying to ruin the lad.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The papers were found, as the Jew had
-indicated, and they not only cleared up Oliver's
-past history, but proved his right to a share in
-a considerable family estate. Mr. Brownlow
-had known Monks's father in their early days,
-and now used this knowledge to wring a full
-confession from the villain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Another strange secret came to light also,
-at this time. Rose Maylie was found to be a
-younger sister of Oliver's dead mother, and
-therefore the boy's own aunt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not aunt!" cried Oliver, when he heard
-this amazing but delightful news; "I'll never
-call her aunt! Sister, my own dear sister, that
-something taught my heart to love so dearly
-from the first! Rose, dear darling Rose!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the two orphans, no longer alone but
-united and surrounded by loving friends, were
-clasped in each other's arms.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="how-nicholas-nickleby-came-to-dotheboys-hall"><span id="the-story-of-smike-and-his-teacher"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF SMIKE AND HIS TEACHER</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. HOW NICHOLAS NICKLEBY CAME TO DOTHEBOYS HALL</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Education.—At Mr. Wackford
-Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys Hall,
-at the delightful village of Dotheboys,
-near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, Youth are
-boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with
-pocket-money, provided with all necessaries,
-instructed in all languages living and dead,
-mathematics, orthography, geometry,
-astronomy, trigonometry, the use of the globes,
-algebra, single stick (if required), writing,
-arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch
-of classical literature. Terms, twenty guineas
-per annum. No extras, no vacations, and diet
-unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and
-attends daily, from one till four, at the
-Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B. An able
-assistant wanted. Annual salary £5. A Master
-of Arts would be preferred."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To Nicholas Nickleby, a young man of
-nineteen, who had come to London seeking his
-fortune, this advertisement in a daily paper
-seemed a godsend—that is, provided he could
-secure the position referred to in the last two
-lines. It is true the salary was not large; but
-he reflected that his board and living would be
-included, and that a young man of his education
-and ability would be bound to rise. He even
-fancied himself, in a rosy-colored future, at the
-head of this model school, Dotheboys Hall, in
-the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta
-Bridge, in Yorkshire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But it would not do to sit dreaming. Some
-one else might snap up this golden opportunity.
-Nicholas brushed his clothes carefully and lost
-no time in calling upon Mr. Squeers, at the
-tavern called the Saracen's Head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing.
-He had but one eye which, while
-it was unquestionably useful, was decidedly
-not ornamental, being of a greenish gray and
-in shape resembling the fan-light of a
-street-door. The blank side of his face was much
-wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a
-very sinister appearance, especially when he
-smiled, at which times his expression bordered
-closely on the villanous. He was about two or
-three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle
-size; and he wore a white neckerchief with
-long ends, and a suit of scholastic black.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Squeers was standing in a box by one of
-the coffee-room fireplaces, fitted with one such
-table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms. In a
-corner of the seat was a very small deal trunk,
-tied round with a scanty piece of cord; and on
-the trunk was perched—his lace-up half-boots
-and corduroy trousers dangling in the air—a
-diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up
-to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees,
-who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from
-time to time, with evident dread. Presently
-the boy chanced to give a violent sneeze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo, sir!" growled the schoolmaster,
-turning round. "What's that, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, please, sir," replied the little boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, I sneezed," rejoined the boy,
-trembling till the little trunk shook under him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! sneezed, did you?" retorted Mr. Squeers.
-"Then what did you say 'nothing'
-for, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In default of a better answer to this question,
-the little boy screwed a couple of knuckles into
-each of his eyes and began to cry; wherefore
-Mr. Squeers knocked him off the trunk with a
-blow on one side of his face, and knocked him
-on again with a blow on the other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till I get you down to Yorkshire, my
-young gentleman," said Mr. Squeers, "and then
-I'll give you the rest. Will you hold that
-noise, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-ye-yes," sobbed the little boy, rubbing
-his face very hard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do so at once, sir," said Squeers.
-"Do you hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The little boy rubbed his face harder, as if
-to keep the tears back; and, beyond alternately
-sniffing and choking, gave no farther vent to
-his emotions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Squeers," said the waiter, looking in
-at this juncture, "here's a gentleman asking
-for you at the bar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Show the gentleman in, Richard," replied
-Mr. Squeers, in a soft voice. "Put your
-handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these
-words in a fierce whisper, when the stranger
-entered. Affecting not to see him,
-Mr. Squeers feigned to be intent upon mending a
-pen, and offering benevolent advice to his
-youthful pupil.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child," said Mr. Squeers, "all
-people have their trials. This early trial of
-yours that is fit to make your little heart burst
-and your very eyes come out of your head with
-crying, what is it? Nothing; less than
-nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you
-will have a father in me, my dear, and a mother
-in Mrs. Squeers. At the delightful village of
-Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,
-where youth are boarded, clothed, booked,
-washed, furnished with pocket-money, provided
-with all necessaries—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Squeers, I believe," said Nicholas
-Nickleby, as that worthy man stopped to cough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The same, sir. What can I do for you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I came in answer to an advertisement in
-this morning's paper," said Nicholas. "I
-believe you desire an assistant."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, sir," rejoined Mr. Squeers, coolly;
-"but if you are applying for the place, don't
-you think you're too young?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope not, sir, and I have a fair education.
-I could—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Could what?" interrupted the schoolmaster.
-"Could you lick the boys if they needed it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not usually believe in that sort of
-punishment—" hesitated Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you do it?" urged Mr. Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think—if they needed it—I could lick
-anybody in your school," smiled Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, why didn't you say so? I guess I
-had better take you. I've got to leave town at
-eight o'clock to-morrow morning, and haven't
-time to look around. So be on hand sharp!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas thanked him and promised to be on hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next day he was as good as his word,
-and reached the tavern a little in advance of
-the appointed hour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found Mr. Squeers sitting at breakfast,
-with the little boy before noticed, and four
-others who had turned up by some lucky chance
-since the interview of the previous day, ranged
-in a row on the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers
-had before him a small measure of coffee, a
-plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef;
-but he was at that moment intent on preparing
-breakfast for the little boys.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?"
-said he, looking down into a large blue mug,
-and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate
-view of the quantity of liquid contained in it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's twopenn'orth, sir," replied the waiter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in
-London!" said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh.
-"Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water,
-William, will you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the wery top, sir?" inquired the waiter.
-"Why, the milk will be drownded."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers.
-"Serve it right for being so dear! You ordered
-that thick bread and butter for three, did you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Coming directly, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't hurry yourself," said Squeers;
-"there's plenty of time. Conquer your
-passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles." As
-he uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers
-took a large bite out of the cold beef, and
-recognized Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers.
-"Here we are, a breakfasting, you see!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas did not see that anybody was breakfasting
-except Mr. Squeers; but he bowed with
-all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful
-as he could.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! that's the milk and water, is it,
-William?" said Squeers. "Very good; don't
-forget the bread and butter presently."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this fresh mention of the bread and
-butter the five little boys looked very eager, and
-followed the waiter out with their eyes;
-meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his
-lips, "here's richness! Think of the many
-beggars and orphans in the streets that would
-be glad of this, little boys. A shocking thing
-hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very shocking, sir," said Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers,
-putting the mug before the children,
-"the boy on the left hand nearest the window
-may take a drink; and when I say number two,
-the boy next him will go in, and so till we
-come to number five, which is the last boy.
-Are you ready?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," cried all the little boys with
-great eagerness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," said Squeers, calmly getting
-on with his breakfast; "keep ready till I tell
-you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my
-dears, and you've conquered human natur.
-This is the way we inculcate strength of mind,
-Mr. Nickleby," said the schoolmaster, turning
-to Nicholas, and speaking with his mouth very
-full of beef and toast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas murmured something—he knew
-not what—in reply; and the little boys,
-dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and
-butter (which had by this time arrived), and
-every morsel which Mr. Squeers took into his
-mouth, remained with strained eyes in
-torments of expectation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God for a good breakfast," said
-Squeers when he had finished. "Number one
-may take a drink."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Number one seized the mug ravenously, and
-had just drunk enough to make him wish for
-more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for
-number two, who gave up at the same interesting
-moment to number three; and the process
-was repeated until the milk and water
-terminated with number five.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing
-the bread and butter for three into as many
-portions as there were children, "you had
-better look sharp with your breakfast, for the
-horn will blow in a minute or two, and then
-every boy leaves off."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Permission being thus given to fall to, the
-boys began to eat voraciously and in desperate
-haste; while the schoolmaster (who was in high
-good-humor after his meal) picked his teeth
-with a fork, and looked smilingly on. In a
-very short time the horn was heard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it wouldn't be long," said Squeers,
-jumping up and producing a little basket from
-under the seat; "put what you haven't had
-time to eat in here, boys! You'll want it on
-the road!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas was considerably startled by these
-very economical arrangements; but he had no
-time to reflect upon them, for the little boys had
-to be got up to the top of the coach, and this
-task was in his department. But soon they
-were all stowed away, and the coach started off
-with a flourish.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The journey proved long and hard, however.
-They were detained several times by the bad
-roads and inclement weather, so that it was
-not until nightfall of the second day that they
-reached their destination.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jump out," said Squeers. "Hallo there! come
-and put this horse up. Be quick, will you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>While the schoolmaster was uttering these
-and other impatient cries, Nicholas had time
-to observe that the school was a long, cold-looking
-house, one story high, with a few straggling
-outbuildings behind, and a barn and stable
-adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two,
-the noise of somebody unlocking the yard-gate
-was heard, and presently a tall, lean boy, with
-a lantern in his hand, issued forth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, Smike?" cried Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," replied the boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why the devil didn't you come before?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire,"
-answered Smike, with humility.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?"
-demanded the schoolmaster, sharply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Only in the kitchen, sir," replied the boy.
-"Missus said, as I was sitting up, I might go
-in there for a warm."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Missus is a fool," retorted Squeers.
-"You'd have been a deuced deal more wakeful
-in the cold, I'll engage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By this time Mr. Squeers had dismounted;
-and after ordering the boy to see to the pony,
-and to take care that he hadn't any more corn
-that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front
-door a minute while he went round and let him in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had
-been crowding upon Nicholas during the whole
-journey, thronged into his mind with redoubled
-force when he was left alone. And as he
-looked up at the dreary house and dark
-windows, and upon the wild country round, covered
-with snow, he felt a depression of heart and
-spirit which he had never experienced before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he was ushered into a cheerless-looking
-parlor where stood a large, angular
-woman about half a head taller than Mr. Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the new young man, my dear," said
-that gentleman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," replied Mrs. Squeers, nodding her
-head at Nicholas, and eyeing him coldly from
-top to toe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll take a meal with us to-night," said
-Squeers, "and go among the boys to-morrow
-morning. You can give him a shakedown
-here, to-night, can't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We must manage it somehow," replied the
-lady. "You don't much mind how you sleep,
-I suppose, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed," replied Nicholas, "I am not
-particular."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's lucky," said Mrs. Squeers. And as
-the lady's humor was considered to lie chiefly
-in retort, Mr. Squeers laughed heartily, and
-seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the
-same.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After some conversation between the master
-and mistress relative to the success of
-Mr. Squeers's trip, and the people who had paid,
-and the people who had made default in
-payment, a young servant girl brought in a
-Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which being set
-upon the table, the boy Smike appeared with a
-jug of ale.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Squeers was emptying his great-coat
-pockets of letters to different boys, and other
-small documents, which he had brought down
-in them. The boy glanced, with an anxious
-and timid expression, at the papers, as if with
-a sickly hope that one among them might relate
-to him. The look was a very painful one, and
-went to Nicholas's heart at once, for it told a
-long and very sad history.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It induced him to consider the boy more
-attentively, and he was surprised to observe
-the extraordinary mixture of garments which
-formed his dress. Although he could not have
-been less than eighteen or nineteen years old,
-and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton
-suit, such as is usually put upon very little
-boys, and which, though most absurdly short
-in the arms and legs, was quite wide enough
-for his thin body. In order that the lower part
-of his legs might be in perfect keeping with
-this singular dress, he had a very large pair of
-boots, originally made for tops, which might
-have been once worn by some stout farmer, but
-were now too patched and tattered for a beggar.
-He was lame; and as he feigned to be busy in
-arranging the table, he glanced at the letters
-with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and
-hopeless, that Nicholas could hardly bear to
-watch him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you bothering about there,
-Smike?" cried Mrs. Squeers; "let the things
-alone, can't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh!" said Squeers, looking up. "Oh! it's
-you, is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," replied the youth, pressing his
-hands together, as though to control, by force,
-the nervous wandering of his fingers; "Is
-there—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you—did anybody—has nothing
-been heard—about me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Devil a bit," replied Squeers, testily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his
-hand to his face, moved towards the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word," resumed Squeers, "and never
-will be. Now, this is a pretty sort of thing,
-isn't it, that you should have been left here
-all these years, and no money paid after the
-first six—nor no notice taken, nor no clue to
-be got who you belong to? It's a pretty sort
-of thing that I should have to feed a great
-fellow like you, and never hope to get one
-penny for it, isn't it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The boy put his hand to his head as if he
-were making an effort to recollect something,
-and then, looking vacantly at his questioner,
-gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you what, Squeers," remarked his
-wife, as the door closed, "I think that young
-chap's turning silly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope not," said the schoolmaster; "for
-he's a handy fellow out-of-doors, and worth his
-meat and drink anyway. I should think he'd
-have wit enough for us, though, if he was."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Supper being over, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully
-and was of opinion that it was high time
-to go to bed. Upon this, Mrs. Squeers and a
-servant dragged in a small straw mattress and
-a couple of blankets, and arranged them into a
-couch for Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll put you into a regular bedroom with
-the boys to-morrow, Nickleby," said Squeers.
-"Good-night. Seven o'clock, in the morning,
-mind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning, when Nicholas appeared
-in the main room, he found Mrs. Squeers very
-much distressed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't find the school spoon," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind it, my dear," observed Squeers
-in a soothing manner; "it's of no consequence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No consequence! why, how you talk!"
-retorted Mrs. Squeers, sharply; "isn't it
-brimstone morning?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers; "yes,
-it certainly is. We purify the boys' bloods now
-and then, Nickleby."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Purify fiddlesticks' ends!" said his lady.
-"Don't think, young man, that we go to the
-expense of brimstone and molasses, just to
-purify them; because if you think we carry on
-the business in that way, you'll find yourself
-mistaken, and so I tell you plainly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear," said Squeers, frowning. "Hem!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! nonsense," rejoined Mrs. Squeers.
-"If the young man comes to be a teacher here,
-let him understand, at once, that we don't want
-any foolery about the boys. They have the
-brimstone and treacle, partly because if they
-hadn't something or other in the way of medicine
-they'd be always ailing and giving a world
-of trouble, and partly because it spoils their
-appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and
-dinner. So it does them good and us good at the
-same time, and that's fair enough, I'm sure."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A vast deal of searching and rummaging
-ensued, and it proving fruitless, Smike was
-called in, and pushed by Mrs. Squeers and
-boxed by Mr. Squeers; which course of
-treatment brightening his intellects, enabled him
-to suggest that possibly Mrs. Squeers might
-have the spoon in her pocket—as indeed
-turned out to be the case. But as Mrs. Squeers
-had previously protested that she was
-quite certain she had not got it, Smike received
-another box on the ear for presuming to contradict
-his mistress; so that he gained nothing of
-advantage by his idea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But come," said Squeers, "let's go to the
-schoolroom; and lend me a hand with my
-school-coat, will you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old
-shooting-jacket; and Squeers, arming himself
-with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a
-door in the rear of the house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said the schoolmaster, as they
-stepped in together; "this is our shop,
-Nickleby!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was such a crowded scene, and there were
-so many objects to attract attention, that, at
-first, Nicholas stared about him, really without
-seeing anything at all. By degrees, however,
-the place resolved itself into a bare and dirty
-room, with a couple of windows, stopped up
-with old copybooks and paper. There were
-two rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked
-in every possible way; two or three forms; a
-detached desk for Squeers, and another for his
-assistant. The ceiling was supported, like that
-of a barn, by crossbeams and rafters, and the
-walls were so stained and discolored that it
-was impossible to tell whether they had ever
-been touched with paint or whitewash.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the pupils! How the last faint traces
-of hope, the remotest glimmering of any good
-to be derived from his efforts in this den, faded
-from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in
-dismay around! Pale and haggard faces, lank and
-bony figures, children with the countenances
-of old men, boys of stunted growth, and others
-whose long, meagre legs would hardly bear
-their stooping bodies, all crowded on the view
-together.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-95">
-<span id="nicholas-and-smike"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="NICHOLAS AND SMIKE." src="images/img-074.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">NICHOLAS AND SMIKE.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its
-grotesque features. Mrs. Squeers stood at one
-of the desks, presiding over an immense basin
-of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious
-compound she administered a large instalment
-to each boy in succession, using for the
-purpose a common wooden spoon, which might
-have been originally manufactured for some
-gigantic top, and which widened every young
-gentleman's mouth considerably; they being
-all obliged, under heavy penalties, to take in
-the whole of the bowl at a gulp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a
-great rap with his cane which made half the
-little boys nearly jump out of their boots, "is
-that physicking over?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the
-last boy in her hurry, and tapping the crown of
-his head with the wooden spoon to restore him.
-"Here, you Smike; take away now. Look sharp!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Smike shuffled out with the basin, and
-Mrs. Squeers having called up a little boy with a
-curly head and wiped her hands upon it,
-hurried out after him into a species of
-wash-house, where there was a small fire and a large
-kettle, together with a number of little wooden
-bowls which were arranged upon a board. Into
-these bowls Mrs. Squeers, assisted by the
-hungry servant, poured a brown composition,
-which looked like diluted pincushions without
-the covers, and was called porridge. A minute
-wedge of brown bread was inserted in each
-bowl, and when they had eaten their porridge
-by means of the bread, the boys ate the bread
-itself, and had finished their breakfast;
-whereupon Mr. Squeers said, in a solemn voice,
-"For what we have received, may the Lord
-make us truly thankful!"—and went away to
-his own.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas filled his stomach with a bowl of
-porridge, for much the same reason which
-induces some savages to swallow earth—lest
-they should be hungry when there is nothing
-to eat. Having disposed of a slice of bread
-and butter, allotted to him in virtue of his
-office, he sat himself down to wait for school-time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He could not but observe how silent and sad
-the boys all seemed to be. There was none of
-the noise and clamor of a schoolroom; none of
-its boisterous play or hearty mirth. The
-children sat crouching and shivering together,
-and seemed to lack the spirit to move about.
-The only pupil who seemed at all playful was
-Master Squeers, son of the master, and as his
-chief amusement was to tread upon the other
-boys' toes in his new boots, his flow of spirits
-was rather disagreeable than otherwise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After some half-hour's delay Mr. Squeers
-reappeared, and the boys took their places and
-their books, of which latter there might be
-about one to eight learners. A few minutes
-having elapsed, during which Mr. Squeers
-looked very profound, as if he had a perfect
-apprehension of what was inside all the books,
-and could say every word of their contents by
-heart if he only chose to take the trouble, that
-gentleman called up the first class.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Obedient to this summons there ranged
-themselves in front of the schoolmaster's desk
-half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees and
-elbows, one of whom placed a torn and filthy
-book beneath his learned eye.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the first class in English spelling
-and philosophy, Nickleby," said Squeers,
-beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "We'll
-get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you.
-Now, then, where's the first boy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlor
-window," said the temporary head of the class.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So he is, to be sure," rejoined Squeers.
-"We go upon the practical mode of
-teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system.
-C-l-e-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright,
-to scour. When the boy knows this out of
-book, he goes and does it. Second boy, what's
-a horse?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A beast, sir," replied the boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So it is," said Squeers, "and as you're perfect
-in that, go and look after </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> horse, and rub
-him down well, or I'll rub you down. The rest
-of the class go and draw water till somebody
-tells you to leave off, for it's washing-day
-to-morrow, and they want the coppers filled."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, he dismissed the first class to
-their experiments in practical philosophy, and
-eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning and
-half doubtful, as if he were not altogether
-certain what he might think of him by this time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the way we do it, Nickleby," he
-said, after a pause.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner
-that was scarcely perceptible, and said he saw
-it was.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And a very good way it is, too," said
-Squeers. "Now, just take them fourteen little
-boys and hear them some reading, because, you
-know, you must begin to be useful. Idling
-about here won't do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Squeers said this, as if it had suddenly
-occurred to him, either that he must not say
-too much to his assistant, or that his assistant
-did not say enough to him in praise of the
-establishment. The children were arranged in
-a semicircle round the new master, and he was
-soon listening to their dull, drawling recital of
-those stories of interest which are to be found
-in the spelling books.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In this exciting occupation the morning
-lagged heavily on. At one o'clock the boys,
-having previously had their appetites
-thoroughly taken away by stir-about and potatoes,
-sat down in the kitchen to some hard salt beef,
-of which Nicholas was graciously permitted to
-take his portion to his own solitary desk, to
-eat it there in peace. After this, there was
-another hour of crouching in the schoolroom
-and shivering with cold; and this was a fair
-sample of the school day at Dotheboys Hall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a small stove in the corner of the
-room, and by it Nicholas sat down, when the
-school was dismissed, so heavy-hearted that it
-seemed to him as though every bit of joy had
-gone out of the world. The cruelty and
-coarseness of Squeers were revolting, and yet
-Nicholas did not know how to resent it or
-which way to turn. He had cast his lot here,
-and here he must abide.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he was absorbed in these meditations, he
-all at once encountered the upturned face of
-Smike, who was on his knees before the stove,
-picking a few stray cinders from the hearth and
-planting them on the fire. He had paused to
-steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that
-he was observed, shrank back, as if expecting
-a blow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not fear me," said Nicholas,
-kindly. "Are you cold?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"N-n-o."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are shivering."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not cold," replied Smike, quickly.
-"I am used to it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was such an obvious fear of giving
-offence in his manner, and he was such a timid,
-broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could
-not help exclaiming, "Poor fellow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If he had struck the drudge, he would have
-slunk away without a word. But now he
-burst into tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" he cried, covering his
-face with his cracked and horny hands. "My
-heart will break. It will, it will!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said Nicholas, laying his hand
-upon his shoulder. "Be a man; you are nearly
-one by years, God help you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By years!" cried Smike. "Oh, dear, dear,
-how many of them! How many of them since
-I was a little child, younger than any that are
-here now! Where are they all?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Whom do you speak of?" inquired Nicholas,
-wishing to rouse the poor, half-witted creature
-to reason. "Tell me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My friends," he replied, "myself—my—oh! what
-sufferings mine have been!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is always hope," said Nicholas; he
-knew not what to say.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," rejoined the other, "no; none for
-me. Do you remember the boy that died here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was not here, you know," said Nicholas,
-gently; "but what of him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," replied the youth, drawing closer
-to his questioner's side, "I was with him at
-night, and when it was all silent he cried no
-more for friends he wished to come and sit with
-him, but began to see faces round his bed that
-came from home; he said they smiled, and
-talked to him; and he died at last lifting his
-head to kiss them. Do you hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," rejoined Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What faces will smile on me when I die!"
-cried his companion, shivering. "Who will
-talk to me in those long nights! They cannot
-come from home; they would frighten me, if
-they did, for I don't know what it is, and
-shouldn't know them. Pain and fear, pain
-and fear for me, alive or dead. No hope, no hope!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The bell rang to bed, and the boy, subsiding
-at the sound into his usual listless state, crept
-away as if anxious to avoid notice. It was
-with a heavy heart that Nicholas soon
-afterwards—no, not retired; there was no
-retirement there—followed to his dirty and crowded
-dormitory.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="how-smike-went-away-from-dotheboys-hall"><span class="bold large">II. HOW SMIKE WENT AWAY FROM DOTHEBOYS HALL</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Nicholas was of a naturally
-optimistic temper, however, and he lost
-as little time as possible brooding
-over his difficulties. Instead he began at once
-to try to make the school something more than
-a farce. He arranged a few regular lessons for
-the boys, and he treated the poor, half-starved
-pupils with such gentleness and sympathy that
-they passed from dumb amazement at the first
-to blind devotion. Indeed, there was not one
-of them who would not have lain down
-cheerfully and let him walk over his body; and the
-most devoted of them all was Smike.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas was the one ray of sunlight that
-had ever come into this wretched creature's
-life. And in return, Smike now followed him
-to and fro, with an ever restless desire to serve
-or help him; anticipating such little wants as
-his humble ability could supply, and content
-only to be near him. He would sit beside him
-for hours, looking patiently into his face; and
-a word would brighten up his careworn visage,
-and call into it a passing gleam, even of
-happiness. He was an altered being; he had an
-object now; and that object was, to show his
-attachment to the only person—that person a
-stranger—who had treated him, not to say with
-kindness, but like a human creature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Needless to say, Squeers speedily took a
-dislike to Nicholas. He knew of the scarcely
-concealed disdain with which his assistant
-regarded his methods. Squeers was jealous, also,
-of the influence which Nicholas had so soon
-acquired with the boys. Smike's slavish
-affection was speedily discovered, and the crafty
-master was mean enough to strike at Nicholas
-through him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Upon this poor being all the spleen and
-ill-humor that could not be vented on Nicholas
-were unceasingly bestowed. Drudgery would
-have been nothing—Smike was well used to
-that. Buffetings inflicted without cause would
-have been equally a matter of course; for to
-them also he had served a long and weary
-apprenticeship; but it was no sooner observed
-that he had become attached to Nicholas, than
-stripes and blows, stripes and blows, morning,
-noon, and night, were his only portion.
-Nicholas saw it, and ground his teeth at every
-repetition of the savage and cowardly attack.
-But at present he saw no way to aid the boy,
-for a protest would mean his own dismissal,
-and the lot of Smike and the others would
-become that much harder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One day, after especially harsh treatment,
-the boy sat huddled in a dark corner by
-himself, sobbing as though his heart would break.
-The room was dark and deserted, when Nicholas
-entered, but he heard the sound of weeping and
-went over and laid his hand on the drudge's
-head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not, for God's sake!" said Nicholas, in
-an agitated voice; "I cannot bear to see you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are more hard with me than ever,"
-sobbed the boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it," rejoined Nicholas. "They are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But for you," said the outcast, "I should
-die. They would kill me, they would; I know
-they would."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do better, poor fellow," replied
-Nicholas, shaking his head mournfully, "when
-I am gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone!" cried the other, looking intently in
-his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Softly!" rejoined Nicholas. "Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going?" demanded the boy, in an
-earnest whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot say," replied Nicholas. "I was
-speaking more to my own thoughts than to
-you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," said the boy, imploringly, "oh,
-do tell me, </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> you go—</span><em class="italics">will</em><span> you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be driven to that at last!" said
-Nicholas. "The world is before me, after all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," urged Smike, "is the world as
-bad and dismal as this place?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven forbid," replied Nicholas, pursuing
-the train of his own thoughts; "its hardest,
-coarsest toil were happiness to this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Should I ever meet you there?" demanded
-the boy, speaking with unusual wildness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Nicholas, willing to soothe him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" said the other, clasping him by
-the hand. "Should I—should I—tell me that
-again! Say I should be sure to find you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would," replied Nicholas, with the
-same humane intention, "and I would help and
-aid you, and not bring fresh sorrow on you as I
-have done here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The boy caught both the young man's hands
-passionately in his, and hugging them to his
-breast, uttered a few broken sounds which were
-unintelligible. Squeers entered, at the
-moment, and he shrank back into his old corner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning—a cold, gray day in
-January—Nicholas was awakened by hearing
-the voice of Squeers roughly demanding,
-"Where's that Smike?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas looked over in the corner where the
-boy usually slept, but it was vacant; so he
-made no answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Smike!" shouted Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want your head broke in a fresh
-place, Smike?" demanded his amiable lady, in
-the same key.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas
-stared about him, as did the greater part of the
-boys, who were by this time roused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound his impudence!" muttered
-Squeers, rapping the stair-rail impatiently
-with his cane. "Nickleby!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don't
-you hear me calling?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is not here, sir," replied Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tell me a lie," retorted the schoolmaster.
-"He is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is not," retorted Nicholas, angrily.
-"Don't tell me one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall soon see that," said Mr. Squeers,
-rushing upstairs. "I'll find him, I warrant you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With which assurance Mr. Squeers bounced
-into the dormitory, and, swinging his cane in
-the air ready for a blow, darted into the
-corner. The cane descended harmlessly upon
-the ground. There was nobody there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this mean?" said Squeers,
-turning round. "Where have you hid him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have seen nothing of him since last
-night," replied Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," blustered Squeers, "you won't
-save him this way. Where is he?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At the bottom of the nearest pond, for aught
-I know," rejoined Nicholas, in a low voice, and
-fixing his eyes full on the master's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound you, what do you mean by that?"
-retorted Squeers. Without waiting for a reply,
-he inquired of the boys whether any one among
-them knew anything of their missing schoolmate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a general hum of anxious denial,
-in the midst of which one shrill voice was heard
-to say (as, indeed, everybody thought):</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, I think Smike's run away, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" cried Squeers, turning sharp round.
-"Who said that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And, pouncing suddenly, he seized a small
-urchin, who was rewarded for his suggestion so
-soundly that he howled with pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said Squeers. "Now, if any other
-boy thinks Smike has run away, I shall be glad
-to have a talk with him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was, of course, a profound silence,
-during which Nicholas showed his disgust as
-plainly as looks could show it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Nickleby," said Squeers, eyeing him
-maliciously. "</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> think he has run away, I
-suppose?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it extremely likely," replied
-Nicholas, in a quiet manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you do, do you?" sneered Squeers.
-"Maybe you know he has?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing of the kind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't tell you he was going, I suppose,
-did he?" continued Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He did not," replied Nicholas; "I am very
-glad he did not, for it would then have been my
-duty to have warned you in time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which no doubt you would have been
-devilish sorry to do," said Squeers, in a
-taunting fashion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should indeed," replied Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Mrs. Squeers, who had been
-hunting elsewhere for the boy, bustled in with
-great excitement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is off!" said she. "The cow-house and
-stable are locked up, so he can't be there; and
-he's not downstairs anywhere, for the girl has
-looked. He must have gone York way, and by
-a public road too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why must he?" inquired Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stupid!" said Mrs. Squeers, angrily. "He
-hadn't any money, had he?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never had a penny of his own in his whole
-life, that I know of," replied Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure," rejoined Mrs. Squeers, "and
-he didn't take anything to eat with him; that
-I'll answer for. So, of course, he must beg
-his way, and he could do that nowhere but on
-the public road."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true," exclaimed Squeers, clapping
-his hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True! Yes; but you would never have
-thought of it, for all that, if I hadn't said so,"
-replied his wife. "Now, if you take the chaise
-and go one road, and I borrow Swallow's chaise
-and go the other, what with keeping our eyes
-open and asking questions, one or other of us
-is pretty certain to lay hold of him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The worthy lady's plan was put into action
-without delay; while Nicholas remained behind
-in a tumult of anxiety. He realized the bitter
-consequences of Smike's rash act. The boy
-was liable to freeze or starve to death on the
-roadside—which could not, perhaps, be much
-worse than to fall again into the clutches of
-Mr. and Mrs. Squeers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>All that day there was no tidings of the
-runaway. But at daybreak the second
-morning the sound of wheels was heard. Nicholas
-hardly dared to look out of the window; but he
-did so, and the very first object that met his
-eyes was the wretched Smike: so bedabbled
-with mud and rain, so haggard and worn and
-wild, that, but for his garments being such as
-no scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might
-have been doubtful, even then, of his identity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lift him out," said Squeers, after he had
-literally feasted his eyes, in silence, upon the
-culprit. "Bring him in; bring him in!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Smike, to all appearance more dead than
-alive, was brought into the house and securely
-locked up in a cellar until such time as
-Mr. Squeers should deem it expedient to operate
-upon him in presence of the assembled school.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After a hasty breakfast of very thin porridge,
-the boys were summoned to the schoolroom by
-resounding whacks on the desk from an
-ugly-looking whip in the hands of the master.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is every boy here?" asked Squeers, in a
-tremendous voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Every boy was there, but every boy was
-afraid to speak; so Squeers glared along the
-lines to assure himself; and every eye drooped,
-and every head cowered down, as he did so.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Each boy keep his place," said Squeers,
-administering his favorite blow to the desk,
-and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the
-universal start which it never failed to
-occasion. "Nickleby! to your desk, sir!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was remarked by more than one small
-observer that there was a very curious and
-unusual expression in the usher's face; but he
-took his seat without opening his lips in reply.
-Squeers, casting a triumphant glance at his
-assistant and a scowl on the boys, left the
-room, and shortly afterwards returned,
-dragging Smike by the collar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In any other place the appearance of the
-wretched, jaded, spiritless object would have
-occasioned a murmur of compassion and
-remonstrance. It had some effect, even there; for
-the lookers-on moved uneasily in their seats,
-and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks
-at each other, expressive of indignation and pity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were lost on Squeers, however, whose
-gaze was fastened on the luckless Smike, as he
-inquired, according to custom in such cases,
-whether he had anything to say for himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, I suppose?" said Squeers, with a
-diabolical grin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Smike glanced round, and his eye rested,
-for an instant, on Nicholas, as if he had
-expected him to intercede; but his look was
-riveted on his desk.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you anything to say?" demanded
-Squeers again, giving his right arm two or
-three flourishes to try its power and suppleness.
-"Stand a little out of the way, Mrs. Squeers,
-my dear; I've hardly got room enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Spare me, sir!" cried Smike.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! that's all, is it?" said Squeers. "Yes,
-I'll flog you within an inch of your life, and
-spare you that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Mrs. Squeers, "that's
-a good 'un!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was driven to do it," said Smike, faintly,
-and casting another imploring look about him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Driven to do it, were you?" said Squeers.
-"Oh! it wasn't your fault; it was mine, I suppose—eh?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he caught the boy firmly in his grip.
-One desperate cut had fallen on his body—he
-was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream
-of pain—it was raised again, and again about
-to fall—when Nicholas Nickleby, suddenly
-starting up, cried "</span><em class="italics">Stop!</em><span>" in a voice that
-made the rafters ring.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who cried stop?" said Squeers, turning
-savagely round.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I," said Nicholas, stepping forward. "This
-must not go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Must not go on!" cried Squeers, almost in
-a shriek.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">No!</em><span>" thundered Nicholas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aghast at the boldness of this interference,
-Squeers released his hold of Smike, and, falling
-back a pace or two, gazed upon Nicholas with
-looks that were positively frightful.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I say </span><em class="italics">must not</em><span>!" repeated Nicholas, nothing
-daunted; "</span><em class="italics">shall not</em><span>! I will prevent it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with
-his eyes starting out of his head; but
-astonishment had actually, for the moment, bereft him
-of speech.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have disregarded all my quiet interference
-in the miserable lad's behalf," said
-Nicholas; "you have returned no answer to the
-letter in which I begged forgiveness for him,
-and offered to be responsible that he would
-remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this
-public interference. You have brought it upon
-yourself; not I."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, beggar!" screamed Squeers,
-almost beside himself with rage, and seizing
-Smike as he spoke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wretch," rejoined Nicholas, fiercely,
-"touch him at your peril! I will not stand
-by, and see it done. My blood is up, and I
-have the strength of ten such men as you.
-Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not
-spare you, if you drive me on!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand back," cried Squeers, brandishing
-his weapon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a long series of insults to avenge,"
-said Nicholas, flushed with passion; "and my
-indignation is aggravated by the cruelties of
-this foul den. Have a care; for if you rouse
-me farther, the consequences shall fall heavily
-upon your own head!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a
-violent outbreak of wrath, struck him a blow
-across the face which raised up a bar of livid
-flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the
-agony of the blow, and concentrating into that
-one moment all its feelings of rage and scorn,
-Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon
-from his hand, and pinning him by the throat,
-beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Nicholas left the astounded boys and the
-crestfallen master, and stalked out of the room.
-He looked anxiously around for Smike, as he
-closed the door, but he was nowhere to be seen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing left for him to do. He
-must face the world again; but </span><em class="italics">anything</em><span>—he
-told himself—would be better than this. So
-he packed up a few clothes in a small valise,
-and, finding that nobody offered to oppose him,
-he marched boldly out by the front door and
-struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He did not travel far that day, as there had
-been a heavy fall of snow which made the way
-toilsome and hard to find. He lay, that night,
-at a cottage, where beds were let at a cheap
-rate to the more humble class of travellers; and,
-rising betimes next morning, made his way
-before night to Boroughbridge. Passing through
-that town in search of some cheap resting-place,
-he stumbled upon an empty barn within a
-couple of hundred yards of the roadside; in a
-warm corner of which he stretched his weary
-limbs, and soon fell asleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he awoke next morning, and tried to
-recollect his dreams, which had been all
-connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys
-Hall, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared—not
-with the most composed countenance
-possible—at some motionless object which seemed
-to be stationed within a few yards in front of
-him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange!" cried Nicholas; "can this be
-some lingering creation of the visions that have
-scarcely left me! It cannot be real—and yet
-I—-I am awake! Smike!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped
-upon its knees at his feet. It was Smike
-indeed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you kneel to me?" said Nicholas,
-hastily raising him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To go with you—anywhere—everywhere—to
-the world's end!" replied Smike, clinging
-to his hand. "Let me, oh, do let me! You are
-my home—my kind friend—take me with you, pray!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a friend who can do little for you,"
-said Nicholas, kindly. "How came you here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had followed him, it seemed; had never
-lost sight of him all the way; had watched
-while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment;
-and had feared to appear before, lest he
-should be sent back. He had not intended to
-appear now, but Nicholas had awakened more
-suddenly than he looked for, and he had had no
-time to conceal himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor fellow!" said Nicholas, "your hard
-fate denies you any friend but one, and he is
-nearly as poor and helpless as yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"May I—may I go with you?" asked Smike,
-timidly. "I will be your faithful, hard-working
-servant, I will, indeed. I want no clothes,"
-added the poor creature, drawing his rags
-together; "these will do very well. I only
-want to be near you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you shall," cried Nicholas. "And the
-world shall deal by you as it does by me, till one
-or both of us shall quit it for a better. Come!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With these words he strapped his valise on
-his shoulders, and, taking his stick in one hand,
-extended the other to the delighted boy; and so
-they passed out of the old barn together.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And in the days to come—through thick and
-thin—Smike and Nicholas fought their battles
-together—and </span><em class="italics">won</em><span>!</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="in-the-old-curiosity-shop"><span id="the-story-of-little-nell"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF LITTLE NELL</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. IN THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a queer home for a child—this place
-where Little Nell lived with her
-grandfather. He was a dealer in all sorts of
-curious old things: suits of mail which stood
-like ghosts in armor here and there; fantastic
-carved tables and chairs; rusty weapons of
-various kinds; distorted figures in china and
-wood and iron. And, amid it all, the oldest
-thing in the shop seemed to be the little old
-man with the long gray hair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The only bit of youth was Nell herself; and
-yet she had a strange intermingling of dignity
-and responsibility, in spite of her small figure
-and childish ways. Her fourteen years of life
-had left her undecided between childhood and
-girlhood. She had not begun to grow up; and
-yet she was an orphan, accustomed to doing
-everything for herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her grandfather tried in his way to take care
-of her, for he loved her dearly. But between
-the tending of his shop and the mysterious
-journeys which he made night after night, the
-child was often sent upon strange errands or
-left alone in the old house. And at all times
-it was she who took care of him. But the old
-man did not see that this lonely life was
-putting lines of sorrow into her face. To him she
-was still the child of yesterday, care-free and
-happy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had been happy once. She had gone
-singing through the dim rooms, and moving with
-gay step among their dusty treasures, making
-them older by her young life, and sterner and
-more grim by her cheerful presence. But now
-the chambers were cold and gloomy, and when
-she left her own little room to while away the
-tedious hours, and sat in one of them, she was
-still and motionless as their inanimate
-occupants, and had no heart to startle the
-echoes—hoarse from their long silence—with her voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In one of these rooms was a window looking
-into the street, where the child sat, many and
-many a long evening, and often far into the
-night, alone and thoughtful. None are so
-anxious as those who watch and wait; and at
-these times mournful fancies came flocking on
-her mind in crowds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She knew instinctively that her grandfather
-was hiding something from her. What it
-was she could not guess; but these regular
-journeys at night, while she watched and
-waited, left him only the more fretful and
-careworn. He seemed to have a constant fever
-for something; yet all he would say was that
-he would some day leave her a fortune.
-Meanwhile he had fallen into the clutches of Quilp
-a terrible dwarf, who had lent him money
-from time to time, until the entire contents of
-the shop were mortgaged. So it is not strange
-that Little Nell should have mournful thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the night had worn away, the child
-would close the window and even smile, with
-the first dawn of light, at her night-time fears.
-Then after praying earnestly for her grandfather
-and the restoring of their former happy
-days, she would unlatch the door for him and
-fall into a troubled sleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One night the old man said that he would
-not leave home. The child's face lit up at the
-news, but became grave again when she saw
-how worried he looked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You took my note safely to Mr. Quilp, you
-say?" he asked fretfully. "What did he tell
-you, Nell?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly what I told you, dear grandfather,
-indeed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True," said the old man, faintly. "Yes.
-But tell me again, Nell. My head fails me.
-What was it that he told you? Nothing more
-than that he would see me to-morrow or next
-day? That was in the note."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing more," said the child. "Shall I
-go to him again to-morrow, dear grandfather?
-Very early? I will be there and back before
-breakfast."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man shook his head and, sighing
-mournfully, drew her towards him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'T would be no use, my dear, no earthly
-use. But if he deserts me, Nell, at this
-moment—if he deserts me now, when I should,
-with his assistance, be recompensed for all the
-time and money I have lost and all the agony
-of mind I have undergone, which makes me
-what you see, I am ruined and worse,—far
-worse than that—I have ruined you, for whom
-I ventured all. If we are beggars—!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What if we are?" said the child, boldly.
-"Let us be beggars and be happy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Beggars—and happy!" said the old man.
-"Poor child!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear grandfather," cried the girl with an
-energy which shone in her flushed face,
-trembling voice, and impassioned gesture, "I am
-not a child in that I think, but even if I am,
-oh, hear me pray that we may beg, or work in
-open roads or fields, to earn a scanty living,
-rather than live as we do now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nelly!" said the old man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now,"
-the child repeated more earnestly than before.
-"If you are sorrowful, let me know why and be
-sorrowful too; if you waste away and are paler
-and weaker every day, let me be your nurse and
-try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be
-poor together; but let me be with you, do let
-me be with you; do not let me see such change
-and not know why, or I shall break my heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child's voice was lost in sobs, as she
-clasped her arms about the old man's neck; nor
-did she weep alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>These were not words for other ears, nor was
-it a scene for other eyes. And yet other ears
-and eyes were there and greedily taking in all
-that passed, and moreover they were the ears
-and eyes of no less a person than Mr. Daniel
-Quilp, who, having entered unseen when the
-child first placed herself at the old man's side,
-stood looking on with his accustomed grin.
-Standing, however, being tiresome, and the
-dwarf being one of that kind of persons who
-usually make themselves at home, he soon cast
-his eyes upon a chair, into which he skipped
-with uncommon agility, and perching himself
-on the back with his feet upon the seat, was
-thus enabled to look on and listen with greater
-comfort to himself, besides gratifying at the
-same time that taste for doing something
-fantastic and monkey-like, which on all occasions
-had strong possession of him. Here, then, he
-sat, one leg cocked carelessly over the other,
-his chin resting on the palm of his hand, his
-head turned a little on one side, and his ugly
-features twisted into a complacent grimace. And
-in this position the old man, happening in course
-of time to look that way, chanced to see him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child uttered a suppressed shriek on
-beholding this figure; in their first surprise
-both she and the old man, not knowing what
-to say, and half doubting its reality, looked
-shrinkingly at it. Not at all disconcerted by
-this reception, Daniel Quilp preserved the same
-attitude, merely nodding twice or thrice with
-great condescension. At length, the old man
-pronounced his name and inquired how he
-came there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Through the door," said Quilp, pointing
-over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm not
-quite small enough to get through keyholes.
-I wish I was. I want to have some talk with
-you, particularly, and in private—with nobody
-present, neighbor. Good-bye, little Nelly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell looked at the old man, who nodded to
-her to retire, and kissed her cheek.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dwarf said never a word, but watched
-his companion as he paced restlessly up and
-down the room, and presently returned to his
-seat. Here he remained, with his head bowed
-upon his breast for some time, and then
-suddenly raising it, said,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Once, and once for all, have you brought
-me any money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" returned Quilp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said the old man, clenching his
-hands desperately and looking upward, "the
-child and I are lost!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Neighbor," said Quilp, glancing sternly at
-him, and beating his hand twice or thrice upon
-the table to attract his wandering attention,
-"let me be plain with you, and play a fairer
-game than when you held all the cards, and I
-saw but the backs and nothing more. You have
-no secret from me, now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man looked up, trembling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are surprised," said Quilp. "Well,
-perhaps that's natural. You have no secret
-from me now, I say; no, not one. For now
-I know that all those sums of money, that all
-those loans, advances, and supplies that you
-have had from me, have found their way
-to—shall I say the word?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye!" replied the old man, "say it if you will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the gaming-table," rejoined Quilp,
-"your nightly haunt. This was the precious
-scheme to make your fortune, was it; this
-was the secret certain source of wealth in
-which I was to have sunk my money (if I
-had been the fool you took me for); this was
-your inexhaustible mine of gold, your El
-Dorado, eh?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," cried the old man, turning upon him
-with gleaming eyes, "it was. It is. It will
-be, till I die."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I should have been blinded," said
-Quilp, looking contemptuously at him, "by a
-mere shallow gambler!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no gambler," cried the old man,
-fiercely. "I call Heaven to witness that I
-never played for gain of mine, or love of play.
-It was all for </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>—for my little Nelly! I had
-sworn to leave her rich!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When did you first begin this mad career?"
-asked Quilp, his taunting inclination subdued,
-for a moment, by the old man's grief and
-wildness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When did I first begin?" he rejoined,
-passing his hand across his brow. "When was it,
-that I first began? When should it be, but
-when I began to think how little I had saved,
-how long a time it took to save at all, how
-short a time I might have, at my age, to live,
-and how she would be left to the rough mercies
-of the world with barely enough to keep her
-from the sorrows that wait on poverty; then it
-was that I began to think about it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph! the old story," said the dwarf.
-"You lost what money you had laid by, first,
-and then came to me. While I thought you
-were making your fortune (as you said you
-were) you were making yourself a beggar, eh?
-Dear me! And so it comes to pass that I hold
-every security you could scrape together, and
-a bill of sale upon the—upon the stock and
-property. But did you never win?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never!" groaned the old man. "Never
-won back my loss!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought," sneered the dwarf, "that if a
-man played long enough he was sure to win at
-last, or, at the worst, not to come off a loser."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And so he is!" cried the old man, "so he
-is; I have felt that from the first, I have always
-known it, I've seen it, I never felt it half so
-strongly as I feel it now. Quilp, I have
-dreamed, three nights, of winning the same
-large sum. I never could dream that dream
-before, though I have often tried. Do not
-desert me, now I have this chance! I have no
-resource but you,—give me some help, let me
-try this one last hope."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and shook
-his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Quilp, </span><em class="italics">good</em><span> Quilp!" gasped the old
-man, extending his hands in entreaty; "let me
-try just this once more. I tell you it is not for
-me—it is for </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>! Oh, I cannot die and leave
-her in poverty!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't do it, really," said Quilp, with
-unusual politeness. And grinning and making
-a low bow he passed out of the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dwarf was, for once, as good as his word.
-He not only refused to lend any more money,
-but he at once began to make plans for closing
-the shop. The old man was so broken-hearted
-that he fell ill of a raging fever, and for days
-was delirious. Little Nell, his only nurse,
-gradually learned the truth about her
-grandfather's evening pursuit—the gaming-table—and
-it added all the more to her sorrow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At last when he was well enough to go about
-again, the impatient dwarf would not be put off
-any longer in regard to the sale. An early day
-was fixed for it, and the old dealer no longer
-offered any objections. Instead, he sat quietly,
-dully in his chair, looking at a tiny patch of
-green through his window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To one who had been tossing on a restless
-bed so long, even these few green leaves and
-this tranquil light, although it languished
-among chimneys and house-tops, were pleasant
-things. They suggested quiet places afar off,
-and rest and peace.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child thought, more than once, that he
-was moved and had forborne to speak. But
-now he shed tears—tears that it lightened her
-aching heart to see—and making as though he
-would fall upon his knees, he besought her to
-forgive him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive you—what?" said Nell, interposing
-to prevent his purpose. "Oh, grandfather,
-what should </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> forgive?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All that is past, all that has come upon
-you, Nell," returned the old man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not talk so," said the child. "Pray do
-not. Let us speak of something else."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, we will," he rejoined. "And it
-shall be of what we talked of long ago—many
-months—months is it, or weeks, or days? which
-is it, Nell?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand you," said the child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You said, let us be beggars and happy in
-the open fields," he answered. "Oh, let us go
-away—anywhere!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, let us go," said Nell, earnestly; "there
-will we find happiness and peace."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so it was arranged. On the night
-before the public auction they were to steal
-forth quietly, out into the wide world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man had slept for some hours
-soundly in his bed, while she was busily
-engaged in preparing for their flight. There
-were a few articles of clothing for herself to
-carry, and a few for him; old garments, such
-as became their fallen fortunes, laid out to
-wear; and a staff to support his feeble steps,
-put ready for his use. But this was not all her
-task, for now she must visit the old rooms for
-the last time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And how different the parting with them
-was from any she had expected, and most of
-all from that which she had oftenest pictured to
-herself! How could she ever have thought of
-bidding them farewell in triumph, lonely and
-sad though her days had been! She sat down
-at the window where she had spent so many
-evenings—-darker far, than this—and every
-thought of hope or cheerfulness that had
-occurred to her in that place came vividly
-upon her mind, and blotted out all its dull and
-mournful associations in an instant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her own little room, too, where she had so
-often knelt down and prayed at night—prayed
-for the time which she hoped was dawning
-now—the little room where she had slept so
-peacefully, and dreamed such pleasant dreams—it
-was hard to leave it without one kind look or
-grateful tear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at last she was ready to go, and her
-grandfather was awakened. Just as the first
-rays of dawn were seen they stole forth
-noiselessly, hand in hand. They dared not awaken
-Quilp, who was sleeping that night in the shop
-to guard his prospective wealth. Out in the
-middle of the street they paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way?" said the child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man looked irresolutely and helplessly,
-first at her, then to the right and left,
-then at her again, and shook his head. It was
-plain that she was thenceforth his guide and
-leader. The child felt it, but had no doubts
-or misgiving, and putting her hand in his led
-him gently away.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="out-in-the-wide-world"><span class="bold large">II. OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a bright morning in June when Nell
-and her grandfather set forth upon their
-travels. Out of the city they walked
-briskly, for the desire to leave their old
-life—to elude pursuit—lay strong upon them. Nell
-had provided a simple lunch for that day's
-needs; and at night they stopped foot-sore and
-weary at a hospitable farmhouse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Late in the next day they chanced to pass a
-country church. Among the tombstones, at
-one side, they saw two men who were seated
-upon the grass, so busily at work as not to
-notice the newcomers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not difficult to guess that they were
-of a class of travelling showmen who went from
-town to town showing Punch and his antics,
-for perched upon a tombstone was a figure of
-that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked
-and his face as beaming as usual.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Scattered upon the ground were the other
-members of the play, in various stages of
-repair; while the two showmen were engaged
-with glue, hammer, and tacks, in putting their
-proper parts more strongly together.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The showmen raised their eyes when the old
-man and his young companion were close upon
-them, and pausing in their work, returned their
-looks of curiosity. One of them, the actual
-exhibitor, no doubt, was a little merry-faced
-man with a twinkling eye and a red nose, who
-seemed to have unconsciously imbibed something
-of his hero's character. The other—that
-was he who took the money—had rather
-a careful and cautious look, which was perhaps
-inseparable from his occupation also.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The merry man was the first to greet the
-strangers with a nod; and following the old
-man's eyes, he observed that perhaps that was
-the first time he had ever seen a Punch off the
-stage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you come here to do this?" asked
-the old man, after answering their greeting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you see," rejoined the little man,
-"we're putting up for to-night at the public-house
-yonder, and it wouldn't do to let 'em see
-the present company undergoing repair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" cried the old man, making signs to
-Nell to listen, "why not, eh? why not?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it would destroy all the delusion,
-and take away all the interest, wouldn't it?"
-replied the little man. "Would you care a
-ha'penny for the Lord Chancellor if you know'd
-him in private and without his wig?—certainly not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" said the old man, venturing to
-touch one of the puppets, and drawing away
-his hand with a shrill laugh. "Are you going
-to show 'em to-night? are you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the intention, governor," replied
-the other. "Look here," he continued, turning
-to his partner, "here's all this Judy's clothes
-falling to pieces again. Much good you do at
-sewing things!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Seeing that they were at a loss, the child
-said timidly:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and
-thread too. Will you let me try to mend it
-for you? I think I can do it neater than you
-could."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The showman had nothing to urge against a
-proposal so seasonable. Nelly, kneeling down
-beside the box, was soon busily engaged in her
-task, and accomplishing it to a miracle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>While she was thus engaged, the merry little
-man looked at her with an interest which did
-not appear to be diminished when he glanced
-at her helpless companion. When she had
-finished her work he thanked her, and inquired
-whither they were travelling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"N—no farther to-night, I think," said the
-child, looking towards her grandfather.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you're wanting a place to stop at," the
-man remarked, "I should advise you to take
-up at the same house with us. That's it—the
-long, low, white house there. It's very cheap.
-Come along."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The tavern was kept by a fat old landlord
-and landlady who made no objection to
-receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's
-beauty and were at once prepossessed in her
-behalf. There was no other company in the
-kitchen but the two showmen, and the child
-felt very thankful that they had fallen upon
-such good quarters. The landlady was very
-much astonished to learn that they had come
-all the way from London, and appeared to have
-no little curiosity touching their farther
-destination. But Nell could give her no very
-clear replies.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That evening the wayfarers enjoyed the
-Punch show, though poor Nell was so tired that
-she went to sleep early in the performance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning she met the showmen at breakfast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And where are you going to-day?" asked
-the little man with the red nose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I hardly know. We have not
-decided," replied the child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We're going to the races," said the little
-man. "If that's your way and you'd like to
-have us for company, let us travel together."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll go with you, and gladly," interposed
-Nell's grandfather, eagerly; for he had been as
-pleased as a child with the performance of Punch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell was a trifle alarmed over the prospect
-of a crowded race-course; but this seemed their
-best chance to press forward, so she accepted
-the invitation thankfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For several days they travelled together, and
-despite the wearisome way the child found
-much novelty and interest in the wandering
-life. But presently she became uneasy in the
-changed attitude of the two showmen. From
-being ordinarily kind, they now seemed to
-watch Nell and her grandfather so closely as
-not to suffer them out of their sight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The showmen had, in fact, got it into their
-heads that the two wayfarers were not common
-people, but runaways for whom a reward must
-even now be posted in London. And so they
-resolved to deliver them over to the proper
-authorities at the first opportunity and claim
-the reward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now, although Nell and her grandfather had
-a perfect right to go where they pleased, and
-there was no reward offered, they were at all
-times fearful of being pursued by that terrible
-Quilp. So Nell determined to flee from these
-two watchful men at the earliest moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The chance of escape offered during one of
-the busy days at the race-course. While the
-two men were busy showing off Punch to the
-delighted crowd, she took her grandfather by
-the hand and hurriedly slipped away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At first they pressed forward regardless of
-whither their steps led them, and from time
-to time casting fearful glances behind them to
-see if they were being pursued. But as they
-drew farther away they gained more confidence.
-Weariness also forced them to slacken their
-pace. When they had come into the middle of
-a little woodland they rested a short time; then
-encountered a path which led to the opposite
-side. Taking their way along it for a short
-distance they came to a lane, so shaded by the
-trees on either hand that they met together
-overhead, and arched the narrow way. A
-broken finger-post announced that this led to
-a village three miles off; and thither they
-resolved to bend their steps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The miles appeared so long that they
-sometimes thought they must have missed their
-road. But at last, to their great joy, it led
-downward in a steep descent, with overhanging
-banks over which the footpaths led; and the
-clustered houses of the village peeped from the
-woody hollow below.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very small place. The men and
-boys were playing at cricket on the green; and
-as the other folks were looking on, they
-wandered up and down, uncertain where to seek
-a humble lodging. There was but one man
-in the little garden before his cottage, and him
-they were timid of approaching, for he was the
-schoolmaster, and had "School" written up
-over his window in black letters on a white
-board. He was a pale, simple-looking man,
-and sat among his flowers and beehives, smoking
-his pipe, in the little porch before his door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak to him, dear," the old man whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am almost afraid to disturb him," said
-the child, timidly. "He does not seem to see
-us. Perhaps if we wait a little, he may look
-this way."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But as nobody else appeared and it would
-soon be dark, Nell at length ventured to draw
-near, leading her grandfather by the hand.
-The slight noise they made in raising the latch
-of the wicket-gate caught his attention. He
-looked at them kindly but seemed disappointed
-too, and slightly shook his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell dropped a courtesy, and told him they
-were poor travellers who sought a shelter for
-the night which they would gladly pay for, so
-far as their means allowed. The schoolmaster
-looked earnestly at her as she spoke, laid aside
-his pipe, and rose up directly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could direct us anywhere, sir," said
-the child, "we should take it very kindly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been walking a long way," said
-the schoolmaster.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A long way, sir," the child replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a young traveller, my child," he
-said, laying his hand gently on her head.
-"Your grandchild, friend?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sir," cried the old man, "and the stay
-and comfort of my life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said the schoolmaster.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-96">
-<span id="nell-and-her-grandfather"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER." src="images/img-122.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without farther preface he conducted them
-into his little school-room, which was parlor
-and kitchen likewise, and told them they were
-welcome to remain under his roof till
-morning. Before they had done thanking him, he
-spread a coarse white cloth upon the table,
-with knives and platters; and bringing out
-some bread and cold meat, besought them to eat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They did so gladly, and the schoolmaster
-showed them, soon after, to some plain but
-neat sleeping chambers up close under the
-thatched roof. Here they slept the sound
-sleep of the very weary, and awoke refreshed
-and light-hearted the following day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the schoolmaster, while kind and
-courteous, was sad and quiet. He gave his small
-school a half-holiday that day, and Nell learned
-that it was because of the illness of a favorite
-pupil—a boy about her own age.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If your journey is not a long one," he added
-to the travellers, "you're very welcome to pass
-another night here. I should really be glad if
-you would do so, as I am very lonely to-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They accepted and thanked him with grateful
-hearts. Nell busied herself tidying up the
-rooms and trying in many little ways to add
-to the master's comfort. And that evening,
-when his pupil died, Nell's grief was almost as
-deep in its sympathy as the master's own.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bade him a reluctant farewell the next
-morning. School had already begun, but he
-rose from his desk and walked with them to
-the gate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was with a trembling and reluctant hand
-that the child held out to him the money which
-a lady had given her at the races for some
-flowers; faltering in her thanks as she thought
-how small the sum was, and blushing as she
-offered it. But he bade her put it up, and
-stooping to kiss her cheek, turned back into
-his house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had not gone half-a-dozen paces when
-he was at the door again; the old man retraced
-his steps to shake hands, and the child did the
-same.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good fortune and happiness go with you!"
-said the poor schoolmaster. "I am quite a
-solitary man now. If you ever pass this way
-again, you'll not forget the little village
-school."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall never forget it, sir," rejoined
-Nell; "nor ever forget to be grateful to you
-for your kindness to us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard such words from the lips of
-children very often," said the schoolmaster,
-shaking his head and smiling thoughtfully,
-"but they were soon forgotten. I had attached
-one young friend to me, the better friend for
-being young—but that's over—God bless you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They bade him farewell very many times
-and turned away, walking slowly and often
-looking back, until they could see him no
-more. At length they had left the village far
-behind, and even lost sight of the smoke among
-the trees. They trudged onward now at a
-quicker pace, resolving to keep the main road,
-and go wherever it might lead them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But main roads stretch a long, long way.
-With the exception of two or three inconsiderable
-clusters of cottages which they passed
-without stopping, and one lonely roadside
-public-house where they had some bread and
-cheese, this highway had led them to nothing—late
-in the afternoon—and still lengthened
-out, far in the distance, the same dull, tedious,
-winding course that they had been pursuing all
-day. As they had no resource, however, but
-to go forward, they still kept on, though at
-a much slower pace, being very weary and
-fatigued.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Finally, just at dusk, they came upon a
-curious little house upon wheels—a travelling
-show somewhat more pretentious than the
-Punch performance they had run away from.
-This little house was mounted upon a cart,
-with white dimity curtains at the windows and
-shutters of green set in panels of bright red.
-Altogether it was a smart little contrivance.
-Grazing in front of it were two comfortable-looking
-horses; while at its open door sat a
-stout lady—evidently the proprietor—sipping tea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This lady, Mrs. Jarley by name, had seen
-Nell and her grandfather at the races, so hailed
-them and asked about the success of the Punch
-show. She was greatly astonished to learn
-that they had nothing to do with it, and were
-wandering about without any object in view.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her own performance was more "classic,"
-as she expressed it. It was a Waxwork
-exhibition; and as she looked at Nell's
-attractive face she was seized with an idea. This
-bright little girl was just the sort of assistant
-she had been needing. So she invited them to
-stop and have some tea with her. They did so;
-and when Mrs. Jarley presently unfolded her
-plan—which was to engage Nell to exhibit the
-wax figures and describe them in a set speech—Nell
-was delighted to accept the offer, especially
-since it involved no separation from her
-grandfather, who could dust the figures and do
-other light tasks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was really not a very hard position for
-Nell. At the first town where the Waxworks
-were to be shown, Nell was given a private
-view and instructed in her new duties. The
-figures were displayed on a raised platform
-some two feet from the floor, running round
-the room and parted from the rude public by a
-crimson rope breast high. They represented
-celebrated characters, singly and in groups,
-clad in glittering dresses of various climes and
-times, and standing more or less unsteadily
-upon their legs, with their eyes very wide
-open, and their nostrils very much inflated,
-and the muscles of their legs and arms very
-strongly developed, and all their countenances
-expressing great surprise. All the gentlemen
-were very pigeon-breasted and very blue about
-the beards, and all the ladies were miraculous
-figures; and all the ladies and all the gentlemen
-were looking with extraordinary earnestness at
-nothing at all.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell was taught a little speech about each
-one of them, and so apt was she that one
-rehearsal rendered her able to take the willow
-wand, which Mrs. Jarley had formerly wielded,
-and tell the interesting history of this very
-select Waxwork show to the audiences which
-presently began to come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jarley herself was delighted with her
-venture. She saw at once that Nell would be
-a strong drawing card. And in order that the
-child might remain contented she made her
-and her grandfather as comfortable as possible,
-besides paying them a fair salary.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So the wanderers now rode in the van from
-town to town, and lived almost happily. Nell
-carefully saved all their money, and watched
-over her feeble grandfather with the tenderness
-of a little mother. She had one scare in almost
-meeting face to face with Quilp, the dwarf, but
-he had not recognized her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quilp, indeed, was a perpetual nightmare to
-the child, who was constantly haunted by a
-vision of his ugly face and stunted figure. She
-slept, for their better security, in the room
-where the waxwork figures were, and she never
-retired to this place at night but she tortured
-herself—she could not help it—with imagining
-a resemblance, in some one or other of
-their death-like faces, to the dwarf, and this
-fancy would sometimes so gain upon her that
-she would almost believe he had removed the
-figure and stood within the clothes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But presently a deeper and more real concern
-came to her. Her grandfather had never
-alluded to their former life, nor to his passion
-for gambling. He did not see the card-tables
-out in the country; and that was the reason
-why she had been so eager to wander, even
-without a roof over their heads. But now, as
-the Waxworks exhibited only in the towns,
-temptation came again to the poor, weak old
-man. He saw some men playing cards in a
-tavern, and instantly his slumbering passion
-was aroused. He would play again and win a
-great fortune—for Nell!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He began to play, and, of course, with the
-old result. He was but a tool in the hands of
-the sharpers, and presently he had exhausted
-all the slender hoard which Nell had so
-carefully made. She watched his actions with a
-bursting heart, but was powerless to stop him
-or keep the money out of his grasp. At last
-the villains who had led him on—not satisfied
-with their small winnings from him—urged
-him to get the money belonging to the
-Waxwork show, saying that when he won he could
-pay it all back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell had followed her grandfather upon this
-visit to the gamblers, and overheard their plot.
-She knew there was but one thing to do, to
-save her grandfather. They must flee out into
-the world again at once. That night she roused
-him from his sleep, and told him they must go
-away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this mean?" he cried.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had dreadful dreams," said the child.
-"If we stay here another night something awful
-will happen. Come!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man looked at her as if she were a
-spirit, and trembled in every joint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Must we go to-night?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, to-night," she replied. "To-morrow
-night will be too late. The dream will have
-come again. Nothing but flight can save us. Up!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man rose obediently and made ready
-to follow. She had already packed their scanty
-belongings. She gave him his wallet and
-staff, and secretly, in the night, they fled away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The wanderings of the next few days seemed
-like a nightmare to them. Nell had brought
-only a few pennies in her pockets and these
-went for a scant supply of bread and cheese.
-Two days and a night they rode on an open
-canal-boat in company with some rough but not
-unkind men. It was easier than walking, but
-the rain descended in torrents and drenched
-them to the skin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Finally the boat drew up to a wharf in an
-ugly manufacturing town, and the travellers
-were cast adrift as lonely and helpless as though
-they had just awakened from a sleep of a
-thousand years. They had not one friend, nor the
-least idea where to turn for shelter. But a
-rough stoker at one of the furnaces told them
-that they might pass the night in front of his
-fire. It was nothing but a bed of ashes, yet
-they were warm and the heat dried out the
-poor travellers' drenched garments.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child felt stiff and weak in every joint
-the next morning, but the furnace-tender told
-them that it was two days' journey to the open
-country and sweet, pure fields, and she felt that
-they must press forward at any cost. So they
-started forth, slowly and wearily, for their
-journey and privations had almost exhausted
-them, but still with brave hearts. Through
-long rows of red brick houses that looked
-exactly alike they wended their way, asking
-for bread to eat only when obliged to, and
-meeting little else but scowls from the dirty
-factory workers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Finally, to their great joy, the open country
-began again to appear; and with fresh courage
-in their hearts they continued to press on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were dragging themselves along through
-the last street, and the child felt that the time
-was close at hand when her enfeebled powers
-would bear no more; when there appeared
-before them, going in the same direction as
-themselves, a traveller on foot, who, with a
-portmanteau strapped to his back, leaned upon
-a stout stick as he walked, and read from a
-book which he held in his other hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not an easy matter to come up with
-him, and beseech his aid, for he walked fast,
-and was a little distance in advance. At
-length he stopped to look more attentively at
-some passage in his book. Animated with a
-ray of hope, the child shot on before her
-grandfather, and going close to the stranger without
-rousing him by the sound of her footsteps,
-began, in a few faint words, to implore his help.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his head. The child clapped her
-hands together, uttered a wild shriek, and fell
-senseless at his feet.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="at-the-end-of-the-journey"><span class="bold large">III. AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It was the poor schoolmaster. Scarcely less
-moved and surprised by the sight of the
-child than she had been on recognizing
-him, he stood, for a moment, without even the
-presence of mind to raise her from the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But quickly recovering his self-possession,
-he threw down his stick and book, and dropping
-on one knee beside her, endeavored by such
-simple means as occurred to him to restore her
-to herself; while her grandfather, standing idly
-by, wrung his hands, and implored her with
-many endearing expressions to speak to him,
-were it only a word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is quite exhausted," said the schoolmaster,
-glancing upward into his face. "You
-have taxed her powers too far, friend."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is perishing of want," rejoined the old
-man. "I never thought how weak and ill she
-was till now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Casting a look upon him, half reproachful
-and half compassionate, the schoolmaster took
-the child in his arms, and, bidding the old
-man gather up her little basket and follow him
-directly, bore her away at his utmost speed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a small inn within sight, to which,
-it would seem, he had been directing his steps
-when so unexpectedly overtaken. Towards this
-place he hurried with his unconscious burden,
-and rushing into the kitchen deposited it on a
-chair before the fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A doctor was hastily called in and restoratives
-were applied; after which Nell was given
-what she most needed, some warm broth and
-toast, and was put to bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The schoolmaster asked anxiously after her
-health the next morning, and was greatly
-relieved to find that she was much better, though
-still so weak that it would require a day's
-careful nursing before she could proceed upon her
-journey. That evening he was allowed to see
-her, and was greatly touched by the sight of
-her pale, pinched face. But she held out both
-hands to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It makes me unhappy even in the midst of
-all this kindness," said the child, "to think
-that we should be a burden upon you. How
-can I ever thank you? If I had not met you
-so far from home, I must have died, and poor
-grandfather would have no one to take care of him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll not talk about dying," said the
-schoolmaster, "and as to burdens, I have made
-my fortune since you slept at my cottage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed!" cried the child, joyfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," returned her friend. "I have
-been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a
-village a long way from here—and a long way from
-the old one as you may suppose—at five-and-thirty
-pounds[#] a year. Five-and-thirty pounds!"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] About $175.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"I am very glad," said the child—"so very,
-very glad."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am on my way there now," resumed the
-schoolmaster. "They allowed me the
-stagecoach hire—outside stage-coach hire all the
-way. Bless you, they grudge me nothing.
-But as the time at which I am expected there
-left me ample leisure, I determined to walk
-instead. How glad I am to think I did so!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How glad should we be!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said the schoolmaster, moving
-restlessly in his chair, "certainly, that's very
-true. But you—where are you going, where
-are you coming from, what have you been doing
-since you left me, what had you been doing
-before? Now, tell me—do tell me. I know
-very little of the world, and perhaps you are
-better fitted to advise me in its affairs than I
-am qualified to give advice to you; but I am
-very sincere, and I have a reason (you have not
-forgotten it) for loving you. I have felt since
-that time as if my love for him who died had
-been transferred to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nell was moved in her turn by this allusion
-to the favorite pupil who had died, and by the
-plain, frank kindness of the good schoolmaster.
-She told him all—that they had no friend or
-relative—that she had fled with the old man
-to save him from all the miseries he dreaded—that
-she was flying now to save him from
-himself—and that she sought an asylum in
-some quiet place, where the temptation before
-which he fell would never enter, and her late
-sorrows and distresses could have no place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The schoolmaster heard her with astonishment.
-"This child!" he thought; "she is one
-of the heroines and saints of earth!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he told her of a great idea which had
-occurred to him. They were all three to travel
-together to the village where his new school was
-located, and he made no doubt he could find
-them some simple and congenial employment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child joyfully accepted this; and the
-journey was made very comfortably in a stage
-which went that way. Stowed among the softer
-bundles and packages she thought this to be a
-drowsy, luxurious way of going, indeed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At last they came upon a quiet, restful-looking
-hamlet clustered in a valley among
-some stately trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"See—here's the church!" cried the
-delighted schoolmaster, in a low voice; "and
-that old building close beside it is the
-schoolhouse, I'll be sworn. Five-and-thirty pounds
-a year in this beautiful place!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They admired everything—the old gray
-porch, the green churchyard, the ancient tower,
-the very weathercock; the brown thatched roofs
-of cottage, barn, and homestead, peeping from
-among the trees; the stream that rippled by
-the distant watermill; the blue Welsh mountains
-far away. It was for such a spot the child
-had wearied in the dense, dark, miserable haunts
-of labor. Upon her bed of ashes, and amidst
-the squalid horrors through which they had
-forced their way, visions of such scenes—beautiful
-indeed, but not more beautiful than
-this sweet reality—had been always present to
-her mind. They had seemed to melt into a
-dim and airy distance, as the prospect of ever
-beholding them again grew fainter; but, as
-they receded, she had loved and panted for
-them more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must leave you somewhere for a few
-minutes," said the schoolmaster, at length
-breaking the silence into which they had fallen
-in their gladness. "I have a letter to present,
-and inquiries to make, you know. Where shall
-I take you? To the little inn yonder?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us wait here," rejoined Nell. "The
-gate is open. We will sit in the church porch
-till you come back."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A good place, too," said the schoolmaster,
-leading the way towards it. "Be sure that I
-come back with good news, and am not long gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So the happy schoolmaster put on a brand-new
-pair of gloves which he had carried in a
-little parcel in his pocket all the way, and
-hurried off, full of ardor and excitement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child watched him from the porch until
-the intervening foliage hid him from her view,
-and then stepped softly out into the old
-churchyard—so solemn and quiet that every rustle of
-her dress upon the fallen leaves, which strewed
-the path and made her footsteps noiseless,
-seemed an invasion of its silence. It was an
-aged, ghostly place; the church had been built
-hundreds of years before; yet from this first
-glimpse the child loved it and felt that in some
-strange way she was a part of its crumbling
-walls and grass-grown churchyard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After a time the schoolmaster reappeared,
-hurrying towards them and swinging a bunch
-of keys.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see those two houses?" he asked,
-pointing, quite out of breath. "Well, one of
-them is mine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without saying any more, or giving the child
-time to reply, the schoolmaster took her hand,
-and, his honest face quite radiant with
-exultation, led her to the place of which he spoke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They stopped before its low, arched door.
-After trying several of the keys in vain, the
-schoolmaster found one to fit the huge lock,
-which turned back, creaking, and admitted them
-into the house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very old house, and, like the church,
-falling into decay, yet still handsome with high
-vaulted ceilings and queer carvings. It was
-not quite destitute of furniture. A few strange
-chairs, whose arms and legs looked as though
-they had dwindled away with age; a table, the
-very spectre of its race; a great old chest that
-had once held records in the church, with other
-quaintly fashioned domestic necessaries, and
-store of firewood for the winter, were scattered
-around, and gave evident tokens of its occupation
-as a dwelling-place, at no very distant time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child looked around her, with that solemn
-feeling with which we contemplate the work of
-ages that have become but drops of water in
-the great ocean of eternity. The old man had
-followed them, but they were all three hushed
-for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if
-they feared to break the silence, even by so
-slight a sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a very beautiful place!" said the child,
-in a low voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I almost feared you thought otherwise,"
-returned the schoolmaster. "You shivered
-when we first came in, as if you felt it cold
-or gloomy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not that," said Nell, glancing round
-with a slight shudder. "Indeed, I cannot tell
-you what it was, but when I saw the outside,
-from the church porch, the same feeling came
-over me. It is its being so old and gray, perhaps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A peaceful place to live in, don't you think
-so?" said her friend.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," rejoined the child, clasping her
-hands earnestly. "A quiet, happy place—a
-place to live and learn to die in!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A place to live, and learn to live, and
-gather health of mind and body in," said the
-schoolmaster; "for this old house is yours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ours!" cried the child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye," returned the schoolmaster, gaily,
-"for many a merry year to come, I hope. I
-shall be a close neighbor—only next
-door—but this house is yours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Having now disburdened himself of his great
-surprise, the schoolmaster sat down, and
-drawing Nell to his side, told her how he had
-learned that the ancient tenement had been
-occupied for a very long time by an old person,
-who kept the keys of the church, opened and
-closed it for the services, and showed it to
-strangers; how she had died not many weeks
-ago, and nobody had yet been found to fill the
-office; how, learning all this in an interview
-with the sexton, he had hurried to the clergyman
-and obtained the vacant post for Nell and
-her grandfather.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a small allowance of money," said
-the schoolmaster. "It is not much, but still
-enough to live upon in this retired spot. By
-clubbing our funds together, we shall do
-bravely; no fear of that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven bless and prosper you!" sobbed the child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Amen, my dear," returned her friend,
-cheerfully; "and all of us, as it will, and has,
-in leading us through sorrow and trouble to this
-tranquil life. But we must look at my house
-now. Come!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They repaired to the other tenement; tried
-the rusty keys as before; at length found the
-right one; and opened the worm-eaten door.
-It led into a chamber, vaulted and old, like
-that from which they had come, but not so
-spacious, and having only one other little room
-attached. It was not difficult to divine that
-the other house was of right the schoolmaster's,
-and that he had chosen for himself the least
-commodious, in his care and regard for them.
-Like the adjoining habitation, it held such old
-articles of furniture as were absolutely
-necessary, and had its stack of firewood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To make these dwellings as habitable and
-full of comfort as they could, was now their
-pleasant care. In a short time, each had its
-cheerful fire glowing and crackling on the
-hearth, and reddening the pale old walls with
-a hale and healthy blush. Nell, busily plying
-her needle, repaired the tattered window-hangings,
-drew together the rents that time had
-worn in the threadbare scraps of carpet, and
-made them whole and decent. The schoolmaster
-swept and smoothed the ground before
-the door, trimmed the long grass, trained the
-ivy and creeping plants, which hung their
-drooping heads in melancholy neglect; and
-gave to the outer walls a cheery air of home.
-The old man, sometimes by his side and sometimes
-with the child, lent his aid to both, went
-here and there on little patient services, and
-was happy. Neighbors, too, as they came from
-work, proffered their help; or sent their
-children with such small presents or loans as the
-strangers needed most. So it was not many
-days before they were quite cosy; and Nell felt
-again, in that strange way which had come
-over her at the church, that she had always
-been a part of the place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And how she loved her work from the very
-first! Hour after hour she would spend in the
-old church, dusting off its pews or casements
-with reverent fingers, or more often, sitting
-quietly before some tablet or inscription looking
-at it or beyond it, with a dreamy light in
-her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her grandfather noted her attitude anxiously.
-He saw that she grew more listless and frail,
-day by day, and he sought constantly—poor
-old man!—to lighten her few tasks. But it
-was not these which wearied her; it was merely
-the burden of all things earthly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Every person in the village soon grew to love
-this frail, spiritual-looking child; but from
-the first she seemed a being apart from them.
-They were constantly showing her kindness,
-or pausing at the church gate to speak with
-her; but as they went their way, a sad smile
-or shake of the head told only too plainly of
-their fears. She was like some rare, delicate
-flower which, they knew, could not endure the
-frost of winter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The good schoolmaster gently chided her for
-spending so much of her time in the church
-and among the graves, instead of out in the
-light and sunshine. But she only smiled and
-said she loved to tend the graves and keep them
-neat, for she could not bear to think that any
-lying there should be forgotten, or that she
-herself might be forgotten some day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing good that is forgotten,"
-he replied kindly. "There is not an angel
-added to the host of Heaven but does its
-blessed work on earth in those that loved it here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the cold days of autumn and winter drew
-on, the child spent more and more time within
-doors, on a couch before the fire. The slightest
-task wearied her now, and her grandfather kept
-watch night and day to save her needless steps.
-He could scarcely bear her out of his sight;
-and often would creep to the side of her couch
-during the night, listening to her breathing or
-stroking her slender fingers softly. And if by
-chance she awoke and smiled on him, he would
-creep back to his own bed comforted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But one chill morning in midwinter, when
-the snow lay thickly on the ground, it seemed
-to him that she slept more quietly than usual.
-The schoolmaster, coming in, found him
-crouched over a fire, muttering softly to
-himself, and wondering why she slumbered so
-long. The two went softly into her chamber,
-and then the schoolmaster knew why she was
-so quiet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For she was dead. Dear, gentle, patient,
-noble Nell was dead. No sleep so beautiful
-and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to
-look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from
-the hand of God, and waiting the breath of life;
-not one who had lived and suffered death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man held one languid arm in his,
-and had the small hand tight folded to his
-breast, for warmth. It was the hand she had
-stretched out to him with her last smile—the
-hand that had led him on, through all their
-wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to
-his lips, then hugged it to his breast again,
-murmuring that it was warmer now; and, as
-he said it, he looked in agony to the
-schoolmaster, as if imploring him to help her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was dead, and past all help, or need of
-it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill
-with life, even while her own was waning fast;
-the garden she had tended; the eyes she had
-gladdened; the noiseless haunts of many a
-thoughtful hour; the paths she had trodden
-as it were but yesterday—could know her
-nevermore.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he
-bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave
-his tears free vent, "it is not on earth that
-Heaven's justice ends. Think what earth is,
-compared with the world to which her young
-spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if
-one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms
-above this bed could call her back to life, which
-of us would utter it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The whole village, young and old, came to
-the churchyard when they laid her to rest—save
-only the old man. He could not realize
-that she was dead, and he had gone to pick
-winter berries to decorate her couch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he returned and could not find her,
-they were obliged to tell him the truth—that
-her body had been put away in the cold earth—and
-then his grief and distress were pitiful to
-see. He seemed at once to lose all power of
-thought or action, save as they concerned her alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Day by day he sought for her about the house
-or in the garden, calling her name wildly. At
-other times he sat before the fire staring dully,
-and did not seem to hear when they spoke to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At length, they found, one day, that he had
-risen early, and, with his knapsack on his back,
-his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and little
-basket full of such things as she had been used
-to carry, was gone. As they were making
-ready to pursue him far and wide, a frightened
-schoolboy came who had seen him, but a
-moment before, sitting in the church—upon her
-grave, he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They hastened there, and going softly to the
-door, espied him in the attitude of one who
-waited patiently. They did not disturb him
-then, but kept a watch upon him all that day.
-When it grew quite dark, he rose and returned
-home, and went to bed, murmuring to himself,
-"She will come to-morrow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Upon the morrow he was there again from
-sunrise until night; and still at night he laid
-him down to rest, and murmured, "She will
-come to-morrow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And thenceforth, every day, and all day long,
-he waited at her grave for her. How many
-pictures of new journeys over pleasant country,
-of resting-places under the free broad sky, of
-rambles in the fields and woods, and paths not
-often trodden; how many tones of that one
-well-remembered voice; how many glimpses
-of the form, the fluttering dress, the hair that
-waved so gaily in the wind; how many visions
-of what had been, and what he hoped was yet
-to be—rose up before him, in the old, dull,
-silent church! He never told them what he
-thought, or where he went. He would sit
-with them at night, pondering with a secret
-satisfaction, they could see, upon the flight
-that he and she would take before night came
-again; and still they would hear him whisper
-in his prayers, "Lord! Let her come to-morrow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The last time was on a genial day in spring.
-He did not return at the usual hour, and they
-went to seek him. He was lying dead upon
-the stone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They laid him by the side of her whom he
-had loved so well; and, in the church where
-they had often prayed and mused and lingered
-hand in hand, the child and the old man slept
-together.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-house-of-dombey-and-son"><span id="the-story-of-paul-and-florence-dombey"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF PAUL AND FLORENCE DOMBEY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. THE HOUSE OF DOMBEY AND SON</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Paul Dombey was a boy born to
-achieve great things. His birth was
-the one historic event of the Dombey
-household—at least, so his father said. 'T is
-true that Paul's sister Florence was six years
-older than he, but then Florence was only a
-girl. What Mr. Dombey had long wanted was
-a son who could grow up to carry on the
-business of the great export house, and who from
-his birth would make possible the imposing
-title of Dombey and Son.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Florence, who had remained quietly
-neglected in her nursery, now came into notice
-only as the sister of Paul, or as a faithful little
-nurse who could help amuse him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Mr. Dombey himself, he was a cold,
-haughty man, very proud of what he had done,
-and at all times exacting obedience from every
-one else. Paul's mother had died soon after he
-was born; and Mr. Dombey having engaged
-the best nurses he could find, expected them
-forthwith to bring the child through all the
-round of infant ailments—of which the frail
-little fellow had more than his full share.
-Indeed, Mr. Dombey loved his son with all
-the love he had. If there were a warm place in
-his frosty heart, his son occupied it; though
-not so much as an infant or a boy, as a
-prospective man—the "Son" of the firm.
-Therefore he was impatient to have him grow up;
-feeling as if the boy had a charmed life, and
-must become the man around whom all his
-hopes centred.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Paul grew to be nearly five years old.
-He was a pretty little fellow, though there was
-something wan and wistful in his small face,
-that gave occasion to many significant shakes
-of his nurse's head. His temper gave abundant
-promise of being imperious, like his father's,
-in after life. He was childish and sportive
-enough at times; but he had a strange,
-old-fashioned, thoughtful way at other times of
-sitting brooding in his miniature arm-chair,
-when he looked and talked like one of those
-terrible little beings in the fairy tales, who,
-at a hundred and fifty or two hundred years of
-age, fantastically represent the children for
-whom they have been substituted. He would
-frequently be stricken with this mood upstairs
-in the nursery, and would sometimes lapse into
-it suddenly, exclaiming that he was tired, even
-while playing with Florence, or driving his
-nurse in single harness. But at no one time
-did he fall into it so surely, as when, his little
-chair being carried down into his father's room,
-he sat there with him after dinner by the fire.
-They were the strangest pair at such a time
-that ever firelight shone upon. Mr. Dombey,
-so erect and solemn, gazing at the blaze; his
-little image, with an old, old face, peering into
-the red perspective with the fixed and rapt
-attention of a sage; the two so very much alike,
-and yet so monstrously contrasted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On one of these occasions, when they had
-both been perfectly quiet for a long time, little
-Paul broke the silence thus:—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa! what's money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The abrupt question had such immediate
-reference to the subject of Mr. Dombey's
-thoughts, that Mr. Dombey was quite disconcerted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is money, Paul?" he answered. "Money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the child, laying his hands upon
-the elbows of his little chair, and turning the
-old face up towards Mr. Dombey's, "what is
-money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would
-have liked to give him some grown-up explanation;
-but looking down at the little chair, and
-seeing what a long way down it was, he
-answered: "Gold, and silver, and copper.
-Guineas, shillings, halfpence. You know what
-they are?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I know what they are," said Paul.
-"I don't mean that, papa. I mean what's
-money, after all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is money, after all?" said Mr. Dombey,
-backing his chair a little, that he might
-the better gaze at the atom that made such an
-inquiry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean, papa, what can it do?" returned Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dombey drew his chair back to its
-former place, and patted him on the head.
-"You'll know better, by and by, my man," he
-said. "Money, Paul, can do anything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything, papa?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Anything—almost," said Mr. Dombey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything means everything, don't it,
-papa?" asked his son, not observing, or
-possibly not understanding the qualification.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Mr. Dombey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't money save me my mamma?"
-returned the child. "It isn't cruel, is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Cruel!" said Mr. Dombey, settling his
-neckcloth, and seeming to resent the idea.
-"No. A good thing can't be cruel."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If it's a good thing, and can do anything,"
-said the little fellow thoughtfully, as he looked
-back at the fire, "I wonder why it didn't save
-me my mamma."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dombey having recovered from his surprise,
-not to say his alarm (for it was the very
-first occasion on which the child had ever
-broached the subject of his mother to him),
-expounded to him how that money, though a
-very potent spirit, could not keep people alive
-whose time was come to die; and how that we
-must all die, unfortunately, even in the city,
-though we were never so rich.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Paul listened to all this and much more with
-grave attention, and then suddenly asked a
-question which was still more alarming.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't make me strong and quite well,
-either, papa, can it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> strong and quite well,"
-returned Mr. Dombey. "Are you not?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! the age of the face that was turned up
-again, with an expression, half of melancholy,
-half of slyness on it!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are as strong and well as such little
-people usually are, eh?" said Mr. Dombey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Florence is older than I am, but I'm not as
-strong and well as Florence, I know," returned
-the child; "but I believe that when Florence
-was as little as me, she could play a great deal
-longer at a time without tiring herself. I am
-so tired sometimes that I don't know what to do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But that's at night," said Mr. Dombey,
-drawing his own chair closer to his son's, and
-laying his hand gently on his back; "little
-people should be tired at night, for then they
-sleep well."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's not at night, papa," returned the
-child, "it's in the day; and I lie down in
-Florence's lap, and she sings to me. At night
-I dream about such cu-ri-ous things!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dombey was so astonished, and so perfectly
-at a loss how to pursue the conversation,
-that he could only sit looking at his son by the
-light of the fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here they sat until Florence came timidly
-into the room to take Paul upstairs to bed;
-when he raised towards his father, in bidding
-him good-night, a countenance so much brighter,
-so much younger, and so much more childlike
-altogether, that Mr. Dombey, while he felt
-greatly reassured by the change, was quite
-amazed at it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After they had left the room together, he
-thought he heard a soft voice singing; and
-remembering that Paul had said his sister
-sang to him, he had the curiosity to open the
-door and listen, and look after them. She
-was toiling up the great, wide staircase, with
-him in her arms; his head was lying on her
-shoulder, one of his arms thrown negligently
-round her neck. So they went, toiling up;
-she singing all the way, and Paul sometimes
-crooning out a feeble accompaniment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dombey was so alarmed about Paul's
-remarks as to his health, that he called the
-family doctor in consultation the very next
-day. The doctor admitted that Paul was not
-as strong as he could hope, and suggested that
-sea air might benefit him. So the boy was sent
-to the home of a Mrs. Pipchin at Brighton.
-But he refused to go without Florence, much
-to the secret displeasure of Mr. Dombey, who
-did not like to see any one—especially this
-neglected daughter—gain more influence with
-Paul than he himself had.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Pipchin was a cross-grained old lady
-who gained a livelihood by taking care of
-delicate children. But she was not unkind to Paul,
-whose patient little face and strange way of
-asking questions attracted her, as they did
-everybody else.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he had been with her for some time
-and it was found that he did not gain in
-strength, a little carriage was hired for him,
-in which he could lie at his ease with his
-books and be wheeled down to the seaside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Consistent in his odd tastes, the child set
-aside a ruddy-faced lad who was proposed as the
-drawer of this carriage, and selected, instead,
-the boy's grandfather—a weazen, old, crab-faced
-man, in a suit of battered oilskin. With
-this attendant to pull him along, and Florence
-always walking by his side, he went down to
-the margin of the ocean every day; and there
-he would sit or lie in his carriage for hours
-together; never so distressed as by the
-company of children—Florence alone excepted,
-always.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Some small voice, near his ear, would ask
-him how he was, perhaps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very well, I thank you," he would
-answer. "But you had better go and play, if
-you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he would turn his head, and watch the
-child away, and say to Florence, "We don't
-want any others, do we? Kiss me, Floy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His favorite spot was quite a lonely one, far
-away from most loungers; and with Florence
-sitting by his side at work, or reading to him,
-or talking to him, and the wind blowing on his
-face, and the water coming up among the wheels
-of his bed, he wanted nothing more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Floy," he said one day, "where's India?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's a long, long distance off," said
-Florence, raising her eyes from her work.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Weeks off?" asked Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear. Many weeks' journey, night
-and day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you were in India, Floy," said Paul,
-after being silent for a minute. "I should—what
-is it that mamma did? I forget."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Loved me?" answered Florence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Don't I love you now, Floy?
-What is it?—Died. If you were in India, I
-should die, Floy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hurriedly put her work aside, and laid
-her head down on his pillow, caressing him.
-And so would she, she said, if he were there.
-He would be better soon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I am a great deal better now!" he
-answered. "I don't mean that. I mean that
-I should die of being so sorry and so lonely, Floy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Another time, in the same place, he fell
-asleep, and slept quietly for a long time.
-Awaking suddenly, he started up, and sat
-listening.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence asked him what he thought he heard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to know what it says," he answered,
-looking steadily in her face. "The sea, Floy;
-what is it that it keeps on saying?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She told him that it was only the noise of
-the rolling waves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they
-are always saying something. Always the same
-thing. What place is over there?" He rose
-up, looking eagerly at the horizon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She told him that there was another country
-opposite, but he said he didn't mean that; he
-meant farther away—farther away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Very often afterwards, in the midst of their
-talk, he would break off to try to understand
-what it was that the waves were always saying;
-and would rise up in his couch to look towards
-that invisible region far away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in spite of Paul's brooding fancies, the
-days in the open air, and with the salt spray
-blowing about him, began to have good effect.
-Little by little he grew stronger until he
-became able to do without his carriage; though
-he still remained the same old, quiet, dreamy
-child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One day after he had been with Mrs. Pipchin
-about a year, Mr. Dombey came to see her.
-He informed Mrs. Pipchin that, as Paul was
-now six years old and so much stronger, it was
-time his education was being considered; and
-so the child was to be sent to a certain
-Dr. Blimber, who lived near by and managed a
-select school of boys. Meanwhile, Florence
-could continue to live here, so that Paul need
-not be entirely separated from his sister.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly, a few days later, Paul stood
-upon the Doctor's doorsteps, with his small
-right hand in his father's, and his other locked
-in that of Florence. How tight the tiny
-pressure of that one, and how loose and cold the
-other!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor was sitting in his portentous
-study, with a globe at each knee, books all
-round him, Homer over the door, and Minerva
-on the mantel-shelf.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And how do you do, sir," he said to Mr. Dombey,
-when they had been ushered in, "and
-how is my little friend?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Grave as an organ was the doctor's speech;
-and when he ceased, the great clock in the hall
-seemed (to Paul at least) to take him up, and
-to go on saying,
-"how-is-my-lit-tle-friend-how-is-my-lit-tle-friend,"
-over and over and
-over again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The little friend being something too small
-to be seen at all from where the doctor sat, over
-the books on his table, the doctor made several
-futile attempts to get a view of him round the
-legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, relieved
-the doctor from his embarrassment by taking
-Paul up in his arms and sitting him on another
-little table, over against the doctor, in the
-middle of the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said the doctor, leaning back in his
-chair with his hand in his breast. "Now I see
-my little friend. How do you do, my little
-friend?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The clock in the hall wouldn't subscribe
-to this alteration in the form of words, but
-continued to repeat
-"how-is-my—lit-tle-friend—how-is-my-lit-tle-friend!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, I thank you, sir," returned Paul,
-answering the clock quite as much as the doctor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said Doctor Blimber. "Shall we
-make a man of him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you hear, Paul?" added Mr. Dombey,
-Paul being silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we make a man of him?" repeated
-the doctor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I had rather be a child," replied Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The child sat on the table looking at him,
-with a curious expression of suppressed emotion
-in his face, and beating one hand proudly on
-his knee as if he had the rising tears beneath
-it, and crushed them. But his other hand
-strayed a little way the while, a little
-farther—farther from him yet—until it lighted
-on the neck of Florence. "This is why,"
-it seemed to say, and then the steady look
-was broken up and gone, the working lip
-was loosened and the tears came streaming
-forth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," said the doctor, blandly
-nodding his head. "Ne-ver mind; we shall
-substitute new cares and new impressions,
-Mr. Dombey, very shortly. You would wish my
-little friend to acquire—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything, if you please, doctor," returned
-Mr. Dombey, firmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the doctor, who, with his
-half-shut eyes, and his usual smile, seemed to
-survey Paul with the sort of interest that might
-attach to some choice little animal he was
-going to stuff. "Yes, exactly. Ha! We shall
-impart a great variety of information to our
-little friend, and bring him quickly forward, I
-dare say. I dare say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as Mr. Dombey and Florence were
-gone, Dr. Blimber gave into the charge of his
-learned daughter Cornelia the little new pupil,
-saying, "Bring him on, Cornelia, bring him on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Blimber received her young ward from
-the doctor's hands; and Paul, feeling that the
-spectacles were surveying him, cast down his
-eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How old are you, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Six," answered Paul, wondering, as he
-stole a glance at the young lady, why her hair
-didn't grow long like Florence's, and why she
-was like a boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How much do you know of your Latin
-Grammar, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"None of it," answered Paul. Feeling
-that the answer was a shock to Miss
-Blimber's sensibility, he looked up and added
-timidly,—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't been well. I have been a weak
-child. I couldn't learn a Latin Grammar
-when I was out, every day, with old Glubb. I
-wish you'd tell old Glubb to come and see me,
-if you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What a dreadfully low name!" said Miss
-Blimber. "Unclassical to a degree! Who is
-the monster, child?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What monster?" inquired Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Glubb."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's no more a monster than you are,"
-returned Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" cried the doctor, in a terrible voice.
-"What's that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Paul was dreadfully frightened; but still he
-made a stand for the absent Glubb, though he
-did it trembling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a very nice old man, ma'am," he said.
-"He used to pull my carriage for me, down
-along the beach. I wish you'd let him come
-to see me. He knows lots of things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said the doctor, shaking his head;
-"this is bad, but study will do much."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Blimber opined, with something like
-a shiver, that he was an unaccountable child;
-and, allowing for the difference of visage, looked
-at him pretty much as Mrs. Pipchin had been
-used to do.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Miss Blimber, she told him to come
-down to her room that evening at tea-time.
-When he did so he noticed a little pile of new
-books, which she was glancing over.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"These are yours, Dombey," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All of 'em, ma'am?" said Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," returned Miss Blimber; "and Mr. Feeder
-will look you out some more very soon,
-if you are as studious as I expect you will be,
-Dombey."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, ma'am," said Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going out for a constitutional,"
-resumed Miss Blimber; "and while I am gone,
-that is to say, in the interval between this and
-breakfast, Dombey, I wish you to read over
-what I have marked in these books, and to tell
-me if you quite understand what you have got
-to learn. Don't lose time, Dombey, for you
-have none to spare, but take them downstairs,
-and begin directly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am," answered Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There were so many of them that although
-Paul put one hand under the bottom book and
-his other hand and his chin on the top book,
-and hugged them all closely, the middle book
-slipped out before he reached the door, and
-then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss
-Blimber said, "Oh, Dombey, Dombey, this is
-really very careless!" and piled them up afresh
-for him; and this time, by dint of balancing
-them with great nicety, Paul got out of the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But if the poor child found them heavy to
-carry downstairs, how much harder was it to
-cram their contents into his head. Oh, how
-tired he grew! But always there was a
-never-ending round of lessons waiting for him during
-these long days and nights that Dr. Blimber
-and Cornelia tried to make a man of him.
-And all week long his aching head held but
-one longing desire—for Saturday to come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, Saturdays! Oh, happy Saturdays! when
-Florence always came at noon, and never would,
-in any weather, stay away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when Florence found how hard Paul's
-studies were for him, she quietly bought books
-just like his and studied them during the week,
-so that she might keep along with him and help
-him when they were together.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word of this was breathed to
-Mrs. Pipchin; but many a night when she was in
-bed and the candles were spluttering and
-burning low, Florence tried so hard to be a
-substitute for one small Dombey, that her fortitude
-and perseverance might have almost won her a
-free right to bear the name herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And high was her reward, when, one Saturday
-evening, as little Paul was sitting down as
-usual to "resume his studies," she sat down by
-his side, and showed him all that was so rough
-made smooth, and all that was so dark made
-clear and plain before him. It was nothing
-but a startled look in Paul's wan face—a
-flush—a smile—and then a close embrace—but
-God knows how her heart leaped up at this rich
-payment for her trouble.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Floy!" cried her brother, "how I love
-you! How I love you, Floy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I you, dear!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I am sure of that, Floy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so little Paul struggled on bravely under
-his heavy load, never complaining, but growing
-more old-fashioned day by day—and growing
-frailer, too.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-97">
-<span id="mrs-pipchin-and-paul-dombey"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="MRS. PIPCHIN AND PAUL DOMBEY." src="images/img-170.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">MRS. PIPCHIN AND PAUL DOMBEY.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then came the holidays, and a grand party
-at the school, to which Florence came, looking
-so beautiful in her simple ball dress that Paul
-could hardly make up his mind to let her go
-again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But what is the matter, Floy?" he asked,
-almost sure he saw a tear on her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, dear. We will go home together,
-and I'll nurse you till you are strong again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nurse me!" echoed Paul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Paul couldn't understand what that had to
-do with it, nor why the other guests looked on
-so seriously, nor why Florence turned away
-her face for a moment, and then turned it back,
-lighted up again with smiles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Floy," said Paul, holding a ringlet of her
-dark hair in his hand. "Tell me, dear. Do
-</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> think I have grown old-fashioned?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His sister laughed and fondled him, and told
-him "No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I know they say so," returned
-Paul, "and I want to know what they mean, Floy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence would have sat by him all night,
-and would not have danced at all of her own
-accord, but Paul made her, by telling her how
-much it pleased him. And he told her the
-truth, too; for his small heart swelled, and his
-face glowed, when he saw how much they all
-admired her, and how she was the beautiful
-little rosebud of the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then after the party came the leave-takings,
-for Paul was going home. And every one was
-good to him—even the pompous doctor, and
-Cornelia—and bade him good-bye with many
-regrets; for they were afraid, as they looked
-upon his pinched, wan face, that he would not
-be able to come back and take up that load of
-heavy books ever again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a great deal, the next day and
-afterwards, which Paul could not quite get clear
-in his mind. As, why they stopped at
-Mrs. Pipchin's for a while instead of going straight
-home; why he lay in bed, with Florence sitting
-by him; whether that had been his father in
-the room, or only a tall shadow on the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He could not even remember whether he had
-often said to Florence, "Oh, Floy, take me
-home and never leave me!" but he thought he
-had. He fancied sometimes he had heard himself
-repeating, "Take me home, Floy! take me home!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he could remember, when he got home,
-and was carried up the well-remembered stairs,
-that there had been the rumbling of a coach for
-many hours together, while he lay upon the
-seat, with Florence still beside him, and
-Mrs. Pipchin sitting opposite. He remembered his
-old bed too, when they laid him down in it;
-but there was something else, and recent, too,
-that still perplexed him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to speak to Florence, if you please,"
-he said. "To Florence by herself, for a moment!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bent down over him, and the others stood away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Floy, my pet, wasn't that papa in the hall,
-when they brought me from the coach?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't cry, and go into his room, Floy,
-did he, when he saw me coming in?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence shook her head, and pressed her
-lips against his cheek.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very glad he didn't cry," said little
-Paul. "I thought he did. Don't tell them
-that I asked."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Paul never rose from his little bed. He lay
-there, listening to the noises in the street quite
-tranquilly; not caring much how time went,
-but watching everything about him with
-observing eyes. And when visitors or servants
-came softly to the door to inquire how he was,
-he always answered for himself, "I am better;
-I am a great deal better, thank you! Tell
-papa so!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And sometimes when he awoke out of a
-feverish dream, in which he thought a river
-was bearing him away, he would see a figure
-seated motionless, with bowed head, at the foot
-of his couch. Then he would stretch out his
-hands and cry, "Don't be so sorry for me, dear
-papa! Indeed, I am quite happy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His father coming, and bending down to
-him—which he did quickly, and without first
-pausing by the bedside—Paul held him round the
-neck, and repeated those words to him several
-times, and very earnestly; and Paul never saw
-him in his room at any time, whether it were
-day or night, but he called out "Don't be so
-sorry for me! Indeed, I am quite happy!" This
-was the beginning of his always saying in
-the morning that he was a great deal better,
-and that they were to tell his father so.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then one day he asked to see all his friends,
-and shook hands with each one quietly, and
-bade them good-bye. His father he clung to
-as though he felt more deeply for that proud
-man's sorrow and disappointment, than any
-unhappiness on his own account. For he was
-going to his mother—about whom he had often
-talked with Florence in these closing days.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now lay me down," he said, "and Floy,
-come close to me, and let me see you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sister and brother wound their arms around
-each other, and the golden light came streaming
-in, and fell upon them, locked together.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How fast the river runs, between its green
-banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very
-near the sea. I hear the waves! They always
-said so!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he told her that the motion of the
-boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest.
-How green the banks were now, how bright
-the flowers growing on them, and how tall the
-rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but
-gliding smoothly on. And now there was a shore
-before him. Who stood on the bank!—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hands together, as he had been
-used to do at his prayers. He did not remove
-his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them
-so, behind her neck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by
-the face. But tell them that the print upon the
-stairs at school is not divine enough. The
-light about the head is shining on me as I go!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The golden ripple on the wall came back
-again, and nothing else stirred in the room.
-The old, old fashion! The fashion that came
-in with our first garments, and will last
-unchanged until our race has run its course, and
-the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll.
-The old, old fashion—Death!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older
-fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon
-us, angels of young children, with regards not
-quite estranged, when the swift river bears us
-to the ocean!</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<ol class="upperroman simple" id="how-florence-came-into-her-own" start="2">
-<li><p class="center first pfirst"><span class="bold large">HOW FLORENCE CAME INTO HER OWN</span></p>
-</li>
-</ol>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The death of Paul, far from softening
-Mr. Dombey's heart toward his
-daughter, only served to widen the
-gap between them. He had been secretly hurt
-by Paul's preference for Florence, and now was
-more cold and distant with her than ever.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She, poor child, had this deep sorrow to bear
-in addition to the loss of Paul. Many and
-many a night when no one in the house was
-stirring, and the lights were all extinguished,
-she would softly leave her own room, and with
-noiseless feet descend the staircase, and
-approach her father's door. Against it, scarcely
-breathing, she would rest her face and head,
-and press her lips, in the yearning of her love.
-She crouched upon the cold stone floor outside
-it, every night, to listen even for his breath;
-and in her one absorbing wish to be allowed to
-show him some affection, to be a consolation
-to him, to win him over to some tenderness for
-her, his solitary child, she would have knelt
-down at his feet, if she had dared, in humble
-supplication.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No one knew it. No one thought of it. The
-door was ever closed, and he shut up within.
-He went out once or twice, and it was said in
-the house that he was very soon going on a
-journey; but he lived in those rooms, and lived
-alone, and never saw her or inquired for her.
-Perhaps he did not even know that she was in
-the house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But one night Florence found the door
-slightly ajar. She paused a moment tremblingly,
-and then pushed it open and entered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her father sat at his old table in the middle
-room. He had been arranging some papers
-and destroying others, and the latter lay in
-fragile ruins before him. The rain dripped
-heavily upon the glass panes in the outer room,
-where he had so often watched poor Paul, a
-baby; and the low complainings of the wind
-were heard without.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so
-immersed in thought that a far heavier tread
-than the light foot of his child could make,
-might have failed to rouse him. His face was
-turned towards her. By the waning lamp, and
-at that haggard hour, it looked worn and
-dejected; and in the utter loneliness surrounding
-him there was an appeal to Florence that
-struck home.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa! papa! Speak to me, dear papa!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started at her voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter?" he said sternly.
-"Why do you come here? What has frightened you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If anything had frightened her, it was the
-face he turned upon her. The glowing love
-within the breast of his young daughter froze
-before it, and she stood and looked at him as if
-stricken into stone. There was not one touch
-of tenderness or pity in it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Did he see before him the successful rival of
-his son, in health and life? Did he look upon
-his own successful rival in that son's affection?
-Did a mad jealousy and withered pride poison
-sweet remembrances that should have endeared
-and made her precious to him? Could it be
-possible that it was gall to him to look upon
-her in her beauty and her promise: thinking of
-his infant boy!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence had no such thoughts. But love is
-quick to know when it is spurned and hopeless;
-and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking
-in her father's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you, Florence, are you frightened?
-Is there anything the matter, that you come here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I came, papa—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Against my wishes. Why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw he knew why—it was written broadly
-on his face—and dropped her head upon her
-hands with one prolonged low cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took her by the arm. His hand was cold
-and loose, and scarcely closed upon her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are tired, I dare say," he said, taking
-up the light and leading her towards the door,
-"and want rest. We all want rest. Go,
-Florence. You have been dreaming."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dream she had had was over then, God
-help her! and she felt that it could never more
-come back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will remain here to light you up the
-stairs. The whole house is yours, above
-there," said her father, slowly. "You are its
-mistress now. Good-night!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Still covering her face, she sobbed, and
-answered "Good-night, dear papa," and silently
-ascended. Once she looked back as if she
-would have returned to him, but for fear. It
-was a momentary thought, too hopeless to
-encourage; and her father stood therewith the
-light—hard, unresponsive, motionless—until
-her fluttering dress was lost in the darkness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The days that followed were lonely and sad
-indeed for the child. Her father went away
-upon a journey, and she was left entirely alone
-in the great house, but for the companionship
-of a faithful maid, Susan Nipper, and of her
-dog Diogenes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then some kind friends in the country took
-pity upon her loneliness and invited her to visit
-them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When she came home she was amazed to
-find huge scaffolds built all around the house.
-It was being remodelled. Only her own little
-room had not been changed. The explanation
-for all this work came a few days later when
-her father came home accompanied by two
-ladies. One was old and greatly overdressed.
-The other—her daughter—was very beautiful,
-but with a cold, hard face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Skewton," said her father, turning to
-the first, and holding out his hand, "this is my
-daughter Florence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Charming, I am sure," observed the lady,
-putting up her glass. "So natural! My
-darling Florence, you must kiss me, if you
-please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence having done so, turned towards the
-other lady by whom her father stood waiting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Edith," said Mr. Dombey, "this is my
-daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will
-soon be your mamma."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence started, and looked up at the
-beautiful face in a conflict of emotions, among
-which the tears that name awakened struggled
-for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration,
-and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she
-cried out, "Oh, papa, may you be happy! may
-you be very, very happy all your life!" and
-then fell weeping on the lady's bosom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a short silence. The beautiful
-lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate
-whether or not she should advance to Florence,
-held her to her breast, and pressed the hand
-with which she clasped her close about her
-waist, as if to reassure and comfort her. Not
-one word passed the lady's lips. She bent her
-head down over Florence, and she kissed her
-on the cheek, but said no word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we go on through the rooms," said
-Mr. Dombey, "and see how our workmen are
-doing? Pray allow me, my dear madam."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He said this in offering his arm to
-Mrs. Skewton, and they turned and went up the
-staircase. The beautiful lady lingered a
-moment to whisper to the little girl.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Florence," said the lady hurriedly, and
-looking into her face with great earnestness,
-"You will not begin by hating me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By hating you, mamma!" cried Florence,
-winding her arm round her neck, and returning
-the look.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! Begin by thinking well of me,"
-said the beautiful lady. "Begin by believing
-that I will try to make you happy and that I am
-prepared to love you, Florence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Again she pressed her to her breast—she
-had spoken in a rapid manner, but firmly—and
-Florence saw her rejoin them in the other room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And now Florence began to hope that she
-would learn from her new and beautiful
-mamma how to gain her father's love; and in
-her sleep that night, in her lost old home, her
-own mamma smiled radiantly upon the hope,
-and blessed it. Dreaming Florence!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Very soon after this her new mamma came
-to live with them; and the gloomy house took
-on some semblance of life. But the marriage
-was not a happy one. Even Florence could see
-that. Mrs. Dombey's face did not belie her
-character. She was haughty and reserved—a
-fitting match for Mr. Dombey. He had married
-her out of a desire to have a suitable ornament
-for his home and position in society. She—it
-was whispered—had been lured into a "fine"
-marriage by her matchmaking mother. It was
-no wonder, then, that the marriage should be
-unhappy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Only toward Florence did the proud lady
-unbend. The child's impulsive greeting had
-stirred her heart in a sudden and surprising
-way; and when Mrs. Dombey saw how lonely
-she was and how her life had been starved, she
-tried to make good her promise to the child to
-love her and be good to her always.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But once again poor Florence was misunderstood
-by her father. He saw that his cold wife
-cared only for the child, and he thought that
-just as Florence had cheated him out of some
-of Paul's love she was now estranging his wife
-from him. It was cruelly unjust, but
-Mr. Dombey was so arrogant that he could see
-things only in his own narrow way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus matters went along in this unhappy
-house for several months. Mr. and
-Mrs. Dombey met rarely, except at the table or in
-some social gathering, when the words which
-passed between them were of the coldest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Mr. Dombey hit upon the meanest
-trick of his weak nature. When he found that
-he could not "humble" his wife by ordinary
-means, he called in his business manager,
-Carker, a smooth, deceitful man, whose hair
-was plastered down close to his white forehead
-and whose teeth shone in a continual sly smile.
-To Carker Mr. Dombey would entrust various
-messages for Mrs. Dombey, as to the running
-of the house, the hiring of servants, and the
-like. Mr. Dombey knew that she would resent
-such petty interference, especially through an
-outsider; but he did not know that she
-submitted quietly to these indignities simply for
-the sake of Florence, whom she wished to
-protect. And even her love for the girl was given
-in secret, for the same reason.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence, long since awakened from her
-dream, mournfully observed the estrangement
-between her father and new mother; and saw
-it widen more and more, and knew that there
-was greater bitterness between them every day.
-It had been very hard to have all her love
-repulsed, but it now seemed harder to be
-compelled to doubt her father, or choose between
-him and this mother, so affectionate and dear
-to her, yet whose other moods she could only
-witness with distrust or fear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One great sorrow, however, was spared her.
-She never had the least suspicion that
-Mrs. Dombey, by her tenderness for her, widened
-the separation from her father, or gave him
-new cause of dislike. If she had thought it,
-for a single moment, what grief she would have
-felt, what sacrifice she would have tried to
-make, poor loving girl!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No word was ever spoken between Florence
-and her mother now, on these subjects.
-Mrs. Dombey had said there ought to be between
-them, in that wise, a silence like the grave
-itself; and Florence felt that she was right.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In this state of affairs her father was brought
-home suffering and ill, and gloomily retired to
-his own rooms, where he was tended by
-servants, not approached by his wife, and had no
-friend or companion but Mr. Carker, who always
-withdrew near midnight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Every night Florence would listen out in the
-hall for news of him, after leaving her mother.
-But, late one evening, she was surprised to see
-a bright light burning in her room, and her
-mother sitting before the dying fire looking so
-fiercely at it that it terrified her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma!" she cried, "what is the matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Dombey started; looking at her with
-such a strange dread in her face that Florence
-was more frightened than before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma!" said Florence, hurriedly advancing.
-"Dear mamma! what is the matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not been well," said Mrs. Dombey,
-shaking, and still looking at her in the same
-strange way. "I have had bad dreams, my love."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And have not yet been to bed, mamma?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she returned. "Half-waking dreams."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her features gradually softened; and suffering
-Florence to come close to her, within her
-embrace, she said in a tender manner, "But
-what does my bird do here! What does my
-bird do here!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been uneasy, mamma, in not seeing
-you to-night, and in not knowing how papa was;
-and I—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence stopped there, and said no more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it late?" her mother asked, fondly putting
-back the curls that mingled with her own
-dark hair, and strayed upon her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very late. Near day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Near day!" she repeated in surprise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma!" said Florence. "Oh, mamma,
-what can I do, what should I do, to make us
-happier? Is there anything?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," she replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure of that? Can it never be?
-If I speak now of what is in my thoughts, in
-spite of what we have agreed," said Florence,
-"you will not blame me, will you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is useless," she replied, "useless. I
-have told you, dear, that I have had bad
-dreams. Nothing can change them, or prevent
-their coming back."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand," said Florence, gazing
-on her agitated face, which seemed to darken as
-she looked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her mother's clenched hand tightened on
-the trembling arm she had in hers, and as
-she looked down on the alarmed and wondering
-face, her own feelings subsided. "Oh,
-Florence!" she said, "I think I have been
-nearly mad to-night!" and humbled her proud
-head upon the girl's neck, and burst into
-tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't leave me! be near me! I have no
-hope but in you!" These words she said a
-score of times.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence was greatly puzzled and distressed,
-and could only repeat her promise of love and
-trust.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Through six months that followed upon
-Mr. Dombey's illness and recovery, no outward
-change was shown between him and his wife.
-Both were cold and proud; and still Mr. Carker—a
-man whom she detested——bore his petty
-commands to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Florence, the little hope she had ever
-held for happiness in their new home was quite
-gone now. That home was nearly two years
-old, and even the patient trust that was in her
-could not survive the daily blight of such an
-experience.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Florence loved her father still, but by
-degrees had come to love him rather as some
-dear one who had been, or who might have
-been, than as the hard reality before her eyes.
-Something of the softened sadness with which
-she loved the memory of little Paul or her
-mother, seemed to enter now into her thoughts
-of him, and to make them, as it were, a dear
-remembrance. Whether it was that he was
-dead to her, and that partly for this reason,
-partly for his share in those old objects of her
-affection, and partly for the long association of
-him with hopes that were withered and tendernesses
-he had frozen, she could not have told;
-but the father whom she loved began to be a
-vague and dreamy idea to her; hardly more
-substantially connected with her real life than
-the image she would sometimes conjure up of
-her dear brother yet alive, and growing to be a
-man, who would protect and cherish her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The change, if it may be called one, had
-stolen on her like the change from childhood
-to womanhood, and had come with it. Florence
-was almost seventeen, when, in her lonely
-musings, she was conscious of these thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was often alone now, for the old association
-between her and her mamma was greatly
-changed. At the time of her father's illness,
-and when he was lying in his room downstairs,
-Florence had first observed that Edith avoided
-her. Wounded and shocked, and yet unable to
-reconcile this with her affection when they did
-meet, she sought her in her own room at night,
-once more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma," said Florence, stealing softly to
-her side, "have I offended you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She answered "No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must have done something," said Florence.
-"Tell me what it is. You have changed
-your manner to me, dear mamma. I cannot say
-how instantly I feel the least change; for I love
-you with my whole heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As I do you," said Mrs. Dombey. "Ah,
-Florence, believe me never more than now!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you go away from me so often, and
-keep away?" asked Florence. "And why do
-you sometimes look so strangely on me, dear
-mamma? You do so, do you not?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Florence, it is for your good. Why,
-I cannot tell you now. But you will believe I
-have always tried to make you happy, dear,
-will you not?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma," said Florence, anxiously, "there
-is a change in you, in more than what you say
-to me, which alarms me. Let me stay with you
-a little."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dearest. I am best left alone now,
-and I do best to keep apart from you, of all
-else. Ask me no questions, but believe that
-what I am, I am not of my own will, or for
-myself. Forgive me for having ever darkened
-your dark home—I am a shadow on it, I know
-well—and let us never speak of this again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamma," sobbed Florence, "we are not to part?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We do this that we may not part," said her
-mother. "Ask no more. Go, Florence! My
-love and my remorse go with you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus did Mrs. Dombey hide from Florence
-one dark secret—that her husband was
-displeased with their love for each other. It was
-for Florence's welfare that she felt compelled
-to hide her affections.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From that hour Florence and she were as
-they had been no more. For days together
-they would seldom meet, except at table, and
-when Mr. Dombey was present. Then Mrs. Dombey,
-imperious, inflexible, and silent,
-never looked at her. Whenever Mr. Carker
-was of the party, as he often was during the
-progress of Mr. Dombey's recovery, she was
-more distant towards her than at other times.
-Yet she and Florence never encountered, when
-there was no one by, but she would embrace
-her as affectionately as of old, though not with
-the same relenting of her proud aspect; and
-often when she had been out late she would
-steal up to Florence's room as she had been
-used to do in the dark, and whisper "Good-night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then came a dreadful day not long afterwards
-when it was found that Mrs. Dombey had fled
-from her home. The day was the second
-anniversary of this ill-starred marriage; and the
-poor, misguided woman left a note for her
-husband telling him that she had gone away with
-the man whom he had trusted most (and whom
-she hated most) Mr. Carker. It was a foolish
-way to be revenged for the harsh treatment she
-had received, but it served her purpose.
-Mr. Dombey was wounded in his most vulnerable
-spot—his pride.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Florence, she was overcome with
-grief; yet in the midst of her own emotion she
-could realize her father's bitterness. Yielding
-at once to the impulse of her affection and
-forgetful of his past coldness, Florence hurried to
-him with her arms stretched out and crying,
-"Oh dear, dear papa!" tried to clasp him round
-the neck.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in his wild despair he shook her off so
-roughly that she almost fell to the floor; telling
-her she could join her mother, for all he cared,
-as they had always been in league against him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She did not sink down at his feet; she did
-not shut out the sight of him with her trembling
-hands; she did not weep nor speak one word of
-reproach. She only uttered a single low cry
-of pain and then fled from the house like a
-hunted animal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without a roof over her head—without
-father or mother, she was indeed an orphan.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>While the days went by, after Florence's
-flight, what was the proud man doing? Did
-he ever think of his daughter or wonder where
-she had gone? Did he suppose she had come
-home again and was leading her old life in the
-weary house? He did not utter her name or
-make any search for her. He might have
-thought of her constantly, or not at all. It
-was all one for any sign he made.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But this was sure. He did not think that
-he had lost her. He had no suspicion of the
-truth that she had fled away from him. He
-had lived too long shut up in his pride, seeing
-her a patient, gentle creature in his path, to
-have any fear of that. And so he waited, day
-by day, until she should make her appearance
-on the stairs or at the table as before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the days dragged slowly by and she did
-not come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sea had ebbed and flowed through a
-whole year. Through a whole year the winds
-and clouds had come and gone; the ceaseless
-work of Time had been performed, in storm
-and sunshine. Through a whole year the
-famous House of Dombey and Son had fought
-a fight for life, against doubtful rumors,
-unsuccessful ventures, and most of all, against the
-bad judgment of its head, who would not
-contract its enterprises by a hair's breadth, and
-would not listen to a word of warning that the
-ship he strained so hard against the storm was
-weak, and could not bear it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For Mr. Dombey had grown strangely indifferent
-and reckless, and plunged blindly into
-speculation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The year was out, and the great House was down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One summer afternoon there was a buzz and
-whisper, about the streets of London, of a great
-failure. A certain cold, proud man, well known
-there, was not there, nor was he represented
-there. Next day it was noised abroad that
-Dombey and Son had stopped, and next night
-there was a list of bankrupts published, headed
-by that name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nobody's opinion stayed the misfortune,
-lightened it, or made it heavier. It was
-understood that the affairs of the House were to
-be wound up as they best could be; that
-Mr. Dombey freely resigned everything he had, and
-asked for no favor from any one. That any
-resumption of the business was out of the
-question, as he would listen to no friendly
-negotiation having that compromise in view;
-that he had relinquished every post of trust or
-distinction he had held as a man respected
-among merchants; and that he was a broken man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old home where Paul had died and
-whence Florence had fled away was now empty
-and deserted—a wreck of what it had been.
-All the furniture and hangings had been sold
-to satisfy Mr. Dombey's creditors; and he now
-lived there alone in one cheerless room—a man
-without friends, without hope.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at last he began to come to his senses;
-to see what a treasure he had cast away in
-Florence; to recall his own injustice and
-cruelty toward her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the miserable night he thought of it; in
-the dreary day, the wretched dawn, the ghostly,
-memory-haunted twilight, he remembered. In
-agony, in sorrow, in remorse, in despair!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa! papa!" He heard the words again,
-and saw the face. He saw it fall upon the
-trembling hands, and heard the one prolonged,
-low cry go upward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! He did remember it! The rain that
-fell upon the roof, the wind that mourned
-outside the door, had foreknowledge in their
-melancholy sound. He knew now what he
-had done. He knew now that he had called
-down that upon his head, which bowed it lower
-than the heaviest stroke of fortune. He knew
-now what it was to be rejected and deserted;
-now, when every loving blossom he had withered
-in his innocent daughter's heart was snowing
-down in ashes on him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of her as she had been that night
-when he and his bride came home. He thought
-of her as she had been in all the home events
-of the abandoned house. He thought now
-that of all around him, she alone had never
-changed. His boy had faded into dust, his
-proud wife had deserted him, his flatterer and
-friend had been transformed into the worst of
-villains, his riches had melted away, the very
-walls that sheltered him looked on him as a
-stranger; she alone had turned the same mild,
-gentle look upon him always. Yes, to the
-latest and the last. She had never changed to
-him—nor had he ever changed to her—and
-she was lost.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As, one by one, they fell away before his
-mind—his baby hope, his wife, his friend, his
-fortune—oh, how the mist through which he
-had seen her cleared, and showed him her true
-self! How much better than this that he had
-loved her as he had his boy, and lost her as he
-had his boy, and laid them in their early grave
-together!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the days dragged by, it seemed to him
-that he should go mad with remorse and
-longing. He haunted Paul's room and Florence's
-room—so empty now—as though they were
-his only dwelling-place. He had meant to go
-away, but clung to this tie in the house as the
-last and only thing left to him. He would go
-to-morrow. To-morrow came. He would go
-to-morrow. Every night, within the knowledge
-of no human creature, he came forth, and
-wandered through the despoiled house like a ghost.
-Many a morning when the day broke, with
-altered face drooping behind the closed blind
-in his window, he pondered on the loss of his
-two children. It was one child no more. He
-reunited them in his thoughts, and they were
-never asunder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, one day, when strange fancies
-oppressed him more than usual, he paused at
-Florence's door and gazed wildly down as
-though suddenly awakened from a dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He heard a cry—a loving, pleading voice—and
-there at his knees knelt Florence herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa! Dearest papa! I have come back to
-ask forgiveness. I never can be happy more,
-without it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Unchanged still. Of all the world,
-unchanged. Raising the same face to his as on
-that miserable night. Asking </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> forgiveness!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear papa, oh, don't look strangely on me!
-I never meant to leave you. I never thought
-of it, before or afterwards. I was frightened
-when I went away and could not think. Papa,
-dear, I am changed. I am penitent. I know
-my fault. I know my duty better now. Papa,
-don't cast me off or I shall die!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw
-his arms about her neck: he felt her put her
-own round his; he felt her kisses on his face;
-he felt her wet cheek laid against his own; he
-felt—oh, how deeply!—all that he had done.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Upon the breast that he had bruised, against
-the heart that he had almost broken, she laid
-his face, now covered with his hands, and said,
-sobbing,—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been far away, dear papa, and could
-not come back before this. I have been across
-the seas, and I have a home of my own over
-there now. Oh, I want you to see it! I want
-to take you there; for my home is </span><em class="italics">your</em><span>
-home—always, always! Say you will pardon me,
-will come to me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He would have said it if he could. He
-would have raised his hands and besought </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>
-for pardon, but she caught them in her own and
-put them down hurriedly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will come, I know, dear papa! And I
-will know by that that you forgive me. And
-we will never talk about what is past and
-forgotten; never again!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she clung closer to him, in another burst
-of tears, he kissed her on the lips, and, lifting
-up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God, forgive me,
-for I need it very much!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With that he dropped his head again, lamenting
-over and caressing her, and there was not a
-sound in all the house for a long, long time;
-they remaining clasped in one another's arms,
-in the glorious sunshine that had crept in with
-Florence.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="how-pip-helped-the-convict"><span id="the-story-of-pip-as-told-by-himself"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF PIP AS TOLD BY HIMSELF</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. HOW PIP HELPED THE CONVICT</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>My father's family name being Pirrip,
-and my Christian name Philip, my
-infant tongue could make of both
-names nothing longer than Pip. So I called
-myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the
-authority of his tombstone and my sister—Mrs. Joe
-Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As
-I never saw my father or my mother, my first
-fancies regarding what they were like were
-unreasonably derived from their tombstones.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Ours was the marsh country down by the river,
-within twenty miles of the sea. My most vivid
-memory of these early days was of a raw
-evening about dusk. At such a time I found out for
-certain that this bleak spot where I chanced to
-be wandering all alone was the churchyard;
-that the low, leaden line beyond was the river;
-and that the small bundle of shivers growing
-afraid of it all and beginning to cry was myself—Pip.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as
-a man started up from among the graves at the
-side of the church porch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was a fearful looking man, clad in coarse
-gray, covered with mud and brambles, and with
-a great clanking chain upon his leg.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell us your name!" said the man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pip, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Show us where you live," said the man.
-"P'int out the place!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat
-in-shore among the trees a mile or more from
-the church.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man, after looking at me for a moment,
-turned me upside-down and emptied my pockets.
-There was nothing in them but a piece of bread.
-When the church came to itself—for he was
-so sudden and strong that he made it go
-head-over-heels before me, and I saw the steeple
-under my feet—when the church came to itself,
-I say, I was seated on a high tombstone,
-trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You young dog," said the man, licking his
-lips, "what fat cheeks you ha' got."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I believe they were fat, though I was at that
-time undersized for my years, and not strong.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Darn </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> if I couldn't eat 'em," said the
-man, with a threatening shake of his head, "and
-if I ha'nt half a mind to't!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I earnestly expressed my hope that he
-wouldn't, and held tighter to the tombstone
-on which he had put me; partly to keep myself
-upon it; partly to keep myself from crying.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now lookee here!" said the man. "Where's
-your mother?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, sir!" said I.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started, made a short run, and stopped
-and looked over his shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, sir!" I timidly explained, pointing to
-an inscription on a stone; "that's my mother."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said he, coming back. "And is that
-your father alonger your mother?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," said I; "him too; 'late of this
-parish.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" he muttered then, considering. "Who
-d' ye live with—supposin' you're kindly let to
-live, which I ha'nt made up my mind about?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister, sir—Mrs. Joe Gargery—wife of
-Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down
-at his leg.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After darkly looking at his leg and at me
-several times, he came closer to my tombstone,
-took me by both arms, and tilted me back as
-far as he could hold me, so that his eyes
-looked most powerfully down into mine, and
-mine looked most helplessly up into his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now lookee here," he said, "the question
-being whether you're to be let to live. You
-know what a file is?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you know what wittles is?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After each question he tilted me over a little
-more, so as to give me a greater sense of
-helplessness and danger.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You get me a file." He tilted me again.
-"And you get me some wittles. If you
-don't—!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He tilted me again and shook me till my
-teeth chattered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In—indeed—I will, sir," said I, "if you
-will only let me go. I'll run all the way home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, see that you come back. But to-morrow
-morning will do—early—before day.
-I'll wait for you here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he released me, I needed no second bidding,
-but scurried away as fast as I could, and
-soon reached the blacksmith shop.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than
-twenty years older than I, and had established a
-great reputation with herself and the neighbors
-because she had brought me up "by hand." Having
-at that time to find out for myself what
-the expression meant, and knowing her to have
-a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the
-habit of laying it upon her husband as well as
-upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I
-were both brought up by hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was not a good-looking woman, my sister;
-and I had a general impression that she must
-have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe
-was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each
-side of his smooth face, and with eyes of such a
-very undecided blue that they seemed to have
-somehow got mixed with their own whites. He
-was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered,
-easy-going, foolish, dear fellow—a sort of Hercules
-in strength, and also in weakness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes,
-had such a prevailing redness of skin that I
-sometimes used to wonder whether it was
-possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater
-instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and
-almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened
-behind with two loops, and having a bib in front
-that was stuck full of pins and needles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joe's forge adjoined our house, which was a
-wooden house, as many of the dwellings in our
-country were—most of them, at that time.
-When I ran home from the churchyard the
-forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in
-the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers,
-and having confidences as such, Joe imparted a
-confidence to me the moment I raised the latch
-of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it,
-sitting in the chimney corner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times looking
-for you, Pip. And she's out now, making it a
-baker's dozen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Pip," said Joe; "and what's worse,
-she's got Tickler with her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only
-button on my waistcoat round and round, and
-looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler
-was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by
-collision with my tickled frame.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She sot down," said Joe, "and she got up,
-and she made a grab at Tickler, and she Rampaged
-out. That's what she did," said Joe,
-slowly clearing the fire between the lower bars
-with the poker, and looking at it; "she Rampaged
-out, Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has she been gone long, Joe?" I always
-treated him as no more than my equal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch
-clock, "she's been on the Rampage, this last
-spell, about five minutes, Pip. She's a coming!
-Get behind the door, old chap, and have the
-jack-towel betwixt you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe,
-throwing the door wide open, and finding an
-obstruction behind it, immediately divined the
-cause, and applied Tickler to its farther
-investigation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where have you been?" she demanded, between
-tickles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have only been to the churchyard," said
-I, crying and rubbing myself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Churchyard!" repeated my sister. "If it
-warn't for me you'd been to the churchyard
-long ago, and stayed there! Who brought
-you up by hand?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My thoughts strayed from that question as I
-looked disconsolately at the fire. For the
-fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the
-file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was
-under to steal, from under my sister's very roof,
-rose before me in the avenging coals.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to
-his station. "Churchyard, indeed! You may
-well say churchyard, you two." (One of
-us, by the by, had not said it at all.) "You'll
-drive </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> to the churchyard betwixt
-you, one of these days, and oh, a pr-r-recious
-pair you'd be without me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she applied herself to set the tea-things,
-Joe peeped down at me over his leg, as if he
-were mentally calculating what kind of pair we
-should make, under such circumstances. After
-that, he sat feeling his right-side flaxen curls
-and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with
-his blue eyes, as his manner always was at
-squally times.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My sister had a sudden, severe way of cutting
-and buttering bread, which never varied. Now
-she ripped me off a section of loaf, bidding me
-eat and be thankful. Though I was hungry, I
-dared not eat; for she was a strict housekeeper
-who would miss any further slices, and I must
-not let that dreadful man out in the churchyard go
-hungry. So I resolved to put my hunk of bread
-and butter down the leg of my trousers—a plan
-which I presently found the chance to carry out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the
-pudding for next day with a copper-stick. I
-tried it with the load upon my leg (and that
-made me think afresh of the man with the load
-on </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> leg), and found the tendency of exercise
-to bring the bread-and-butter out at my ankle
-quite unmanageable. Happily, I slipped away
-and deposited that part of my conscience in my
-garret bedroom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring,
-and was taking a final warm in the chimney
-corner before being sent up to bed; "was
-that great guns, Joe?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that mean, Joe?" said I.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon
-herself, said snappishly, "Escaped. Escaped."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There was a conwict off last night," added
-Joe, "after sunset-gun. And they fired warning
-of him. And now it appears they're firing
-warning of another."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's firing?" said I.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning
-at me over her work, "what a questioner he
-is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not very polite to herself, I thought,
-as she always answered. But she never was
-polite, unless there was company.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Joe said to me in a quiet kind of
-whisper. "Hulks, Pip; prison ships. They're
-firing because one of the thieves on the hulks is
-got away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thieves! Prison ships! And here I was
-planning to rob my sister of the bread and
-butter; and honest Joe of a file! Truly
-conscience is a fearful thing, yet there was no
-turning back for me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That night the rest of the dreadful deed was
-done. Just before daybreak I crept out,
-carrying the file which I had found among Joe's
-tools, the slice of bread, and a pie which was
-too convenient in the pantry, and which I took
-in the hope it was not intended for early use
-and would not be missed for some time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I found the man with the iron waiting for
-me, crouched behind a tombstone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you alone?" he asked hoarsely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one following you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said he, "I believe you. Give me
-them wittles, quick."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I had often watched a large dog of ours eating
-his food; and I now noticed a decided similarity
-between the dog's way of eating and the man's.
-The man took strong, sharp, sudden bites, just
-like the dog. He swallowed, or rather snapped
-up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; and
-he looked sideways here and there while he ate,
-as if he thought there was danger in every
-direction of somebody's coming to take the pie
-away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now give us hold of the file, boy," he said,
-when he had finished swallowing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I did so, and he bent to the iron like a
-madman, and began filing it away in quick, fierce
-rasps. I judged this a good time to slip away,
-and he paid no further attention to me. The
-last I heard of him, the file was still going.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And where the mischief ha' you been?"
-was Mrs. Joe's Christmas salutation, when I and
-my conscience showed ourselves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I said I had been down to hear the chimes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well!" observed Mrs. Joe. "You might
-ha' done worse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Not a doubt of that, I thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We were to have a superb dinner—so Joe
-slyly told me—consisting of a leg of pork and
-greens, a pair of roast stuffed fowls, and a
-handsome pie which had been baked the day
-before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I started when he spoke about the pie, but
-his blue eyes beamed upon me kindly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My sister having so much to do, was going to
-church vicariously; that is to say, Joe and I
-were going. In his working clothes, Joe was a
-well-knit characteristic-looking blacksmith; in
-his holiday clothes, he was more like a scarecrow
-in good circumstances, than anything else.
-Nothing that he wore then fitted him or seemed
-to belong to him. On the present festive
-occasion he emerged from his room, when the blithe
-bells were ringing, the picture of misery, in a
-full suit of Sunday penitentials. As to me, I
-think my sister must have had some general
-idea that I was a young offender who must be
-punished each holy-day by being put into
-clothes so tight that I could on no account move
-my arms and legs without danger of something
-bursting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joe and I going to church, therefore, must
-have been a moving spectacle for compassionate
-minds. Yet, what I suffered outside was
-nothing to what I underwent within. The terrors
-that had assailed me whenever Mrs. Joe had
-gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were
-only to be equalled by the remorse with which
-my mind dwelt on what my hands had done.
-Under the weight of my wicked secret, I
-pondered whether even the Church would be
-powerful enough to shield me from the wrath to
-come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine
-with us; and Mr. Hubble, the wheelwright, and
-Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe's
-uncle, but Mrs. Joe appropriated him), who was
-a well-to-do cornchandler in the nearest town,
-and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner
-hour was half-past one.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Joe and I got home, we found the table
-laid, and Mrs. Joe dressed, and the dinner
-dressing, and the front door unlocked (it never was
-at any other time) for the company to enter by,
-and everything most splendid. And still, not a
-word of the robbery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, the agony of that festive dinner! During
-each helping of my plate I ate mechanically,
-hardly daring to lift my eyes, and clutching
-frantically at the leg of the table for support.
-With each mouthful we drew nearer to that
-pie—and discovery! But as they chattered away,
-I felt a faint hope that they might perhaps forget
-the pie.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They did not, for presently my sister said to
-Joe, "Clean plates—cold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I got a fresh hold on the table leg. I foresaw
-I was doomed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must taste," said my sister, addressing
-the guests with her best grace, "you must finish
-with a pie, in honor of Uncle Pumblechook."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The company murmured their compliments.
-Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of having deserved
-well of his fellow-creatures, said,—quite
-vivaciously, all things considered,—"Well, Mrs. Joe,
-we'll do our best endeavors; let us have a cut at
-this same pie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My sister went out to get it. I heard her
-steps proceed to the pantry. I saw Mr. Pumblechook
-balance his knife. I saw reawakening
-appetite in the Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I
-heard Mr. Hubble remark that "a bit of savory
-pie would lay atop of anything you could
-mention, and do no harm," and I heard Joe say
-"you shall have some, Pip." I have never been
-absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell
-of terror, merely in spirit, or in the bodily
-hearing of the company. I felt that I could bear no
-more, and that I must run away. I released the
-leg of the table, and ran for my life.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But I ran no farther than the house door, for
-there I ran headforemost into a party of soldiers
-with their muskets, one of whom held out a pair
-of handcuffs to me, saying, "Here you are, look
-sharp, come on!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The vision of a file of soldiers caused the
-dinner party to rise from the table in confusion, and
-caused Mrs. Joe, re-entering the kitchen
-empty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her
-wondering lament of "Gracious goodness, gracious me,
-what's gone—with the—pie!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said the
-sergeant, "but as I have mentioned at the door
-to this smart young shaver" (which he hadn't),
-"I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I
-want the blacksmith."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And pray, what might you want with him?"
-retorted my sister, quick to resent his being
-wanted at all.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Missis," returned the gallant sergeant,
-"speaking for myself, I should reply, the honor
-and pleasure of his fine wife's acquaintance;
-speaking for the king, I answer, a little job
-done."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was received as rather neat in the
-sergeant; insomuch that Mr. Pumblechook cried
-audibly, "Good again!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, blacksmith," said the sergeant,
-who had by this time picked out Joe with his
-eye, "we have had an accident with these, and
-I find the lock of one of 'em goes wrong, and the
-coupling don't act pretty. As they are wanted
-for immediate service, will you throw your eye
-over them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced
-that the job would necessitate the lighting of his
-forge fire, and would take nearer two hours than one.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it? Then will you set about it at once,
-blacksmith," said the off-hand sergeant, "as it's
-on his Majesty's service. And if my men can
-bear a hand anywhere, they'll make themselves
-useful." With that, he called to his men, who
-came trooping into the kitchen one after another,
-and piled their arms in a corner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>All these things I saw without then knowing
-that I saw them, for I was in an agony of
-apprehension. But, beginning to perceive that the
-handcuffs were not for me, and that the military
-had so far got the better of the pie as to put it in
-the background, I collected a little more of my
-scattered wits.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-98">
-<span id="pip-brings-the-convict-some-food"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="PIP BRINGS THE CONVICT SOME FOOD." src="images/img-218.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">PIP BRINGS THE CONVICT SOME FOOD.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The soldiers were out hunting for the
-convicts that had escaped. And as soon as Joe
-had mended the handcuffs, they fell in line and
-started again for the marshes. Joe caught an
-appealing look from me, and timidly asked if
-he and I might go along with them. The
-consent was given and away we went.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After a rough journey over bogs and through
-briars, a loud shout from the soldiers in front
-announced that one of the fugitives had been
-caught. We ran hastily up and peered into a
-ditch. It was my convict.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was hustled into the handcuffs and
-hustled up a hill where stood a rough hut or
-sentry-box, and here we halted to rest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My convict never looked at me, except once.
-While we were in the hut, he stood before the
-fire looking thoughtfully at it, or putting up his
-feet by turns upon the hob. Suddenly he
-turned to the sergeant and remarked:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to say something respecting this
-escape. It may prevent some persons laying
-under suspicion alonger me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can say what you like," returned the
-sergeant, standing coolly looking at him with
-his arms folded, "but you have no call to say
-it here. You'll have opportunity enough to
-say about it, and hear about it, before it's done
-with, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, but this is another p'int, a separate
-matter. A man can't starve; at least </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't.
-I took some wittles, up at the village over
-yonder—where the church stands a'most out
-on the marshes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean stole," said the sergeant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'll tell you where from. From the
-blacksmith's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo!" said the sergeant, staring at Joe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo, Pip!" said Joe, staring at me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was some broken wittle—that's what it
-was—and a dram of liquor, and a pie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you happened to miss such an article
-as a pie, blacksmith?" asked the sergeant,
-confidentially.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My wife did, at the very moment when you
-came in. Don't you know, Pip?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So," said my convict, turning his eyes on
-Joe in a moody manner, and without the least
-glance at me; "so you're the blacksmith, are
-you? Then I'm sorry to say I've eat your pie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows you're welcome to it—so far
-as it was ever mine," returned Joe, with a
-saving remembrance of Mrs. Joe. "We don't
-know what you have done, but we wouldn't
-have you starve to death for it, poor miserable
-fellow-creatur. Would us, Pip?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Something that I had noticed before clicked
-in the man's throat again, and he turned his
-back. The boat had returned, and his guard
-were ready, so we followed him to the landing-place
-made of rough stakes and stones, and saw
-him put into the boat, which was rowed by a
-crew of convicts like himself. No one seemed
-surprised to see him, but they looked at him
-stolidly and rowed him back to the hulks as a
-matter of course.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My state of mind regarding the pie was
-curious. I do not recall that I felt any
-tenderness of conscience in reference to Mrs. Joe,
-when the fear of being found out was lifted off
-me. But I loved Joe—perhaps for no better
-reason in those early days than because the
-dear fellow let me love him—and, as to him,
-my inner self was not so easily composed. It
-was much upon my mind (particularly when I
-first saw him looking about for his file) that I
-ought to tell Joe the whole truth. Yet I did
-not, and for the reason that I mistrusted that
-if I did he would think me worse than I was.
-The fear of losing Joe's confidence and of
-thenceforth sitting in the chimney corner at
-night staring drearily at my forever lost
-companion and friend, tied up my tongue. And so
-the whole truth never came out.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="pip-and-estella"><span class="bold large">II. PIP AND ESTELLA</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>At this time I was only an errand boy
-around the forge, and my education
-was limited to spelling out the names
-on the tombstones. So in the evenings they
-sent me to school to Mr. Wopsle's aunt, a
-worthy woman who used to go to sleep regularly
-from six to seven while her small class was
-supposed to study.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But I was lucky enough to find a friend in
-her granddaughter, Biddy. She was about my
-own age, and, while her shoes were generally
-untied and her hands sometimes dirty, her heart
-was in the right place and she had a good head.
-So with her help I struggled through my letters
-as if they had been a bramble-bush, getting
-considerably worried and scratched by each
-letter in turn. Then came the dreaded nine
-figures to add to my troubles. But at last I
-learned to read and cipher.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I do not know which was the prouder, Joe or
-I, when I wrote him my first letter (which was
-hardly needed, as he sat beside me while I
-wrote it).</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Pip, old chap!" he cried, opening his
-eyes very wide, "what a scholar you are! Ain't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to be," I answered, looking at
-the slate with satisfaction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle
-Pumblechook on market-days, to assist him in
-buying such household stuffs and goods as
-required a woman's judgment; Uncle
-Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no
-confidences in his domestic servant. On this
-particular evening she came home from such a
-trip, bringing Uncle Pumblechook with her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said she, unwrapping herself with
-haste and excitement, and throwing her bonnet
-back on her shoulders where it hung by the
-strings, "if this boy ain't grateful this night, he
-never will be!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I looked as grateful as any boy possibly
-could, who was wholly uninformed why he
-ought to assume that expression.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have heard of Miss Havisham up town,
-haven't you?" continued my sister, addressing
-Joe. "She wants this boy to go and play
-there. And of course he's going. And he
-had </span><em class="italics">better</em><span> play there," said my sister, shaking
-her head at me as an encouragement to be
-extremely light and sportive, "or I'll work him!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I had heard of Miss Havisham up town—everybody
-for miles round had heard of Miss
-Havisham up town—as an immensely rich and
-grim lady who lived in a large and dismal house
-barricaded against robbers, and who led a life
-of seclusion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well to be sure!" said Joe, astounded. "I
-wonder how she come to know Pip!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Noodle!" cried my sister. "Who said she
-knew him? Couldn't she ask Uncle Pumblechook
-if he knew of a boy to go and play there?
-And couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, being always
-considerate and thoughtful of us, mention this
-boy that I have been a willing slave to? And
-couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, being sensible
-that for anything we can tell, this boy's fortune
-may be made by his going to Miss Havisham's,
-offer to take him into town to-night in his own
-chaise-cart, and to keep him to-night, and to
-take him with his own hands to Miss
-Havisham's to-morrow morning? And Lor-a-mussy
-me!" cried my sister, casting off her bonnet in
-sudden desperation, "here I stand talking to
-mere Mooncalfs, with Uncle Pumblechook
-waiting, and the mare catching cold at the door,
-and the boy grimed with dirt from the hair of
-his head to the sole of his foot!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With that, she pounced on me, like an eagle
-on a lamb, and my face was squeezed into
-wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put
-under taps of water-butts, and I was soaped and
-kneaded, and towelled, and thumped, and
-harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite
-beside myself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When my ablutions were completed, I was
-put into clean linen of the stiffest character, like
-a young penitent into sackcloth, and was trussed
-up in my tightest and fearfullest suit. I was then
-delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook, who
-formally received me as if he were the Sheriff,
-saying pompously, "Boy, be forever grateful
-to all friends, but especially unto them which
-brought you up by hand!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, Joe!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you, Pip, old chap!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I had never parted from him before, and what
-with my feelings and what with soap-suds, I
-could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart.
-But they twinkled out one by one, without
-throwing any light on the questions as to why
-on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham's,
-and what on earth I was expected to play at.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I spent the night at Uncle Pumblechook's,
-and the next morning after breakfast we
-proceeded to Miss Havisham's. It was a dismal
-looking house with a great many iron bars to it.
-Some of the windows had been walled up, and
-the others were rustily barred. There was a
-courtyard in front, which was also barred; so
-we had to wait, after ringing the bell, for some
-one to open it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently a window was raised, and a clear
-voice demanded, "What name?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pumblechook," was the reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The voice returned, "Quite right," and the
-window was shut again, and a young lady came
-across the courtyard, with keys in her hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said Mr. Pumblechook, "is Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Pip, is it?" returned the young lady,
-who was very pretty and seemed very proud;
-"come in, Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when
-she stopped him with the gate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she said. "Did you wish to see Miss
-Havisham?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If Miss Havisham wished to see me,"
-returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said the girl; "but you see she don't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She said it so finally, and in such an
-undiscussible way, that Mr. Pumblechook, though in
-a condition of ruffled dignity, could not protest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We went into the house by a side door—the
-great front entrance had two chains across it
-outside—and the first thing I noticed was that
-the passages were all dark, and that she had left
-a candle burning there. She took it up, and we
-went through more passages and up a staircase,
-and still it was all dark, and only the candle
-lighted us.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At last we came to the door of a room and
-she said, "Go in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I answered, more in shyness than politeness,
-"After you, miss."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To this she returned, "Don't be ridiculous,
-boy; I am not going in." And scornfully
-walked away, and—what was worse—took
-the candle with her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was very uncomfortable, and I was half
-afraid. However, the only thing to do being
-to knock at the door, I knocked, and was
-told from within to enter. I entered, therefore,
-and found myself in a pretty large room, well
-lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of
-daylight was to be seen in it. It was a
-dressing-room, as I supposed from the furniture, though
-much of it was of forms and uses then quite
-unknown to me. But prominent in it was a
-draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and
-that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's
-dressing-table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the
-table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the
-strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was dressed in rich materials,—satins
-and lace and silks,—all of white. Her shoes
-were white. And she had a long white veil
-dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers
-in her hair, but her hair was white. Some bright
-jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands,
-and some other jewels lay sparkling on the table.
-Dresses, less splendid than the dress she wore,
-and half-packed trunks, were scattered about.
-She had not quite finished dressing, for she had
-but one shoe on,—the other was on the table
-near her hand,—her veil was but half arranged,
-her watch and chain were not put on, and her
-handkerchief, gloves, some flowers, and a
-prayer-book lay confusedly heaped about the
-looking-glass.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pip, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pip?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma'am. Come—to play."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You
-are not afraid of a woman who has never seen
-the sun since you were born?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling
-the enormous lie comprehended in the answer "No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am tired," said Miss Havisham. "I want
-diversion, and I have done with men and women.
-Play."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I looked foolish and bewildered, not knowing
-what to do.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I sometimes have sick fancies," she went on,
-"and I have a sick fancy that I want to see
-some play. There, there!" with an impatient
-movement of the fingers of her right hand;
-"play, play, play!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment, with the fear of my sister's
-working me before my eyes, I had a desperate
-idea of starting round the room in the assumed
-character of Mr. Pumblechook's chaise-cart.
-But I felt myself so unequal to the performance
-that I gave it up, and stood looking at
-Miss Havisham in what I suppose she took for
-a dogged manner, inasmuch as she said, when
-we had taken a good look at each other,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sullen and obstinate?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, ma'am, I am very sorry for you, and
-very sorry I can't play just now. If you
-complain of me I shall get into trouble with my
-sister, so I would do it if I could; but it's so
-new here, and so strange, and so fine, and
-melancholy—" I stopped, fearing I might say
-too much.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Call Estella," she commanded, looking at
-me. "You can do that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To stand in a strange house calling a scornful
-young lady by her first name was almost as bad
-as playing to order. But she answered at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear," said Miss Havisham, "let me see
-you play cards with this boy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you play, boy?" asked Estella,
-with the greatest disdain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing but 'beggar my neighbor,' Miss."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Beggar him," said Miss Havisham to Estella.
-So we sat down to cards.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was then I began to understand that
-everything in the room had stopped, with the watch
-and the clock, a long time ago. I noticed that
-Miss Havisham put down the jewel exactly on
-the spot from which she had taken it up. As
-Estella dealt the cards, I glanced at the dressing-table
-again, and saw that the shoe upon it, once
-white, now yellow, had never been worn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He calls the knaves, Jacks, this boy!" said
-Estella with disdain, before our first game was
-out. "And what coarse hands he has! And
-what thick boots!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I had never thought of being ashamed of my
-hands before; but now I began to consider
-them. Her contempt for me was so strong
-that I caught it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt,
-as was only natural, when I knew she was lying
-in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced
-me for a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You say nothing of her," remarked Miss
-Havisham to me, as she looked on. "She says
-many hard things of you, but you say nothing
-of her. What do you think of her?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like to say," I stammered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me in my ear," said Miss Havisham,
-bending down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think she is very proud," I replied, in a
-whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything else?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think she is very pretty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything else?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think she is very insulting." (She was
-looking at me then with a look of supreme
-aversion.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything else?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I should like to go home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall go soon," said Miss Havisham
-aloud; "play the game out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I played the game to an end with Estella, and
-she beggared me. She threw the cards down
-on the table when she had won them all, as
-if she despised them for having been won of me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When shall I have you here again?" said
-Miss Havisham. "Let me think. I know
-nothing of days of the week, or of weeks of
-the year. Come again after six days. You hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Estella, take him down. Let him have
-something to eat, and let him roam and look
-about him while he eats. Go, Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I followed the candle down, as I had followed
-the candle up, and she stood it in the place
-where we had found it. Until she opened the
-side entrance, I had fancied, without thinking
-about it, that it must necessarily be night-time.
-The rush of the daylight quite confounded me,
-and made me feel as if I had been in the
-candle-light of the strange room many hours.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When I reached home, my sister was very
-curious to know all about Miss Havisham and
-what I had seen and done at her house. Uncle
-Pumblechook, too, came hurrying over, armed
-with many questions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was naturally a truthful boy—as boys go—but
-I knew instinctively that I could not make
-myself understood about that strange visit. So
-I didn't try. When he fired his first question,
-as to What was Miss Havisham like?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very tall and dark," I told him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she, uncle?" asked my sister.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which
-I at once inferred that he had never seen Miss
-Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" said Mr. Pumblechook conceitedly.
-"Now, boy! What was she a doing of when
-you went in to-day?" he continued.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She was sitting," I answered, "in a black
-velvet coach."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one
-another—as they well might—and both
-repeated, "In a black velvet coach?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said I. "And Miss Estella—that's
-her niece, I think—handed her in cake and
-wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate.
-And we all had cake and wine on gold plates.
-And I got up behind the coach to eat mine,
-because she told me to."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was anybody else there?" asked Mr. Pumblechook.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Four dogs," said I.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Large or small?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Immense," said I. "And they fought for
-veal cutlets out of a silver basket."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one
-another again in utter amazement. I was
-perfectly frantic—a reckless witness under the
-torture—and would have told them anything.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> this coach, in the name of
-gracious?" asked my sister.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In Miss Havisham's room." They stared
-again. "But there weren't any horses to it." I
-added this saving clause, in the moment of
-rejecting four richly caparisoned coursers which
-I had had wild thoughts of harnessing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can this be possible, uncle?" asked Mrs. Joe.
-"What can the boy mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook.
-"My opinion is, it's a sedan-chair. She's
-flighty, you know—very flighty—quite flighty
-enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever see her in it, uncle?" asked
-Mrs. Joe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How could I?" he returned, forced to the
-admission, "when I never see her in my life.
-Never clapped eyes upon her!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodness, uncle! And yet you have
-spoken to her!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Just through the door," he replied testily.
-"Now, boy, what did you play?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We played with flags."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Flags!" echoed my sister.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said I. "Estella waved a blue flag,
-and I waved a red one, and Miss Havisham
-waved one sprinkled all over with little gold
-stars, out at the coach-window. And then we
-all waved our swords and hurrahed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Swords!" repeated my sister. "Where
-did you get swords from?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of a cupboard," said I. "And I saw
-pistols in it—and jam—and pills. And there
-was no daylight in the room, but it was all
-lighted up with candles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook,
-with a grave nod. "That's the state of the case,
-for that much I've seen myself." And then they
-both stared at me, and I at them, and plaited the
-right leg of my trousers with my right hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If they had asked me any more questions I
-should undoubtedly have betrayed myself, for
-I was even then on the point of mentioning that
-there was a balloon in the yard, and should
-have hazarded the statement but for my
-invention being divided between that phenomenon
-and a bear. They were so much occupied,
-however, in discussing the marvels I had
-already presented for their consideration, that I
-escaped. The subject still held them when Joe
-came in from his work to have a cup of tea.
-To whom my sister, more for the relief of her
-own mind than for the gratification of his,
-related my pretended experiences.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now, when I saw Joe open his blue eyes and
-roll them all round the kitchen in helpless
-amazement, I was overtaken by penitence; but
-only as regarded him—not in the least as
-regarded the other two. Towards Joe, and Joe
-only, I considered myself a young monster,
-while they sat debating what results would come
-to me from Miss Havisham's acquaintance and
-favor. They had no doubt that Miss Havisham
-would "do something" for me; their doubts
-related to the form that something would take.
-My sister stood out for "property." Mr. Pumblechook
-was in favor of a handsome premium
-for binding me apprentice to some genteel
-trade,—say, the corn and seed trade, for
-instance. Joe fell into the deepest disgrace with
-both, for offering the bright suggestion that I
-might only be presented with one of the dogs
-who had fought for the veal cutlets. "If a fool's
-head can't express better opinions than that,"
-said my sister, "and you have got any work
-to do, you had better go and do it." So he went.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and
-when my sister was washing up, I stole into the
-forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had
-done for the night. Then I said, "Before the
-fire goes out, Joe, I should like to tell you
-something."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Should you, Pip?" said Joe, drawing his
-shoeing-stool near the forge. "Then tell us.
-What is it, Pip?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Joe," said I, taking hold of his rolled-up
-shirt sleeve, and twisting it between my finger
-and thumb, "you remember all that about
-Miss Havisham's?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember?" said Joe. "I believe you! Wonderful!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a terrible thing, Joe; it ain't true."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you telling of, Pip?" cried Joe,
-falling back in the greatest amazement. "You
-don't mean to say it's—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do; it's lies, Joe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But not all of it? Why sure you don't
-mean to say, Pip, that there was no black
-welwet co—ch?" For, I stood shaking my
-head. "But at least there was dogs, Pip?
-Come, Pip," said Joe persuasively, "if there
-warn't no weal cutlets, at least there was dogs?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Joe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">A</em><span> dog?" said Joe. "A puppy? Come?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe
-contemplated me in dismay. "Pip, old chap!
-This won't do, old fellow! I say! Where do
-you expect to go to?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's terrible, Joe; ain't it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Terrible?" cried Joe. "Awful! What possessed you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what possessed me, Joe," I
-replied, letting his shirt sleeve go, and sitting
-down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head;
-"but I wish you hadn't taught me to call
-knaves at cards, Jacks; and I wish my boots
-weren't so thick nor my hands so coarse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable,
-and that I hadn't been able to explain myself
-to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, and that there
-had been a beautiful young lady at Miss
-Havisham's who was dreadfully proud, and that she
-had said I was common, and much more to that
-effect.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's one thing you maybe sure of, Pip,"
-said Joe, after some rumination, "namely, that
-lies is lies. Howsever they come, they didn't
-ought to come, and they come from the father
-of lies, and work round to the same. Don't you
-tell no more of 'em, Pip. </span><em class="italics">That</em><span> ain't the way to
-get out of being common, old chap. And as to
-being common, I don't make it out at all clear.
-You are oncommon in some things. You're
-oncommon small. Likewise you're a oncommon
-scholar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I am ignorant and backward, Joe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, see what a letter you wrote last night.
-Wrote in print even! I've seen letters—Ah! and
-from gentlefolks!—that I'll swear weren't
-wrote in print," said Joe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have learnt next to nothing, Joe. You
-think much of me. It's only that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Pip," said Joe, "be it so or be it son't,
-you must be a common scholar afore you can
-be a oncommon one, I should hope! The king
-upon his throne, with his crown upon his 'ed,
-can't sit and write his acts of Parliament in print,
-without having begun, when he were a
-unpromoted prince, with the alphabet—Ah!"
-added Joe, with a shake of the head that was
-full of meaning, "and begun at A too, and
-worked his way to Z!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was some hope in this piece of wisdom,
-and it rather encouraged me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not angry with me, Joe?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, old chap. But you might bear in mind
-about them dog fights and weal cutlets when
-you say your prayers to-night. That's all, old
-chap, and don't never do it no more."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="how-pip-fell-heir-to-great-expectations"><span class="bold large">III. HOW PIP FELL HEIR TO GREAT EXPECTATIONS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The happy idea occurred to me a
-morning or two later when I woke, that the
-best step I could take towards making
-myself uncommon was to get out of Biddy
-everything she knew. In pursuance of this
-idea, I mentioned to Biddy, when I went to
-Mr. Wopsle's aunt's at night, that I had a
-particular reason for wishing to get on in life, and
-that I should feel very much obliged to her if
-she would impart all her learning to me. Biddy,
-who was the most obliging of girls, immediately
-said she would, and indeed began to carry out
-her promise within five minutes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The books at the school were few and ragged,
-but we attacked them all valiantly during the
-course of the winter, and even refreshed our
-budding minds with newspaper scraps. And
-with every new piece of knowledge I could
-fancy myself saying to Miss Estella, "Now am
-I common?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the appointed time I returned to Miss
-Havisham's, and my hesitating ring at the gate
-brought out Estella.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are to come this way to-day," she said
-after admitting me, and took me to quite another
-part of the house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We went in at a door, which stood open, and
-into a gloomy room with a low ceiling on the
-ground floor at the back. There was some
-company in the room, and Estella said to me
-as she joined it, "You are to go and stand there,
-boy, till you are wanted." "There," being the
-window, I crossed to it, and stood "there," in a
-very uncomfortable state of mind, looking out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she brought a candle and led the
-way down a dark passage to a staircase. As we
-went up the stairs we met a man coming down.
-He was large and bald, with bushy black
-eyebrows and deep-set eyes which were disagreeably
-keen. He was nothing to me at the time,
-and yet I couldn't help observe him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and looked at me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> come here?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Havisham sent for me, sir," I explained.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well! Behave yourself. I have a pretty
-large experience of boys, and you're a bad
-set of fellows. Now mind!" said he, biting the
-side of his great forefinger as he frowned at me,
-"you behave yourself!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With those words he released me—which I was
-glad of, for his hand smelt of scented soap—and
-went his way downstairs. I wondered whether
-he could be a doctor; but no, I thought; he
-couldn't be a doctor, or he would have a quieter
-manner. There was not much time to consider
-the subject, for we were soon in Miss Havisham's
-room, where she and everything else were
-just as I had left them. Estella left me standing
-near the door, and I stood there until Miss
-Havisham cast her eyes upon me from the
-dressing-table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So!" she said, without being startled or
-surprised; "the days have worn away, have they?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am. To-day is—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there, there!" with the impatient
-movement of her fingers. "I don't want to
-know. Are you ready to play?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was obliged to answer in some confusion,
-"I don't think I am, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at cards again?" she demanded with a
-searching look.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am; I could do that, if I was wanted."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since this house strikes you old and grave,
-boy," said Miss Havisham, impatiently, "and
-you are unwilling to play, are you willing to
-work?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I could answer this inquiry with a better heart
-than I had been able to find for the other
-question, and I said I was quite willing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then go into that opposite room," said she,
-pointing at the door behind me with her withered
-hand, "and wait there till I come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I did so, and after hearing mice scamper about
-the faintly lighted room for a few minutes, Miss
-Havisham entered and laid a hand upon my
-shoulder. In her other hand she had a
-crutch-headed stick on which she leaned, and she
-looked like the Witch of the place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said she, pointing to the long table
-with her stick, "is where I will be laid when I
-am dead. They shall come and look at me here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With some vague misgiving that she might
-get upon the table then and there and die at
-once, the complete realization of the ghastly
-wax-work at the Fair, I shrank under her touch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think that is?" she asked me,
-again pointing with her stick; "that, where
-those cobwebs are?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't guess what it is, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked all around the room in a glaring
-manner, and then said, leaning on me while her
-hand twitched my shoulder, "Come, come,
-come! Walk me, walk me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From this I made out that the work I had to
-do was to walk Miss Havisham round and round
-the room. So I started at once, she following
-at a fitful speed, twitching the hand upon my
-shoulder. After a while she said, "Call
-Estella," and I did so. Then the company I had
-noticed before filed in and paid their
-respects, which Miss Havisham hardly seemed
-to hear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>While Estella was away lighting them down,
-Miss Havisham still walked with her hand on
-my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At
-last she stopped before the fire, and said, after
-muttering and looking at it some seconds,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is my birthday, Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was going to wish her many happy returns,
-when she lifted her stick.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't suffer it to be spoken of. I don't
-suffer those who were here just now or any one
-to speak of it. They come here on the day, but
-they dare not refer to it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Of course </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> made no further effort to refer
-to it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"On this day of the year, long before you
-were born, this heap of decay," stabbing with
-her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the
-table but not touching it, "was brought here.
-It and I have worn away together. The mice
-have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth
-of mice have gnawed at me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She held the head of her stick against her
-heart as she stood looking at the table; she in
-her once white dress, all yellow and withered;
-the once white cloth all yellow and withered;
-everything around, in a state to crumble under
-a touch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When the ruin is complete," said she, with a
-ghastly look, "and when they lay me dead, in
-my bride's dress on the bride's table—which
-shall be done, and which will be the finished
-curse upon him—so much the better if it is
-done on this day!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood looking at the table as if she stood
-looking at her own figure lying there. I
-remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too
-remained quiet. It seemed to me that we
-continued thus a long time. In the heavy air of the
-room, and the heavy darkness that brooded in
-its remoter corners, I even had an alarming
-fancy that Estella and I might presently crumble
-to dust.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And thus passed my second visit to Miss
-Havisham's.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On my next visit, the following week, I saw a
-garden-chair—a light chair on wheels, that you
-pushed from behind. I entered, that same day,
-on a regular occupation of pushing Miss
-Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of
-walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her
-own room, and across the landing, and round
-the other room. Over and over and over again,
-we would make these journeys, and sometimes
-they would last as long as three hours at a
-stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention
-of these journeys as numerous, because it was at
-once settled that I should return every alternate
-day at noon for these purposes, and because I
-am now going to sum up a period of at least
-eight or ten months.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As we began to be more used to one another,
-Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked
-me such questions as, what had I learned and
-what was I going to be? I told her I was going
-to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed; and I
-enlarged upon my knowing nothing and wanting
-to know everything, in the hope that she might
-offer some help towards that desirable end. But
-she did not; on the contrary, she seemed to
-prefer my being ignorant. Neither did she ever
-give me any money nor anything but my daily
-dinner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Estella was always there to let me in and out.
-Sometimes she would coldly tolerate me;
-sometimes she would condescend to me; sometimes
-she would be quite familiar with me; sometimes
-she would say she hated me. But always my
-admiration for her grew apace, and I was the
-more firmly resolved not to be common.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a song Joe used to hum fragments
-of at the forge, of which the burden was Old
-Clem. This was not a very ceremonious way
-of rendering homage to a patron saint; for I
-believe Old Clem stood in that relation towards
-smiths. It was a song that imitated the
-measure of beating upon iron, and was a mere
-lyrical excuse for the introduction of Old Clem's
-respected name. Thus, you were to hammer
-boys round—Old Clem! With a thump and
-a sound—Old Clem! Beat it out, beat it
-out—Old Clem! With a clink for the
-stout—Old Clem! Blow the fire, blow the fire—Old
-Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher—Old
-Clem! One day soon after the appearance
-of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly
-saying to me, with the impatient movement of
-her fingers, "There, there, there! Sing!" I was
-surprised into crooning this ditty as I pushed
-her over the floor. It happened so to catch
-her fancy that, she took it up in a low brooding
-voice as if she were singing in her sleep. After
-that, it became customary with us to have it as
-we moved about, and Estella would often join
-in; though the whole strain was so subdued,
-even when there were three of us, that it made
-less noise in the grim old house than the lightest
-breath of wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What could I become with these surroundings?
-How could my character fail to be
-influenced by them? Is it to be wondered at
-if my thoughts were dazed, as my eyes were,
-when I came out into the natural light from the
-misty yellow rooms?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps I might have talked it all over with
-Joe, had it not been for those enormous tales
-about coaches, dogs, and veal cutlets. But I
-felt a natural shrinking from having Miss
-Havisham and Estella discussed, which had
-come upon me in the beginning, and which
-grew much more potent as time went on. I
-reposed complete confidence in no one but
-Biddy; and so I told her everything. Why it
-came natural for me to do so, and why Biddy
-had a deep concern in everything I told her, I
-did not know then, though I think I know now.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We went on in this way for a long time, and
-it seemed likely that we should continue to go
-on in this way for a long time, when, one day,
-Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were
-walking, she leaning on my shoulder; and said
-with some displeasure,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are growing tall, Pip!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She said no more at the time; but she
-presently stopped and looked at me again; and
-presently again; and after that, looked
-frowning and moody. On the next day of my
-attendance, when our usual exercise was over,
-and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she
-stayed me with a movement of her impatient
-fingers:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith
-of yours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Joe Gargery, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Miss Havisham."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better be apprenticed at once.
-Would Gargery come here with you, and bring
-your indentures, do you think?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I signified that I had no doubt he would take
-it as an honor to be asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then let him come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there! I know nothing about
-times. Let him come soon, and come alone
-with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So, on my very next visit, I conducted Joe,
-stiffly arrayed in his Sunday clothes, into Miss
-Havisham's presence. She asked him several
-questions about himself and my apprenticeship,
-while the poor fellow twisted his hat in his
-hand and persisted in answering </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. I am
-afraid I was the least bit ashamed of him, when
-I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss
-Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed
-mischievously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she
-understood what he really was, better than I
-had thought possible, seeing what an awkward
-figure he cut; and took up a little bag from the
-table beside her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pip has earned a premium here," she said,
-"and here it is. There are five-and-twenty
-guineas in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As if he were absolutely out of his mind
-with the wonder awakened in him by her
-strange figure and the strange room, Joe, even
-at this pass, persisted in addressing me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is wery liberal on your part, Pip,"
-said Joe, "and it is as such received and
-grateful welcome, though never looked for, far nor
-near nor nowheres. And now, old chap, may
-we do our duty! May you and me do our
-duty, both on us, by one and another, and by
-them which your liberal present—have—conweyed—to
-be—for the satisfaction of mind—of—them
-as never—" here Joe showed that
-he felt he had fallen into frightful difficulties,
-until he triumphantly rescued himself with the
-words, "and from myself far be it!" These
-words had such a round and convincing sound
-for him that he said them twice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, Pip!" said Miss Havisham, after
-my papers were signed. "Let them out,
-Estella."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Gargery is your master now. Gargery!
-One word!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus calling him back as I went out of the
-door, I heard her say to Joe, in a distinct
-emphatic voice, "The boy has been a good boy
-here, and that is his reward. Of course, as an
-honest man, you will expect no other and no more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>How Joe got out of the room, I have never
-been able to determine; but I know that when
-he did get out he was steadily proceeding
-upstairs instead of coming down, and was deaf
-to all remonstrances until I went after him and
-laid hold of him. In another minute we were
-outside the gate, and it was locked, and Estella
-was gone. When we stood in the daylight alone
-again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to
-me, "Astonishing!" And there he remained
-so long, saying, "Astonishing!" at intervals, so
-often, that I began to think his senses were
-never coming back. At length he prolonged
-his remark into "Pip, I do assure you this is
-as-TON-ishing!" and so, by degrees, became able
-to walk away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed
-of home. There may be black ingratitude in
-the thing, and the punishment may be retributive
-and well deserved; but that it is a miserable
-thing, I can testify.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Home had never been a pleasant place to me,
-because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had
-sanctified it, and I believed in it. I had believed
-in the best parlor as a most elegant place; I
-had believed in the front door as a mysterious
-portal of the Temple of State whose solemn
-opening was attended with a sacrifice of roast
-fowls; I had believed in the kitchen as a chaste
-though not magnificent apartment; I had
-believed in the forge as the glowing road to
-manhood and independence. Within a single year
-all this was changed. Now, it was all coarse
-and common, and I would not have had Miss
-Havisham and Estella see it on any account.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>How much of my ungracious condition of
-mind may have been my own fault, how much
-Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now
-of no moment to me or to any one. The change
-was made in me; the thing was done.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Once, it had seemed to me that when I should
-at last roll up my shirt-sleeves and go into the
-forge, Joe's apprentice, I should be distinguished
-and happy. Now that the reality was here, I
-only felt that I was dusty with the dust of
-small-coal, and that I had a weight upon my daily
-remembrance to which the anvil was a feather.
-I remember that at a later period of my
-"time," I used to stand about the churchyard
-on Sunday evenings, when night was falling,
-comparing my own perspective with the windy
-marsh view, and making out some likeness
-between them by thinking how flat and low both
-were, and how on both there came an unknown
-way and a dark mist and then the sea. I was
-quite as dejected on the first working-day of
-my apprenticeship as in that after-time; but I
-am glad to know that I never breathed a
-murmur to Joe while my indentures lasted. It is
-about the only thing I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> glad to know of
-myself in that connection.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For, though it includes what I proceed to
-add, all the merit was Joe's. It was not because
-I was faithful, but because Joe was faithful, that
-I never ran away and went for a soldier or a
-sailor. It was not because I had a strong sense
-of the virtue of industry, but because of Joe,
-that I worked with tolerable zeal against the
-grain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle's
-aunt's room, my education under that lady
-ended. Not, however, until Biddy had imparted
-to me everything she knew, from the little
-catalogue of prices to a comic song she had once
-bought for a half-penny. Although the only
-coherent part of the latter piece were the
-opening lines:</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>When I went to Lunnon town, sirs,</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Too rul loo rul</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Too rul loo rul</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>Was 't I done very brown, sirs?</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Too rul loo rul</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Too rul loo rul</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>—still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this
-composition by heart with the utmost gravity; nor
-do I recollect that I questioned its merit, except
-that I thought (as I still do) the amount of Too
-rul somewhat in excess of the poetry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus matters went until I reached the fourth
-year of my apprenticeship; and they bade fair
-to end that way, but for an unusual event.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I had gone with Joe one Saturday night to a
-neighboring tavern to join some friends. In
-the course of the conversation, a strange
-gentleman, who had been listening to us, stepped
-between us and the fire, and said:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand that one of you is a blacksmith,
-by name, Joseph Gargery. Which is the man?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is the man," said Joe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have an apprentice," pursued the
-stranger, "commonly known as Pip. Is he here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," I answered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger did not recognize me, but I did
-recognize him as the man I had once met on
-the stair at Miss Havisham's.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to have a private talk with you both,"
-he said. "Perhaps we had better go to your
-house."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So, in a wondering silence we left the inn and
-walked home, where Joe, vaguely recognizing
-the occasion to be important, opened the front
-door and ushered us into the state parlor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger told us that he was a lawyer
-in London, and was now acting as confidential
-agent for some one else. He wished to purchase
-my apprenticeship papers from Joe, if Joe were
-willing to release me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord forbid that I should want anything for
-not standing in Pip's way," said Joe, staring.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord forbidding is pious, but not to the
-purpose," returned the lawyer. "The question is,
-Would you want anything? Do you want anything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The answer is," returned Joe, sternly, "No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am instructed to communicate to
-him," said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his finger at
-me, sideways, "that he will come into a handsome
-property. Further, that it is the desire of
-the present possessor of that property, that he
-be immediately removed from his present
-sphere of life and from this place, and be brought
-up as a gentleman—in a word, as a young
-fellow of great expectations."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My dream was out; my wild fancy was
-surpassed by sober reality; Miss Havisham was
-going to make my fortune on a grand scale!—at
-least, so I thought at the time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Mr. Pip," pursued the lawyer, "I
-address the rest of what I have to say to you.
-You are to understand, first, that it is the
-request of the person from whom I take my
-instructions, that you always bear the name of
-Pip. You will have no objection, I dare say, to
-that easy condition. But if you have any
-objection, this is the time to mention it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I gasped, but had no objection.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The second condition," he resumed, "is that
-you are not to know the name of your benefactor,
-for the present. I will act as your guardian
-and see that you are educated properly.
-You desire an education, don't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I replied that I had always longed for it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Then we will see to getting you a
-tutor. But first you should have some new
-clothes to come away in. When will you be
-ready to leave? Say this day week. You'll
-want some money. Shall I leave you twenty
-guineas?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He produced a long purse, with the greatest
-coolness, and counted them out on the table
-and pushed them over to me. This was the first
-time he had taken his leg from the chair. He
-sat astride of the chair when he had pushed the
-money over, and sat swinging his purse and
-eyeing Joe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumbfoundered?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span>!" said Joe, in a very decided manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was understood that you wanted nothing
-for yourself, remember?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It were understood," said Joe. "And it
-</span><em class="italics">are</em><span> understood. And it ever will be similar
-according."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But what," said the lawyer, swinging his
-purse, "what if it was in my instructions to make
-you a present, as compensation?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As compensation what for?" Joe demanded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For the loss of his services."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the
-touch of a woman. I have often thought of him
-since, like the steam-hammer, that can crush a
-man or pat an egg-shell, in his combination of
-strength with gentleness. "Pip is that hearty
-welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services,
-to honor and fortun', as no words can tell him.
-But if you think as Money can make compensation
-to me for the loss of the little child—what
-come to the forge—and ever the best of
-friends—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, dear, good Joe, whom I was so ready to
-leave and so unthankful to, I see you again, with
-your muscular blacksmith's arm before your
-eyes, and your broad chest heaving, and your
-voice dying away. Oh, dear, good, faithful,
-tender Joe, I feel the loving tremble of your
-hand upon my arm, as solemnly this day as if it
-had been the rustle of an angel's wing!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at the time I was lost in the mazes of my
-future fortunes, and could not retrace the
-by-paths we had trodden together. I begged Joe
-to be comforted. Joe scooped his eyes with
-his disengaged wrist, as if he were bent on
-gouging himself, but said not another word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After the lawyer had taken his leave, Joe and
-I went into the kitchen, where we found Biddy and
-my sister, and told them of my good fortune.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They dropped their sewing and looked at me.
-Joe held his knees and looked at me. I looked
-at them, in turn. After a pause they heartily
-congratulated me; but there was a certain touch
-of sadness in their congratulations that I rather
-resented.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now that I was actually going away I became
-quite gloomy. I did not know why, but I sat in
-the chimney corner looking at the fire, my elbow
-on my knee; and while the others tried to make
-the conversation cheerful, I grew gloomier than ever.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the bright sunlight of the next morning
-dispelled my doubts and fears, and I began to
-count the days eagerly. I went down to Trabb's,
-the tailor's, and got measured for a wonderful
-suit of clothes, much to the consternation of
-Trabb's boy, who thought himself equal to any
-blacksmith that ever lived. Then I went to the
-hatter's and the bootmaker's and the hosier's,
-and felt rather like Mother Hubbard's dog,
-whose outfit required the services of so many
-trades. I also went to the coach-office and took
-my place for seven o'clock Saturday morning.
-And everywhere about the village the news of
-my great expectations preceded me and I was
-heartily stared at.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Uncle Pumblechook was especially officious
-at this time. He acted as though he were the
-sole cause of all this.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To think," said he, swelling up, "that I
-should have been the humble instrument of this
-proud reward."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He thought, like all the rest of us, that Miss
-Havisham was my unknown benefactor. It was
-a natural mistake, as she had been kind to me
-in her way; and I had seen the lawyer at her
-house. But it was a mistake after all and led to
-other unhappy blunders ere I learned the truth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For, many years afterward, I found that "my
-convict"—the man I had helped down in the
-churchyard—was none other than the friend
-who had left me this fortune. He had escaped
-again from the hulks and, coming into a
-considerable property, had arranged with the
-lawyer to use it in making a gentleman out of
-the little boy he had found crying on the
-tombstone. But, as I say, none of us knew it
-or suspected it at first.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And now, those six days which were to have
-run out so slowly, had run out fast and were
-gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face
-more steadily than I could look at it. As the
-six evenings had dwindled away to five, to four,
-to three, to two, I had become more and more
-appreciative of the society of Joe and my sister
-and Biddy. On this last evening, I dressed
-myself out in my new clothes, for their delight,
-and sat in my splendor until bedtime. We had
-a hot supper on the occasion, graced by the
-inevitable roast fowl, and we had some flip to
-finish with. We were all very low, and none
-the higher for pretending to be in spirits.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a hurried breakfast, the next morning,
-with no taste in it. I got up from the meal,
-saying with a sort of briskness, as if it had only
-just occurred to me, "Well! I suppose I must
-be off!" and then I kissed my sister, and kissed
-Biddy, and threw my arms around Joe's neck.
-Then I took up my little portmanteau and
-walked out. The last I saw of them was, when
-I presently heard a scuffle behind me, and,
-looking back, saw Joe throwing an old shoe
-after me and Biddy throwing another old shoe.
-I stopped then, to wave my hat, and dear old
-Joe waved his strong right arm above his head,
-crying huskily "Hooroar!" and Biddy put her
-apron to her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I walked away at a good pace, thinking it
-was easier to go than I had supposed it would
-be, and reflecting that it would never have done
-to have an old shoe thrown after the coach, in
-sight of all the High-street. I whistled and
-made nothing of going. But the village was
-very peaceful and quiet, and the light mists
-were solemnly rising, as if to show me the
-world, and I had been so innocent and little
-there, and all beyond was so unknown and great,
-that in a moment with a strong heave and sob
-I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at
-the end of the village, and I laid my hand upon
-it, and said, "Good-bye, oh, my dear, dear
-friend!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So subdued was I by those tears, that when I
-was on the coach, and it was clear of the town,
-I deliberated with an aching heart whether I
-would not get down when we changed horses,
-and walk back, and have another evening at
-home, and a better parting. But while I
-deliberated, we had changed and changed again, and
-it was now too late and too far to go back, and
-I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen
-now, and the world lay spread before me. My
-boyhood was over. Henceforth I was to play a
-man's part—a man with Great Expectations.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-child-of-the-marshalsea"><span id="the-story-of-little-dorrit"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE STORY OF LITTLE DORRIT</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-99">
-<span id="little-dorrit"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="LITTLE DORRIT." src="images/img-266.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">LITTLE DORRIT.</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Some years ago when the laws of England
-were harsher than they are now, there
-were debtors' prisons, or big, gloomy
-jails into which men were put, if they couldn't
-pay what they owed. This was cruel and
-unjust, for the prisoner was of course cut off from
-the chance to earn any more money; and so he
-might linger there for years or even his whole
-life long, if some friend did not come to his
-relief. But otherwise the prisoner was given
-many liberties not found in ordinary jails. His
-family might live with him, if they chose, and
-come and go as they pleased.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One of the largest of these debtors' prisons
-was called the "Marshalsea." One day a
-gentleman was brought there who had lost his
-money in business; but so confident was he of
-speedily regaining his liberty, that he would
-not unpack his valise, at first. His name was
-William Dorrit, an easy-going man who had
-spent his money freely and paid little attention
-to his tradesmen's bills. Now that he had
-fallen upon evil days, he thought that his
-friends would be glad to help him. But as the
-days and weeks passed with no prospect of aid,
-he was persuaded not only to unpack his
-belongings but also to have his wife and two
-children brought to live with him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two children, Fanny and Edward—commonly
-called "Tip"—were so young when
-they were brought to the Marshalsea, that they
-soon forgot any earlier life, and played very
-happily with other children in the prison yard.
-Not long after, a little sister was added to their
-family. She was christened Amy, but was
-so tiny that everybody called her "Little
-Dorrit."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Being born in the prison, Little Dorrit was
-petted and made much of. Every one there
-seemed to claim her, and visitors were proudly
-shown "the Child of the Marshalsea."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The turnkey, who was a kind-hearted man,
-took an especial interest in her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By rights," he remarked, when she was first
-shown to him, "I ought to be her godfather."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dorrit looked at the honest fellow for a
-moment, and thought that he would suit better
-than some of their false friends.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you wouldn't object to really being
-her godfather?" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't object, if you don't," replied
-the turnkey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it came to pass that she was christened
-one Sunday afternoon, when the turnkey, being
-relieved, went up to the font of Saint George's
-church, and promised and vowed on her behalf,
-as he himself related when he came back, "like
-a good 'un."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This invested the turnkey with a new proprietary
-share in the child, over and above his
-former official one. When she began to walk
-and talk, he became fond of her; bought a
-little arm-chair and stood it by the high fender
-of the lodge fireplace; liked to have her
-company when he was on the lock; and used to
-bribe her with cheap toys to come and talk to
-him. The child, for her part, soon grew so
-fond of the turnkey, that she would come
-climbing up the lodge steps of her own accord
-at all hours of the day. When she fell asleep
-in the little arm-chair by the high fender, the
-turnkey would cover her with his pocket
-handkerchief; and when she sat in it dressing and
-undressing a doll—which soon came to be
-unlike dolls on the other side of the lock—he
-would contemplate her from the top of his
-stool, with exceeding gentleness. Witnessing
-these things, the inmates would express an
-opinion that the turnkey, who was a bachelor,
-had been cut out by nature for a family man.
-But the turnkey thanked them, and said, "No,
-on the whole it was enough for him to see other
-people's children there."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At what period of her early life the little
-creature began to perceive that it was not the
-habit of all the world to live locked up in
-narrow yards, surrounded by high walls with
-spikes at the top, would be a difficult question
-to settle. But she was a very, very little
-creature indeed, when she had somehow gained
-the knowledge, that her clasp of her father's
-hand was to be always loosened at the door
-which the great key opened; and that while her
-own light steps were free to pass beyond it, his
-feet must never cross that line. A pitiful and
-plaintive look, with which she had begun to
-regard him when she was still extremely young,
-was perhaps a part of this discovery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Wistful and wondering, she would sit in
-summer weather by the high fender in the
-lodge, looking up at the sky through the
-barred window, until bars of light would arise,
-when she would turn her eyes away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinking of the fields," the turnkey said
-once, after watching her, "ain't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are they?" she inquired.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, they're—over there, my dear," said
-the turnkey, with a vague flourish of his key.
-"Just about there."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does anybody open them, and shut them?
-Are they locked?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The turnkey was at a loss. "Well!" he
-said, "not in general."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are they very pretty, Bob?" She called
-him Bob, by his own particular request and
-instruction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lovely. Full of flowers. There's buttercups,
-and there's daisies, and there's"—the
-turnkey hesitated, being short of names—"there's
-dandelions, and all manner of games."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it very pleasant to be there, Bob?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Prime," said the turnkey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was father ever there?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hem!" coughed the turnkey. "Oh, yes, he
-was there, sometimes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he sorry not to be there now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"N—not particular," said the turnkey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor any of the people?" she asked, glancing
-at the listless crowd within. "Oh, are you
-quite sure and certain, Bob?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this difficult point of the conversation
-Bob gave in, and changed the subject; always
-his last resource when he found his little friend
-getting him into a political, social, or theological
-corner. But this was the origin of a series
-of Sunday excursions that these two curious
-companions made together. They used to issue
-from the lodge on alternate Sunday afternoons
-with great gravity, bound for some meadows or
-green lanes that had been elaborately appointed
-by the turnkey in the course of the week; and
-there she picked grass and flowers to bring
-home, while he smoked his pipe. Afterwards
-they would come back hand in hand, unless
-she was more than usually tired, and had fallen
-asleep on his shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In those early days the turnkey first began
-profoundly to consider a question which cost
-him so much mental labor, that it remained
-undetermined on the day of his death. He
-decided to will and bequeath his little property
-of savings to his godchild, and the point arose
-how could it be so "tied up" that she alone
-should benefit by it. He asked the knotty
-question of every lawyer who came through the
-lodge gate on business.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Settle it strictly on herself," the gentleman
-would answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But look here," quoth the turnkey. "Supposing
-she had, say a brother, say a father, say
-a husband, who would be likely to make a grab
-at that property when she came into it—how
-about that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be settled on herself, and they
-would have no more legal claim on it than you,"
-would be the professional answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop a bit," said the turnkey. "Supposing
-she was tender-hearted, and they came over
-her. Where's your law for tying it up then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The deepest character whom the turnkey
-sounded was unable to produce his law for
-tying such a knot as that. So, the turnkey
-thought about it all his life, and died without
-a will after all.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But that was long afterwards, when his
-god-daughter was past sixteen. She was only eight
-when her mother died, and from that time the
-protection that her wondering eyes had
-expressed towards her father became embodied
-in action, and the Child of the Marshalsea took
-upon herself a new relation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At first, such a baby could do little more
-than sit with him, deserting her livelier place
-by the high fender, and quietly watching him.
-But this made her so far necessary to him that
-he became accustomed to her, and began to be
-sensible of missing her when she was not there.
-Through this little gate she passed out of
-childhood into the care-laden world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What her pitiful look saw, at that early time,
-in her father, in her sister, in her brother, in
-the jail; how much, or how little of the
-wretched truth it pleased God to make visible
-to her, lies hidden with many mysteries. It is
-enough that she was inspired to be something
-which was not what the rest were, and for the
-sake of the rest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And while the mark of the prison was seen
-only too clearly in her vain, selfish sister, and
-weak, wayward brother, Little Dorrit's life was
-singularly free from taint; her heart was full
-of service and love.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so, in spite of her small stature and
-want of strength, she toiled and planned, and
-soon became the real head of this poor, fallen
-house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At thirteen, she could read and keep accounts—that
-is, could put down in words and figures
-how much the bare necessaries that they wanted
-would cost, and how much less they had to buy
-them with. She had been, by snatches of a few
-weeks at a time, to an evening school outside,
-and got her sister and brother sent to day
-schools during three or four years. There was
-no instruction for any of them at home; but
-she knew well—no one better—that her
-broken-spirited father could no longer help them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To these scanty means of improvement, she
-added another of her own contriving. Once,
-among the curious crowd of inmates, there
-appeared a dancing-master. Her sister Fanny
-had a great desire to learn to dance, and seemed
-to have a taste that way. At thirteen years
-old, the Child of the Marshalsea presented
-herself to the dancing-master, with a little bag in
-her hand, and said timidly, "If you please, I
-was born here, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! You are the young lady, are you?"
-said the man, surveying the small figure and
-uplifted face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what can I do for you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing for me, sir, thank you," anxiously
-undrawing the strings of the little bag; "but
-if, while you stay here, you could be so kind as
-to teach my sister cheap—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, I'll teach her for nothing," said
-the dancing-master, shutting up the bag.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was as good-natured a master as ever
-danced to the Insolvent Court, and he kept his
-word. Fanny was so apt a pupil, and made
-such wonderful progress that he continued to
-teach her after he was released from prison.
-In time, he obtained a place for her at a small
-theatre. It was at the same theatre where her
-uncle—who was also now a poor man—played
-a clarinet for a living; and Fanny left the
-Marshalsea and went to live with him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The success of this beginning gave Little
-Dorrit courage to try again, this time on her
-own behalf. She had long wanted to learn
-how to sew, and watched and waited for a
-seamstress to come to the prison. At last
-one came, and Little Dorrit went to call upon her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said, looking
-timidly round the door of the milliner,
-whom she found in tears and in bed; "but I
-was born here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Everybody seemed to hear of her as soon as
-they arrived; for the milliner sat up in bed,
-drying her eyes, and said, just as the
-dancing-master had said,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> are the child, are you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry I haven't got anything for you,"
-said the milliner, shaking her head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not that, ma'am. If you please I want
-to learn needlework."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should you do that," returned the
-milliner, "with me before you? It has not
-done me much good."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—whatever it is—seems to have
-done anybody much good who comes here," she
-returned in all simplicity; "but I want to learn,
-just the same."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid you are so weak, you see," the
-milliner objected.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think I am weak, ma'am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you are so very, very little, you see,"
-continued the milliner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I am afraid I am very little indeed,"
-returned the Child of the Marshalsea; and so
-began to sob over that unfortunate defect of
-hers, which came so often in her way. The
-milliner—who was not morose or hard-hearted,
-only newly insolvent—was touched, took her
-in hand with good-will, found her the most
-patient and earnest of pupils, and made her a
-cunning workwoman in course of time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so, presently, Little Dorrit had the
-immense satisfaction of going out to work by the
-day, and of supplying her father with many
-little comforts which otherwise he would not
-have enjoyed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But her hardest task was in getting her
-brother out of prison and into some useful
-employment. The life there had been anything
-but good for him; and at eighteen he was idle
-and shiftless, not caring to lift a finger for
-himself. In her dilemma, Little Dorrit went to
-her old friend, the turnkey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Bob," said she, "what is to become of
-poor Tip?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The turnkey scratched his head. Privately
-he had a poor opinion of the young man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear," he answered, "something
-ought to be done with him. Suppose I try to
-get him into the law?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That would be so good of you, Bob!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The turnkey was as good as his word, and by
-dint of buttonholing every lawyer who came
-through the gate on business, he found Tip a
-place as clerk, where the pay was not large, but
-the prospects good.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tip idled away in the law office for six
-months, then came back to the prison one evening
-with his hands in his pockets and told his
-sister he was not going back again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not going back!" she exclaimed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so tired of it," said Tip, "that I have
-cut it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tip tired of everything. With intervals of
-Marshalsea lounging, his small second mother,
-aided by her trusty friend, got him into a variety
-of situations. But whatever Tip went into,
-he came out of tired, announcing that he had
-cut it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, the brave little creature did so
-fix her heart on her brother's rescue, that while
-he was ringing out these doleful changes, she
-pinched and scraped enough together to ship
-him for Canada. When he was tired of nothing
-to do, and disposed in its turn to cut even that,
-he graciously consented to go to Canada. And
-there was grief in her bosom over parting with
-him, and joy in the hope of his being put in a
-straight course at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you, dear Tip. Don't be too
-proud to come and see us, when you have made
-your fortune."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" said Tip, and went.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But not all the way to Canada; in fact, not
-farther than Liverpool. After making the
-voyage to that port from London, he found
-himself so strongly impelled to cut the vessel,
-that he resolved to walk back again. Carrying
-out which intention, he presented himself
-before her at the expiration of a month, in rags,
-without shoes, and much more tired than ever.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At length he found a situation for himself,
-and disappeared for months. She never heard
-from him but once in that time, though it was
-as well for her peace of mind that she did not.
-He was making trades for a tricky horse dealer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One evening she was alone at work—standing
-up at the window, to save the twilight
-lingering above the wall—when he opened the
-door and walked in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She kissed and welcomed him; but was
-afraid to ask him any question. He saw how
-anxious and timid she was, and appeared sorry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid, Amy, you'll be vexed this
-time. Upon my life I am!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very sorry to hear you say so, Tip.
-Have you come back?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—yes. But that's not the worst of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the worst of it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't look so startled, Amy. I've come
-back in a new way. I'm one of the prisoners
-now. I owe forty pounds."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time in all those years, she sank
-under her cares. She cried, with her clasped
-hands lifted above her head, that it would kill
-their father if he ever knew it; and fell down
-at Tip's graceless feet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was easier for Tip to bring her to her
-senses, than for her to bring </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> to understand
-what a pitiable thing he had done. But he
-agreed to help keep it a secret from their
-father; and Little Dorrit toiled harder than
-ever, in the hope of one day getting him out
-again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus passed the life of the Child of the
-Marshalsea until she became a young woman.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="how-the-prison-gates-were-opened"><span class="bold large">II. HOW THE PRISON GATES WERE OPENED</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Among the ladies for whom Little Dorrit
-sewed by the day was a Mrs. Clennam,
-a cold, stern person who lived in a cold,
-stern house. Yet she gave the child plenty of
-work and paid her fairly well. So Little Dorrit
-was often to be found in some gloomy corner
-there, sewing away busily and adding nothing
-at all to the few far-away sounds of the quiet
-old rooms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Clennam lived alone, except for a dried-up
-servant or two, and she herself had lost the
-use of her limbs. So it is no wonder that the
-house was gloomy, and that Mrs. Clennam's son
-Arthur found it so, when he returned from a
-long visit in India. Arthur Clennam was a
-young man who had ideas of his own, and who
-had disappointed his mother by refusing to
-continue his father's business. They were not in
-sympathy—which made the house seem all the
-colder. But he was kind, open-hearted, and
-impulsive.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Though timid Little Dorrit kept as much
-in the dark corners as possible, Arthur soon
-noticed her, and asked one of the old servants
-who she was. He could learn nothing except
-that she was a seamstress who came by the day
-to sew, and who went away every night, no one
-knew where. The child interested him, and
-he resolved to follow her one evening and learn
-where she lived. He did so, and was amazed
-to see her enter the gate of a large forbidding
-building,—he did not know what building, as
-he had been long abroad.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Just then he saw an old man, in a threadbare
-coat, once blue, come tottering along,
-carrying a clarinet in a limp, worn-out case.
-As this old man was about to enter the
-same gate, Arthur stopped him with a question.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray, sir," said he, "what is this place?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay! This place?" returned the old man,
-staying a pinch of snuff on its road, and
-pointing at the place without looking at it. "This
-is the Marshalsea, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The debtors' prison?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said the old man, with the air of
-deeming it not quite necessary to insist upon
-that name, "the debtors' prison."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned himself about, and went on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, stopping
-him once more, "but will you allow me to ask
-you another question? Can any one go in here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Any one can </span><em class="italics">go in</em><span>," replied the old man;
-"but it is not every one who can go out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me once more. Are you familiar
-with the place?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," returned the old man, squeezing his
-little packet of snuff in his hand, and turning
-upon his interrogator as if such questions hurt
-him, "I am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg you to excuse me. I am not impertinently
-curious, but have a good object. Do
-you know the name of Dorrit here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My name, sir," replied the old man most
-unexpectedly, "is Dorrit."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Arthur pulled off his hat to him. "Grant
-me the favor of half a dozen words. I have
-recently come home to England after a long
-absence. I have seen at my mother's—Mrs. Clennam
-in the city—a young woman working
-at her needle, whom I have only heard
-addressed or spoken of as Little Dorrit. I have
-felt sincerely interested in her, and have had a
-great desire to know something more about
-her. I saw her, not a minute before you came
-up, pass in at that door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man looked at him attentively.
-"Are you in earnest, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do assure you that I am."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know very little of the world, sir,"
-returned the other, who had a weak and quavering
-voice. "I am merely passing on, like the
-shadow over the sun-dial. It would be worth
-no man's while to mislead me; it would really
-be too easy—too poor a success, to yield any
-satisfaction. The young woman whom you
-saw go in here is my brother's child. My
-brother is William Dorrit; I am Frederick.
-You say you have seen her at your mother's
-(I know your mother befriends her), you have
-felt an interest in her, and you wish to know
-what she does here. Come and see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He went on again, and Arthur accompanied him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My brother," said the old man, pausing on
-the step, and slowly facing round again, "has
-been here many years; and much that happens
-even among ourselves, out of doors, is kept
-from him for reasons that I needn't enter upon
-now. Be so good as to say nothing of my
-niece's working at her needle. If you keep
-within our bounds, you cannot well be wrong.
-Now! Come and see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Arthur followed him down a narrow entry,
-at the end of which a key was turned, and a
-strong door was opened from within. It
-admitted them into a lodge, or lobby, across which
-they passed, and so through another door and
-a grating into the prison. The old man always
-plodding on before, turned round, in his slow,
-stiff, stooping manner, when they came to the
-turnkey on duty, as if to present his companion.
-The turnkey nodded; and the companion passed
-in without being asked whom he wanted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The night was dark; and the prison lamps in
-the yard, and the candles in the prison windows
-faintly shining behind many sorts of wry old
-curtain and blind, had not the air of making
-it lighter. A few people loitered about, but
-the greater part of the population was within
-doors. The old man taking the right-hand side
-of the yard, turned in at the third or fourth
-doorway, and began to ascend the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are rather dark, sir, but you will not
-find anything in the way," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused for a moment before opening the
-door on the second story. He had no sooner
-turned the handle, than the visitor saw Little
-Dorrit, and understood the reason of her dining
-alone, as she always preferred to do.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had brought the meat home that she
-should have eaten herself, and was already
-warming it on a gridiron over the fire, for her
-father, who, clad in an old gray gown and a
-black cap, was awaiting his supper at the table.
-A clean cloth was spread before him, with knife,
-fork, and spoon, salt-cellar, pepper-box, glass,
-and pewter ale-pot. Such zests as his cayenne
-pepper and pickles in a saucer were not wanting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started, colored deeply, and turned
-white. The visitor, more with his eyes than
-by the slight impulsive motion of his hand,
-entreated her to be reassured and to trust him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I found this gentleman," said the
-uncle—"Mr. Clennam, William, son of Amy's
-friend—at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going
-by, of paying his respects, but hesitating
-whether to come in or not. This is my brother
-William, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope," said Arthur, very doubtful what
-to say, "that my respect for your daughter may
-explain and justify my desire to be presented
-to you, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Clennam," returned the other, rising,
-taking his cap off in the flat of his hand, and
-so holding it, ready to put on again, "you do
-me honor. You are welcome, sir." With a
-low bow. "Frederick, a chair. Pray sit
-down, Mr. Clennam."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put his black cap on again as he had
-taken it off, and resumed his own seat. There
-was a wonderful air of benignity and patronage
-in his manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>These were the ceremonies with which he
-received all visitors.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are welcome to the Marshalsea, sir.
-I have welcomed many gentlemen to these
-walls. Perhaps you are aware—my daughter
-Amy may have mentioned—that I am the
-Father of this place."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—so I have understood," said Arthur,
-dashing at the assertion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, I dare say, that my daughter
-Amy was born here. A good girl, sir, a dear
-girl, and long a comfort and support to me.
-Amy, my dear, put the dish on; Mr. Clennam
-will excuse the primitive customs to which
-we are reduced here. Is it a compliment
-to ask you if you would do me the honor, sir, to—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," returned Arthur. "I have dined."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She filled her father's glass, put all the
-little matters on the table ready to his hand,
-and then sat beside him while he ate his
-supper. She put some bread before herself,
-and touched his glass with her lips; but Arthur
-saw she was troubled and took nothing. Her
-look at her father, half admiring him and
-proud of him, half-ashamed for him, all
-devoted and loving, went to his inmost heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Father of the Marshalsea condescended
-towards his brother as an amiable, well-meaning
-man; a private character, who had not
-arrived at distinction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Frederick," said he, "you and Fanny sup
-at your lodgings to-night, I know. What have
-you done with Fanny, Frederick?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is walking with Tip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tip—as you may know—is my son, Mr.
-Clennam. He has been a little wild, and
-difficult to settle, but his introduction to the
-world was rather"—he shrugged his shoulders
-with a faint sigh, and looked round the room—"a
-little adverse. Your first visit here, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My first."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You could hardly have been here since your
-boyhood without my knowledge. It very seldom
-happens that anybody—of any pretensions—any
-pretensions—comes here without being
-presented to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As many as forty or fifty in a day have been
-introduced to my brother," said Frederick,
-faintly lighting up with a ray of pride.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" the Father of the Marshalsea
-assented. "We have even exceeded that number.
-On a fine Sunday in term time, it is quite
-a reception!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the old man prattled on, proud of his
-queer distinction, and yet showing traces of
-the fine gentleman he once was. And while
-he listened, Arthur felt his heart throb with
-sympathy for the brave girl, sitting silent
-across the table, who had so long borne the
-burdens of this ruined family upon her frail
-shoulders.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He could not say anything to her, here, but
-when he rose to take his leave, he asked her
-by a look to come with him to the gate. He
-felt he must make some explanation for thus
-intruding and learning her secret.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray forgive me," he said, when they
-paused alone at the gate. "I followed you
-to-night from my mother's. I should not have
-done so, but, believe me, it was only in the
-hope of doing you some service. What I have
-seen here, in this short time, has increased
-ten-fold my heartfelt wish to be a friend to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to take courage while he spoke
-to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good, sir. You speak very
-earnestly to me. But I—but I wish you had
-not watched me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He understood the emotion with which she
-said it to arise in her father's behalf; and he
-respected it, and was silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Clennam has been of great service to
-me. I don't know what we should have done
-without the employment she has given me. I
-am afraid it may not be a good return to become
-secret with her. I can say no more to-night,
-sir. I am sure you mean to be kind to us.
-Thank you, thank you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was so agitated, and he was so moved
-by compassion for her, and by deep interest in
-her story as it dawned upon him, that he could
-scarcely tear himself away. But the stoppage
-of the bell, and the quiet in the prison, were
-a warning to depart; and with a few hurried
-words of kindness he left her gliding back to
-her father.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next day, Arthur missed Little Dorrit
-at his home, and wondered if she might be ill.
-The weather was stormy, but she was not usually
-hindered by that. So he walked out toward the
-prison to look for her; and was presently
-rewarded by seeing her hurrying along in the face
-of the gale.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had just reached the iron bridge, some
-distance from the gates, when his voice caused
-her to stop short. The wind blew roughly, the
-wet squalls came rattling past them, skimming
-the pools on the road and pavement, and raining
-them down into the river. The clouds raced
-on furiously in the lead-colored sky, the smoke
-and mist raced after them, the dark tide ran
-fierce and strong in the same direction. Little
-Dorrit seemed the least, the quietest, and
-weakest of Heaven's creatures.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me put you in a coach," said Arthur
-Clennam, very nearly adding, "my poor child."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hurriedly declined, thanking him, and
-saying that wet or dry made little difference to
-her; she was used to go about in all weathers.
-He knew it to be so, and was touched with more
-pity, thinking of the slight figure at his side,
-making its nightly way through the damp, dark,
-boisterous streets, to such a place of rest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am glad to have seen you, sir," she
-added shyly. "I did not want you to think
-that we were ungrateful for your interest and
-kindness, last night. And, besides, I had
-something else to say—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused as if unable to go on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To say to me—" he prompted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I hope you will not misunderstand my
-father. Don't judge him, sir, as you would
-judge others outside the gates. He has been
-there so long! I never saw him outside, but
-I can understand that he must have grown
-different in some things since."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My thoughts will never be unjust or harsh
-towards him, believe me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not," she said, with a prouder air, as the
-misgiving evidently crept upon her that she
-might seem to be abandoning him, "not that
-he has anything to be ashamed of for himself,
-or that I have anything to be ashamed of for
-him. He only requires to be understood. I
-only ask for him that his life may be fairly
-remembered. All that he said was quite true.
-He is very much respected. Everybody who
-comes in is glad to know him. He is more
-courted than any one else. He is far more
-thought of than the Marshal is." If ever pride
-were innocent, it was innocent in Little Dorrit
-when she grew boastful of her father.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is often said that his manners are a true
-gentleman's, and quite a study. He is not to
-be blamed for being in need, poor love. Who
-could be in prison a quarter of a century, and
-be prosperous!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What affection in her words, what compassion
-in her repressed tears, what a great soul of
-fidelity within her, how true the light that shed
-false brightness round him!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I have found it best to conceal where my
-home is, it is not because I am ashamed of him.
-God forbid! Nor am I so much ashamed of the
-place itself as might be supposed. People are
-not bad because they come there. I have known
-many good friends there, and have spent many
-happy hours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had relieved the faithful fulness of her
-heart, and modestly said, raising her eyes
-appealingly to her new friend's, "I did not mean
-to say so much, nor have I ever but once spoken
-about this before. But it seems to set it more
-right than it was last night. I said I wished
-you had not followed me, sir. I don't wish it
-so much now, unless you should think—indeed
-I don't wish it at all, unless I should have
-spoken so confusedly, that—that you can
-scarcely understand me, which I am afraid may
-be the case."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He told her with perfect truth that it was not
-the case; and putting himself between her and
-the sharp wind and rain, sheltered her as well
-as he could.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel permitted now," he said, "to ask you
-a little more concerning your father. Has he
-many creditors?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! a great number."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean detaining creditors who keep him
-where he is?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes! a great number."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you tell me—I can get the information,
-no doubt, elsewhere, if you cannot—who
-is the most influential of them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Little Dorrit was not sure of any names, but
-she had heard her father mention several people
-with whom he said he once had dealings. She
-told him these names, and Clennam made a
-careful note of them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It can do no harm," he thought, "to see
-some of these people."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The thought did not come so quietly but that
-she quickly guessed it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Little Dorrit, shaking her head
-with the mild despair of a lifetime. "Many
-people used to think once of getting my poor
-father out, but you don't know how hopeless
-it is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She forgot to be shy at the moment, in
-honestly warning him away from the sunken
-wreck he had a dream of raising; and looked at
-him with eyes which assuredly, in association
-with her patient face, her fragile figure, her
-spare dress, and the wind and rain, did not turn
-him from his purpose of helping her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But presently an incident happened which
-showed him a new side to her life—still of
-helpfulness and service.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were come into the High Street, where
-the prison stood, when a voice cried, "Little
-mother, little mother!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Little Dorrit stopped, looking back, when an
-excited figure of a strange kind bounced against
-them, fell down, and scattered the contents of a
-large basket, filled with potatoes, in the mud.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Maggy," said Little Dorrit, "what a
-clumsy child you are!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Maggy was not hurt, but picked herself up
-immediately, and began to pick up the potatoes,
-in which both the others helped. Maggy picked
-up very few potatoes, and a great quantity of
-mud. She was a curious, overgrown creature
-of about eight-and-twenty, with a vacant
-smiling face and a tattered shawl. She seemed
-twice as large as the child to whom she
-evidently looked for protection and called "little
-mother."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Arthur Clennam looked with the expression
-of one saying, "May I ask who this is?" Little
-Dorrit, whose hand Maggy had begun to fondle,
-answered in words. They were under a gateway
-into which the majority of the potatoes had
-rolled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Maggy, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Maggy, sir," echoed the personage
-presented. "Little mother!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is the granddaughter—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Granddaughter," echoed Maggy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of my old nurse, who has been dead a long
-time. Maggy, how old are you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten, mother," said Maggy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't think how good she is, sir," said
-Little Dorrit, with infinite tenderness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> is," echoed Maggy, transferring
-the pronoun in a most expressive way from
-herself to her little mother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or how clever," said Little Dorrit. "She
-goes on errands as well as any one." Maggy
-laughed. "And is as trustworthy as the Bank
-of England." Maggy laughed. "She earns
-her own living entirely. Entirely, sir!" in a
-lower and triumphant tone. "Really does!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is her history!" asked Clennam.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of that, Maggy!" said Little Dorrit,
-taking Maggy's two large hands and clapping
-them together. "A gentleman from thousands
-of miles away, wanting to know your history!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">My</em><span> history?" cried Maggy. "Little mother."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She means me," said Little Dorrit, rather
-confused; "she is very much attached to me.
-Her old grandmother was not so kind to her as
-she should have been; was she, Maggy? When
-Maggy was ten years old," she continued, "she
-had a bad fever, sir, and has never grown any
-older since."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten years old," said Maggy, nodding her
-head. "But what a nice hospital! So
-comfortable, wasn't it? Oh, so nice it was.
-Such a Ev'nly place!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She had never been at peace before, sir,"
-continued the young girl, turning towards
-Arthur for an instant and speaking low, "and
-she always runs off upon that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Such beds there is there!" cried Maggy.
-"Such lemonades! Such oranges! Such
-d'licious broth and wine! Such Chicking! Oh,
-</span><em class="italics">ain't</em><span> it a delightful place to go and stop at!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So Maggy stopped there as long as she
-could," said Little Dorrit, in her former tone
-of telling a child's story, the tone designed for
-Maggy's ear; "and at last, when she could stop
-there no longer, she came out. Then, because
-she was never to be more than ten years old,
-however long she lived—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"However long she lived," echoed Maggy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And because she was very weak—indeed,
-was so weak that when she began to laugh she
-couldn't stop herself—which was a great
-pity—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Maggy grew mighty grave of a sudden.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Her grandmother did not know what to do
-with her, and for some years was very unkind
-to her indeed. At length, in course of time,
-Maggy began to take pains to improve herself,
-and to be very attentive and very industrious;
-and by degrees was allowed to come in and out
-as often as she liked, and got enough to do to
-support herself, and does support herself. And
-that," said Little Dorrit, clapping the two
-great hands together again, "is Maggy's
-history, as Maggy knows!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Ah! that was all the history, as Little Dorrit
-told it. But Arthur, reading between the
-lines, saw in Maggy's absolute love and
-devotion the weeks and months of toil and care on
-the part of a pitying faithful child whose own
-burden seemed great enough without carrying
-others. The dirty gateway with the wind and
-rain whistling through it, and the basket of
-muddy potatoes waiting to be spilt again or
-taken up, never seemed the common hole it
-really was, when he looked back to it by these
-lights. Never, never!</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Thereafter, Arthur Clennam, who was a man
-of some means, devoted a great part of his time
-to tracing out the Dorrit records. He went
-from one government office to another—a long,
-weary round of them—before he could get any
-light on the matter. He employed an agent
-whose specialty was to search out lost estates.
-And at last, after several months, their
-combined efforts were rewarded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dorrit was found to be heir-at-law to a
-large estate that had long lain unknown,
-unclaimed, and growing greater. His right to it
-was cleared up by this skilful agent; so that
-all Mr. Dorrit had to do, now, would be to
-discharge his debts, and he would be a free man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Arthur was convinced of this surprising
-fortune, he hastened first to Little Dorrit,
-whom he wished to see alone. But before he
-could say a word, his face told her that
-something unusual was afoot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Hastily dropping her sewing, she cried,
-"Mr. Clennam! What's the matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, nothing! That is—nothing bad.
-I have come to tell you good news."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good fortune?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wonderful fortune!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her lips seemed to repeat the words, but no
-sound came.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Little Dorrit," he said, "your father—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The ice of the pale face broke at the word,
-and little lights of expression passed all over it.
-They were all expressions of pain. Her breath
-was faint and hurried. Her heart beat fast, but
-he saw that the eyes appealed to him to go on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your father can be free within this week.
-He does not know it; we must go to him from
-here, to tell him of it. Your father will be
-free within a few days. Remember we must go
-to him, from here, to tell him of it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That brought her back. Her eyes were
-closing, but they opened again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is not all the good fortune. This is
-not all the wonderful good fortune, Little
-Dorrit. Shall I tell you more?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her lips shaped "Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He will be a rich man: A great sum of
-money is waiting to be paid over to him as
-his inheritance; you are all henceforth very
-wealthy. Bravest and best of children, I thank
-Heaven that you are rewarded!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head towards his shoulder,
-and raised her arm towards his neck; then cried
-out, "Father! Father! Father!" and swooned away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The housekeeper came running in at this,
-and Little Dorrit was soon revived, smiling
-bravely at her own weakness. But the news
-had been too much for her. It was the dream
-of her lifetime—come true!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come!" she exclaimed, "we must not lose
-a moment, but must hasten to my father!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the turnkey, who was on duty, admitted
-them into the lodge, he saw something
-in their faces which filled him with astonishment.
-He stood looking after them, when they
-hurried into the prison, as though he perceived
-that they had come back accompanied by a
-ghost apiece. Two or three debtors whom they
-passed, looked after them too, and presently
-joining the turnkey, formed a little group on
-the lodge steps, in the midst of which there
-originated a whisper that the Father was going
-to get his discharge. Within a few minutes it
-was heard in the remotest room in the prison.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Little Dorrit opened the door from without,
-and they both entered. Her father was sitting
-in his old gray gown, and his old black cap, in
-the sunlight by the window, reading his
-newspaper. His glasses were in his hand, and he
-had just looked round; surprised at first, no
-doubt, by her step upon the stairs, not expecting
-her until night; surprised again, by seeing
-Arthur Clennam in her company. As they
-came in, the same unwonted look in both of
-them, which had already caught attention in
-the yard below, struck him. He did not rise
-or speak, but laid down his glasses and his
-newspaper on the table beside him, and looked
-at them with his mouth a little open, and his
-lips trembling. When Arthur put out his
-hand, he touched it, but not with his usual
-state; and then he turned to his daughter, who
-had sat down close beside him with her hands
-upon his shoulder, and looked attentively in
-her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Father! I have been made so happy this
-morning!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been made so happy, my dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By Mr. Clennam, father. He brought me
-such joyful and wonderful intelligence about you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her agitation was great, and the tears rolled
-down her face. He put his hand suddenly to
-his heart, and looked at Clennam.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Compose yourself, sir," said Clennam, "and
-take a little time to think. To think of the
-brightest and most fortunate accidents of life.
-We have all heard of great surprises of joy.
-They are not at an end."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Clennam? Not at an end? Not at an
-end for—" He touched himself upon the
-breast, instead of saying "me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," returned Clennam.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at Clennam, and, so looking at
-him, seemed to change into a very old haggard
-man. The sun was bright upon the wall
-beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top.
-He slowly stretched out the hand that had
-been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He remained in the same attitude, looking
-steadfastly at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And in its place," said Clennam, slowly
-and distinctly, "are the means to possess and
-enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut
-out. Mr. Dorrit, there is not the smallest
-doubt that within a few days you will be free,
-and highly prosperous. I congratulate you with
-all my soul on this change of fortune, and on the
-happy future into which you are soon to carry
-the treasure you have been blessed with here—the
-best of all the riches you can have elsewhere—the
-treasure in the dear child at your side."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With those words, he pressed Mr. Dorrit's
-hand and released it; and his daughter, laying
-her face against his, encircled him in the hour
-of his prosperity with her arms, as she had in
-the long years of his adversity encircled him
-with her love and toil and truth; and poured
-out her full heart in gratitude, hope, joy,
-blissful ecstasy, and all for him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall see him, as I never saw him yet. I
-shall see my dear father, with the dark cloud
-cleared away. I shall see him, as my poor
-mother saw him long ago. Oh, my dear, my
-dear! Oh, father, father! Oh, thank God,
-thank God!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dorrit came slowly out of the daze into
-which he had seemed to fall. To divert his
-mind, Arthur told him how the good fortune
-had been found through the skill of an agent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He shall be rewarded!" he exclaimed,
-starting up. "Every one shall be—ha!—handsomely
-rewarded! Every cent I owe shall
-be paid. Oh! can this be true? A freeman,
-and all my debts paid! Give me my purse, Amy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He clutched it as if it were already overflowing
-with gold, and paced rapidly up and down
-the room. Just then a great cheering arose in
-the prison yard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The news has spread already," said
-Clennam, looking down from the window.
-"Will you show yourself to them, Mr. Dorrit?
-They are very earnest, and evidently wish it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—hum—ha—I confess I could have
-desired, Amy, my dear," he said, jogging about
-in a more feverish flutter than before, "to have
-made some change in my dress first, and to have
-bought a—hum—a watch and chain. But if
-it must be done as it is, it—-ha—it must be
-done. Fasten the collar of my shirt, my dear.
-Mr. Clennam, would you oblige me—hum—with
-a blue neckcloth you will find in that
-drawer at your elbow. Button my coat across
-at the chest, my love. It looks—ha—it looks
-broader, buttoned."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With his trembling hand he pushed his gray
-hair up, and then, taking Clennam and his
-daughter for supporters, appeared at the
-window leaning on an arm of each. The inmates
-cheered him very heartily, and he kissed his
-hand to them with great urbanity and protection.
-When he withdrew into the room again,
-he said "Poor creatures!" in a tone of much
-pity for their miserable condition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he said, unexpectedly:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Clennam, I beg your pardon. Am I to
-understand, my dear sir, that I could—ha—could
-pass through the lodge at this moment,
-and—hum—take a walk?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling
-reply. "There are certain forms to be
-completed; and although your detention here is
-now in itself a form, I fear it has to be observed
-for a few hours longer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A few hours, sir," he returned in a sudden
-passion. "You talk very easily of hours,
-sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an
-hour is to a man who is choking for want of air?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was the cry of a man who had been
-imprisoned for nearly a quarter of a century.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Little Dorrit had been thinking too. After
-softly putting his gray hair aside, and touching
-his forehead with her lips, she looked towards
-Arthur, who came nearer to her, and pursued in
-a low whisper the subject of her thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Clennam, will he pay all his debts
-before he leaves here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt. All."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All the debts for which he has been imprisoned
-here, all my life and longer?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was something of uncertainty and
-remonstrance in her look; something that was
-not all satisfaction. He wondered to detect it,
-and said:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you not glad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me hard," said Little Dorrit,
-"that he should have lost so many years and
-suffered so much, and at last pay all the debts
-as well. It seems to me hard that he should
-pay in life and money both."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear child—" Clennam was beginning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know I am wrong," she pleaded
-timidly, "don't think any worse of me; it has
-grown up with me here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The prison, which could spoil so many things,
-had tainted Little Dorrit's mind no more than
-this. It was the first speck Clennam had ever
-seen, it was the last speck Clennam ever saw,
-of the prison atmosphere upon her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He thought this, and forebore to say another
-word. With the thought, her purity and goodness
-came before him in their brightest light.
-The little spot made them the more beautiful.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="my-earliest-recollections"><span id="the-personal-history-of-david-copperfield"></span><span class="bold x-large">THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I. MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The first things that I seem to remember
-are the figure of my mother with her
-pretty hair and youthful face, and
-Peggotty, our faithful servant, large of figure,
-black of eye, and with cheeks and arms so hard
-and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck
-them in preference to apples. I believe I can
-remember these two at a little distance apart,
-dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or
-kneeling on the floor, and I going unsteadily from
-the one to the other. My father I never saw,
-for he died before I was born.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What else do I remember? Let me see.
-There comes to me a vision of our quaint cosy
-little home, the "Rookery." On the ground
-floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back
-yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, in the
-centre, without any pigeons in it; a great
-dog-kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a
-quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me,
-walking about, in a ferocious manner. There is
-one cock who gets upon a post to crow, and
-seems to take particular notice of me as I look
-at him through the kitchen window, who makes
-me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese
-outside the gate who come waddling after me with
-their long necks stretched out when I go that
-way, I dream fearfully at night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here is a long passage leading from Peggotty's
-kitchen to the front door. A dark storeroom
-opens out of it, and that is a place to be
-run past at night; for I don't know what may
-be among those tubs and jars and old tea-chests,
-in which there is the smell of soap, pickles,
-pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff.
-Then there are the two parlors: the parlor in
-which we sit of an evening, my mother and
-I and Peggotty—for Peggotty is quite our
-companion, when her work is done and we
-are alone—and the best parlor where we sit
-on a Sunday; grandly but not so comfortably.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And now I see the outside of our house, with
-the latticed bedroom windows standing open to
-let in the sweet-smelling air, and the ragged old
-rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm trees at the
-bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the
-garden at the back, beyond the yard where the
-empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are—a
-very preserve of butterflies, as I remember it,
-with a high fence, and a gate and padlock;
-where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and
-richer than fruit has ever been since, in any other
-garden, and where my mother gathers some in
-a basket, while I stand by, bolting gooseberries
-slyly, and trying to look unmoved.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A great wind rises, and the summer is gone
-in a moment. We are playing in the winter
-twilight, dancing about the parlor. When my
-mother is out of breath and rests herself in an
-elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls
-round her fingers and straightening her waist,
-and nobody knows better than I do that she likes
-to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That is among my very earliest impressions,—that,
-and a sense that we were both a little
-afraid of Peggotty, and submit ourselves in most
-things to her direction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the
-parlor fire, alone. I had been reading to
-Peggotty about crocodiles. I must not have read
-very clearly, for I remember she had a cloudy
-impression that they were a sort of vegetable.
-I was tired of reading, and sleepy; but having
-leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother
-came home from spending the evening at a
-neighbor's, I would rather have died upon my
-post than have gone to bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun
-with alligators, when the bell rang. We went
-out to the door; and there was my mother
-looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with
-her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
-whiskers, who had walked home with us from
-church last Sunday.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As my mother stooped down on the threshold
-to take me in her arms and kiss me, the
-gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little
-fellow than a monarch—or something like that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that mean?" I asked him, over
-her shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He patted me on the head; but somehow, I
-didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was
-jealous that his hand should touch my mother's
-in touching me—which it did. I put it away
-as well as I could. My mother gently chid me
-for being rude; and, keeping me close to her
-shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for
-bringing her home.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the moment that I first saw the
-gentleman with the black whiskers, I held a deep
-instinctive dislike to him. And I am sure Peggotty
-agreed with me, from some remarks I chanced
-to hear her utter to my mother. But
-Mr. Murdstone—that was his name—began coming
-often to the Rookery, and exerted himself always
-to be agreeable to me, calling me a fine boy and
-patting me on the head; so I tried to think
-myself very ungrateful. But still I could not
-make myself like him. The sight of him made
-me fear that something was going to happen—I
-didn't know what.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Not long after that, when Peggotty and I
-were sitting alone, she darning and I reading
-farther in the crocodile book,—for my mother
-was out, as she often was, with Mr. Murdstone,—she
-bit off a thread and asked:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Master Davy, how should you like to go
-along with me and spend a fortnight at my
-brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a
-treat?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?"
-I inquired doubtfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what an agreeable man he is!" cried
-Peggotty, holding up her hands. "Then there's
-the sea; and the boats and ships; and the
-fishermen; and the beach; and 'Am to play with—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she
-spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was flushed by her summary of delights, and
-replied that it would indeed be a treat, but what
-would my mother say?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then, I'll as good as bet a guinea," said
-Peggotty, intent upon my face, "that she'll let
-us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as ever
-she comes home. There now!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But what's she to do while we're away?"
-said I, putting my small elbows on the table to
-argue the point. "She can't live by herself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a
-sudden, in the heel of that stocking, it must
-have been a very little one indeed, and not worth
-darning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself,
-you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at
-me again at last. "Don't you know? She's
-going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper.
-Mrs. Grayper's going to have a lot of company."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I
-waited, in the utmost impatience, until my mother
-came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it was
-that identical neighbor), to ascertain if we
-could get leave to carry out this great idea.
-Without being nearly so much surprised as I
-had expected, my mother entered into it readily;
-and it was all arranged that night, and my
-board and lodging during the visit were to be
-paid for.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The day soon came for our going. It was
-such an early day that it came soon, even to
-me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half
-afraid that an earthquake or a fiery mountain,
-or some other accident might stop the expedition.
-We were to go in a carrier's cart, which
-departed in the morning after breakfast. I
-would have given any money to have been
-allowed to wrap myself up over-night, and sleep
-in my hat and boots.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It touches me nearly now, although I tell it
-lightly, to recollect how eager I was to leave my
-happy home; to think how little I suspected
-what I did leave for ever.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I am glad to recollect that when the carrier
-began to move, my mother ran out at the gate,
-and called to him to stop, that she might kiss
-me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the
-earnestness and love with which she lifted up
-her face to mine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone
-came up to where she was, and chided her
-for being so moved. I was looking back round
-the awning of the cart, and wondered what
-business it was of his. Peggotty, who was also
-looking back on the other side, seemed anything but
-satisfied, as the face she brought back into the
-cart denoted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the
-world, I thought, as he shuffled along with his
-head down. But Peggotty had brought along a
-basket of refreshments which would have lasted
-us handsomely for a journey three times as long.
-And at last we drove up to the Yarmouth tavern,
-where we found Ham awaiting us. He was a
-huge, strong fellow, about six feet high, with a
-simple, good-natured face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put me upon his shoulder, and my box
-under his arm, and trudged away easily down a
-lane littered with shipbuilders' odds and ends,
-past forges, yards and gas works, till we came
-out upon an open waste of sand, with the sea
-pounding upon it and eating away at it. Then
-Ham said,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I looked in all directions, as far as I could,
-and away at the sea, but no house could </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> make
-out. There was a black barge, or some other
-kind of boat, not far off, high and dry on the
-ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for
-a chimney and smoking very cosily; but nothing
-else in the way of a house that was visible to me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not it?" said I. "That ship-looking
-thing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg and
-all, I suppose I could not have been more
-charmed with the idea of living in it. There
-was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was
-roofed in, and there were little windows in it;
-but the charm of it was that it was a </span><em class="italics">real boat</em><span>
-which had no doubt been upon the water
-hundreds of times, and which had never been
-intended to be lived in on dry land.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as
-possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock,
-and a chest of drawers, and a tea-tray with a
-painting on it. The tray was kept from tumbling
-down by a Bible; and the tray, if it had tumbled
-down, would have smashed a quantity of cups
-and saucers and a tea-pot around the book. On
-the walls there were some colored pictures,
-framed and glazed, of scripture subjects. There
-were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling
-whose use I did not know; and some lockers
-and boxes scattered around, which served for seats.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One thing I particularly noticed in this
-delightful house was the smell of fish, which was
-so searching that when I took out my
-pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt
-exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On
-my whispering this to Peggotty, she informed
-me that her brother dealt in lobsters, crabs, and
-crawfish; and I afterwards found that a heap of
-these creatures, in a state of wonderful confusion
-with one another, and never leaving off pinching
-whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be
-found in a little wooden lean-to where the pots
-and kettles were kept.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We were welcomed by a very civil woman in
-a white apron, whom I had seen courtesying at
-the door when I was on Ham's back, about a
-quarter of a mile off; likewise by a most beautiful
-little girl with a necklace of blue beads, who
-wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but
-ran away and hid herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By and by, when we had dined in a sumptuous
-manner off boiled fish, melted butter, and
-potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with
-a very good-natured face came home. As he
-called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her a hearty
-smack on the cheek, I had no doubt that he was
-her brother; and so he turned out—being
-presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the
-master of the house.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty.
-"You'll find us rough, sir, but you'll find us
-ready."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I thanked him and replied that I was
-sure I should be happy in such a delightful
-place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The civil woman with the white apron was
-Mrs. Gummidge, an old widowed lady who
-kept the boat-house in fine order. The little
-girl was Emily, a niece of Mr. Peggotty's. She
-had never seen her father, just as I had never
-seen mine—which was our first bond of
-sympathy. She had lost her mother, too; and as
-we played together happily in the sand, I told
-her all about my mother and how we had only
-each other and I was going to grow up right
-away to take care of her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Of course I was quite in love with little
-Emily. I am sure I loved her quite as truly as
-one could possibly love. And I made her
-confess that she loved me. So when the golden
-days flew by and the time of parting drew near,
-our agony of mind was intense. The farewells
-were very tearful; and if ever in my life I had a
-void in my heart, I had one that day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I am ashamed to confess that the delightful
-fortnight by the sea had driven out all thoughts
-of home. But no sooner were we on the return
-journey, than the home longing came crowding
-in upon me tenfold. I grew so excited to see
-my mother, that it seemed as if I couldn't wait
-for that blundering old cart. But Peggotty,
-instead of sharing in these transports, tried to
-check them, though very kindly, and looked
-confused and out of sorts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Rookery would come, however, in spite
-of her, when the carrier's horse pleased—and
-did. How well I recollect it, on a cold, gray
-afternoon, with a dull sky threatening rain!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened, and I sprang in, half laughing
-and half crying as I looked for my mother.
-It was not she who met me, but a strange
-servant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Peggotty!" I said, ruefully, "isn't
-she come home?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty.
-"She's come home. Wait a bit, Master Davy,
-and I'll—I'll tell you something."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened.
-"What's the matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master
-Davy dear!" she answered, with an air of
-cheerfulness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's
-mamma?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her
-bonnet with a shaking hand, and speaking in a
-breathless sort of way; "what do you think?
-You have got a Pa!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I trembled, and turned white. Something—I
-don't know what, or how—connected with
-my father's grave in the churchyard, and the
-raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an
-unwholesome wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A new one," said Peggotty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A new one?" I repeated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing
-something that was very hard, and, putting
-out her hand, said,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and see him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to see him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your mamma," said Peggotty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I ceased to draw back, and we went straight
-to the best parlor, where she left me. On one
-side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other,
-Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped her
-work, and arose hurriedly but timidly, I thought.
-"Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone,
-"recollect! control yourself. Davy boy, how
-do you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I gave him my hand. Then I went and
-kissed my mother; she kissed me, patted me
-gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to
-her work. I could not look at her, I could not
-look at him. I knew quite well that he was
-looking at us both; and I turned to the window
-and looked out there, at some shrubs that were
-drooping their heads in the cold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as I could, I crept upstairs. My
-old dear bedroom was changed, and I was to
-lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to
-find anything that was like itself, so altered it
-all seemed; and roamed into the yard. I very
-soon started back from there, for the empty
-dog-kennel was filled up with a great
-dog—deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him—and
-he was very angry at the sight of me, and
-sprang out to get at me.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="i-fall-into-disgrace"><span class="bold large">II. I FALL INTO DISGRACE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>That first lonely evening when I crept
-off alone, feeling that no one wanted
-me, was the most miserable of my
-life. I rolled up in a corner of my bed and
-cried myself to sleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently I was awakened by somebody saying,
-"Here he is!" and uncovering my hot head.
-My mother and Peggotty had come to look for
-me, and it was one of them who had done it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I thought it 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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I dare say, no words she could have uttered
-would have affected me so much, then, as her
-calling me her child. I hid my tears in the
-bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand,
-when she would have raised me up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew
-was neither hers nor Peggotty'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:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this? Clara, my love, have you
-forgotten? Firmness, my dear!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother.
-"I meant to be very good."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go below, my dear," he answered. "David
-and I will come down together."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beat him. 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?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dirt," I said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done
-his bidding, and he walked me into the parlor,
-with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be
-made uncomfortable any more, I hope. We
-shall soon improve our youthful humors."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What a little thing will change the current of
-our lives! I might have been made another
-creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A
-word of welcome home, of assurance that it </span><em class="italics">was</em><span>
-home, might have made me respect my new
-father instead of hate him. But the word was
-not spoken, and the time for it was gone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From that time my life was a lonely one.
-My mother petted me in secret, but plainly stood
-in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntless
-Peggotty must needs keep her peace. His
-word alone was law.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came
-to live with us. And from the second day of
-her arrival she took charge of the household
-keys, and managed things with a firmness second
-only to her brother himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There had been some talk of my going to
-boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had
-originated it, and my mother had of course
-agreed with them. Nothing, however, was
-concluded on the subject yet, and in the meantime
-I learned my lessons at home.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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
-miscalled 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 feeling of disgust or
-reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walked
-along a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book,
-and to have been cheered by the gentleness
-of my mother's voice and manner all the way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But these solemn lessons which succeeded I
-remember as the death-blow to my peace, and a
-grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were
-very long, very numerous, very hard,—and I
-was generally as much bewildered by them as
-I believe my poor mother was herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Let me remember how it used to be, and bring
-one morning back again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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 as Miss
-Murdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing
-steel beads. The very sight of these two has
-such an influence over me that I begin to feel
-the words I have been at infinite pains to get
-into my head all sliding away and going I don't
-know where. I wonder where they do go, by
-the bye?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden,
-tumble over half-a-dozen words, and stop. I
-think my mother would show me the book if
-she dared, but she does not dare, and she says
-softly:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Davy! Davy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm
-with the boy. Don't say 'Oh, Davy, Davy!' That's
-childish. He knows his lesson, or he
-does not know it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He does </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> know it," Miss Murdstone interposes,
-awfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am really afraid he does not," says my mother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone,
-"you should just give him the book back
-and make him know it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is
-what I intend to do, my dear Jane. Now, Davy,
-try once more, and don't be stupid."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The natural result of this treatment was to
-make me sullen, dull, and dogged; and my
-temper was not improved by the sense that I
-was daily shut out from my mother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One morning, after about six months of these
-lessons, when I went into the parlor with my
-books, I found my mother looking anxious, Miss
-Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone
-binding something round the bottom of a
-cane,—a lithe and limber cane, which he left off
-binding when I came in, and poised and switched
-in the air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, David," he said, "you must be far
-more careful to-day than usual." He gave the
-cane another poise and another switch, and laid
-it down beside him with an expressive look and
-took up his book.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was a good freshener to my presence of
-mind as a beginning. I felt the words of my
-lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by
-line, but by the entire page. I tried to lay hold
-of them; but they seemed, if I may so express
-it, to have put skates on and to skim away from
-me with a smoothness there was no checking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We began badly, and went on worse. I had
-come in, with an idea 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, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of
-us all the time. And when we came to the last,
-my mother burst out crying.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood
-up, cane in hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"David, you and I will go upstairs," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He walked me up to my room slowly and
-gravely, and when we got there, suddenly
-twisted my head under his arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him.
-"Don't! Pray don't beat me! I have tried
-to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and
-Miss Murdstone are by. I can't indeed!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll
-try that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had my head as in a vice, but I twined
-round him somehow, and stopped him for a
-moment, entreating him not to beat me. It
-was only for a moment that I stopped him, for
-he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in
-the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth,
-and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to
-think of it!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He beat me then, as if he would have beaten
-me to death. Above all the noise we made, I
-heard them running up the stairs, and crying
-out—I heard my mother crying out—and
-Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door
-was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and
-sore and raging, upon the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>How well I recollect, when I became quiet,
-what an unnatural stillness seemed to reign
-through the whole house! How well I remember,
-when my smart and passion began to cool,
-how wicked I began to feel!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I sat listening for a long while, but there was
-not a sound. I crawled up from the floor, and
-saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and
-ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes
-were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh,
-when I moved; but they were nothing to the
-guilt I felt. It lay like lead upon my breast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For five days I was imprisoned thus within
-my room, seeing no one except Miss Murdstone,
-who came to bring me food. They live like
-years in my remembrance. On the fifth night
-I heard my name softly whispered through the
-keyhole.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I groped my way to the door, and, putting my
-own lips to the keyhole, whispered,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, Peggotty, dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied.
-"Be as soft as a mouse, or the Cat'll hear us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone,
-her room being close by.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very
-angry with me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her
-side of the keyhole, as I was doing on mine,
-before she answered, "No. Not very."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is going to be done with me, Peggotty,
-dear? Do you know?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"School. Near London."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When, Peggotty?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sha'n't I see mamma?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then she stole away, fearful of surprises.
-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 down stairs 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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could
-hurt any one I love! Try to be better, pray to
-be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved,
-Davy, that you should have such bad passions
-in your heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Master Copperfield's box there?" said Miss
-Murdstone, when wheels were heard at the gate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she;
-neither she nor Mr. Murdstone appeared. My
-former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the
-door; the box was taken out to his cart and
-lifted in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my dear Jane," returned my mother.
-"Good-bye, Davy. You are going for your own
-good. Good-bye, my child. You will come
-home in the holidays, and be a better boy.
-God bless you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We had not gone half a mile when I was
-astonished to see Peggotty burst from a hedge
-and climb into the cart. Not a word did she
-say, but she squeezed me tight, crammed a bag
-of cakes into my pockets, and put a purse into
-my hand. After a final squeeze she got down
-from the cart and ran away as quickly as she
-had come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My pocket-handkerchief was now so wet that
-the carrier proposed spreading it out upon the
-horse's back to dry. We did so, and I then had
-leisure to look at the purse. It had three bright
-shillings in it from Peggotty, and—more
-precious still—two half-crowns folded together
-in a bit of paper, on which was written, in
-my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my love."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was so overcome by this that I asked the
-carrier to reach me my handkerchief again, but
-he said I had better let it dry first. I thought
-so too, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve this time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the cakes came in for consideration. I
-offered the carrier one which he ate at a gulp,
-without the slightest change of expression.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> make 'em?" asked the carrier, whose
-name, by the way, was Barkis.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Peggotty, you mean, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. "Her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she makes all our pastry, and does all
-our cooking."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Barkis said nothing for some moments. Then—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you might be writin' to her, later on?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed," I said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you just say to her that Barkis is
-willin'. Would you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," I replied, considerably puzzled by
-the message. And I did deliver it the very first
-time I wrote to Peggotty. I did not then know
-that the carrier meant, by being "willing," he
-wanted to marry my good Peggotty and was
-too shy to say so for himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At Yarmouth I changed to the coach for
-London; and at London, to still another coach for
-Salem, the school. And so, after a long,
-wearisome journey, I reached my new destination.
-Another leaf of my life was turned over, and a
-fresh one begun.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="school-steerforth-and-traddles"><span class="bold large">III. SCHOOL. STEERFORTH AND TRADDLES</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Salem House was a square brick building
-with wings. The schoolroom was
-very long, with three rows of desks running
-the length of it and bristling all around
-with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps of
-copy-books and exercises littered the floor. The
-other students had not yet returned from their
-holidays when I took my first peep into this
-room, in company with Mr. Mell, one of the
-tutors.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently I chanced to see a pasteboard sign
-lying upon a desk and bearing these words:</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>"TAKE CARE OF HIM.
-<br />HE BITES."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>I hurriedly climbed upon the desk, fearful
-of a dog underneath; but saw none.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing there?" asked Mr. Mell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "If you
-please, I'm looking for the dog."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dog? What dog?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I pointed to the sign.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Copperfield," he said gravely. "That's
-not a dog; that's a boy. My instructions are
-to put this sign on your back. I'm sorry to do
-so, but must do it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With that, he took me down, and tied the
-placard, which was neatly constructed for the
-purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and
-wherever I went, afterwards, I had the
-consolation of carrying it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What I suffered nobody can imagine. Whether
-it was possible for people to see me or not, I
-always fancied that somebody was reading it.
-It was no relief to turn round and find nobody;
-for wherever my back was, there I imagined
-somebody always to be, until at last I positively
-began to have a dread of myself as the boy who
-</span><em class="italics">did</em><span> bite.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Creakle, the master of the school, was a
-short, thick-set man, and bald on the top of his
-head. He had a little nose and large chin. He
-had lost his voice and spoke almost in a whisper,
-which surprised me greatly, for his face always
-looked angry, and the exertion of talking made
-his thick veins stick out so that he looked
-angrier still.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the boys began to come back I found
-my ordeal, on account of the sign on my back,
-not quite so great as I had feared; and it was
-chiefly on account of the first fellow to arrive,
-Tommy Traddles. Dear Tommy Traddles!
-You made a friend of a poor, lonesome,
-frightened boy that day, who will always be loyal
-to you so long as he lives.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Traddles was a jolly looking boy who laughed
-heartily when he first saw the card, as at a great
-joke; and he saved me from any further shyness
-by introducing me to every boy and saying
-gaily, "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily,
-too, most of the boys came back low-spirited,
-and were not very boisterous at my
-expense. Some of them certainly did dance
-about me like wild Indians and could not resist
-patting me, lest I should bite, and saying, "Lie
-down, sir!" and calling me Towzer. But on
-the whole I got through rather easily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was not considered as being formally received
-into the school, however, until J. Steerforth
-arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed
-to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking,
-and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I
-was carried as before a magistrate. He inquired,
-under a shed in the playground, into the
-particulars of my punishment, and was pleased
-to express his opinion that it was "a jolly
-shame"; for which I became bound to him
-ever afterwards.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Steerforth asked how much money I
-had; and when I told him, he suggested that it
-was the proper thing for a new boy to stand
-treat to the others. I agreed, but felt helpless;
-whereupon he kindly volunteered to get the
-things for me and smuggle them into my room.
-I was a little uneasy about spending my
-mother's half-crowns, but didn't dare say so.
-I handed them over to him and he procured
-the feast and laid it out on my bed, saying,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are, young Copperfield, and a
-royal spread you've got!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I couldn't think of doing the honors of the
-feast, at my time of life, while he was by; my
-hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged
-him to do me the favor of presiding; and my
-request being seconded by the other boys he
-acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing
-round the viands with perfect fairness, I must
-say. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the
-rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds
-and on the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>How well I recollect our sitting there, talking
-in whispers, or their talking, and my respectfully
-listening, I ought rather to say; the moonlight
-falling a little way into the room, through
-the window, painting a pale window on the
-floor, and the greater part of us in shadow,
-except when Steerforth struck a match, when
-he wanted to look for anything on the board,
-and shed a blue glare over us that was gone
-directly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I heard all kinds of things about the school.
-I heard that Mr. Creakle was a tartar and
-thrashed the boys unmercifully—all except
-Steerforth, upon whom he didn't dare lay his
-hand. I heard that Mr. Creakle was very
-ignorant, and that Mr. Mell, who was not a bad
-sort of fellow, was poorly paid. All this and
-much more I heard in the whispers of that
-moonlit room, before we finally betook
-ourselves to bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From that time on, big handsome Steerforth
-took me under his protection, and, for my part,
-I was his willing slave. I would tell him tales
-which I had imbibed from my early reading, while
-he would help me do my sums and keep the
-other boys from tormenting me. Why he, the
-fine head-boy, should have taken notice of me
-at all, I don't know. But I remember I all
-but worshipped him with his easy swagger and
-lordly air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The other boy to whom I always owed
-allegiance was Traddles. Poor jolly Traddles! In
-a tight, sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs
-look like German sausages, he was at once the
-merriest and most miserable of all boys. He
-was always being caned by that fierce
-Mr. Creakle, who made all our backs tingle, except
-Steerforth's. After Traddles had got his daily
-caning he would cheer up somehow and get
-comfort by drawing skeletons all over his slate.
-He was always drawing these skeletons, just as
-he was always getting caned. And they did
-comfort him somehow, for presently he would
-begin to laugh again before his tears were dry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was very honorable, Traddles was, and
-held it as a solemn duty in the boys to stand by
-one another. He suffered for this on several
-occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth
-laughed in church, and the Beadle thought
-it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him
-now, going away in custody, despised by the
-congregation. He never said who was the real
-offender, though he smarted for it next day, and
-was imprisoned so many hours that he came
-forth with a whole churchyard full of skeletons
-swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But
-he had his reward. Steerforth said there was
-nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and we all
-felt that to be the highest praise. For my part,
-I could have gone through a good deal to have
-won such a reward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Although Mr. Creakle's school was not noted
-for scholarship, I can confess without vanity
-that I did make good progress. I was naturally
-fond of books and a great reader; and now
-I had the first fair chance at learning things.
-In this I found Mr. Mell, the quiet, gentle tutor,
-a constant friend to me. I shall always remember
-him with gratitude.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Steerforth, I am sorry to say, did not
-like the tutor and took no pains to hide his
-poor opinion. Since many of the other boys
-followed Steerforth's lead, poor Mr. Mell was
-not popular. Still, nothing especial came of it
-until one memorable day when Mr. Creakle
-was absent. The boys seized the chance to be
-uproarious, and Mr. Mell could not control
-them. Finally even his patience was exhausted,
-and he sprang to his feet and pounded his desk
-with a book.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" he cried. "This noise must
-cease! It's maddening! How can you treat
-me this way, boys?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was my book that he struck his desk with;
-and as I stood beside him, following his eye as
-it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all
-stop, some suddenly surprised, some half afraid,
-and some sorry perhaps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the
-school, at the opposite end of the long room.
-He was lounging with his back against the wall,
-and his hands in his pockets, and looked at
-Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were
-whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, Mr. Steerforth!" said Mr. Mell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning
-red. "Whom are you talking to?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," said Mr. Mell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and
-mind your business."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a titter, and some applause;
-but Mr. Mell was so white that there was silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell,
-"that you can make use of your position of
-favoritism here to disobey rules and insult a
-gentleman—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A what?—where is he?" said Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth!
-Too bad!" It was Traddles, whom
-Mr. Mell instantly routed by bidding him hold
-his tongue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>—"To insult one who is not fortunate in life,
-sir, and who never gave you the least offence,"
-continued Mr. Mell, his lip trembling, "you
-commit a mean and base action. You can sit
-down or stand up as you please, sir.
-Copperfield, go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming
-forward, "stop a bit. I tell you what,
-Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty
-of calling men mean and base, or anything
-of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You
-are always a beggar, you know; but when you
-do that, you are an impudent beggar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I am not clear whether he was going to
-strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was going to strike
-him, or there was any such intention on either
-side. I saw a rigidity come upon the whole
-school as if they had been turned into stone,
-and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us.
-Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his
-face in his hands, sat for some moments quite
-still.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him
-by the arm; and his whisper was very audible
-now; "you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," said Mr. Mell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Creakle looked hard at him and then
-turned to Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, sir, will you tell me what this is about?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Steerforth evaded the question for a little
-while; looking in scorn and anger on his
-opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help
-thinking what a fine-looking fellow he was, and
-how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed
-to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he mean by talking about favorites,
-then?" said Steerforth at length.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Favorites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the
-veins in his forehead swelling quickly. "Who
-talked about favorites?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He did," said Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?"
-demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his
-assistant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned, in a low
-voice, "as I said; that no pupil had a right to
-avail himself of his position of favoritism to
-degrade me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To degrade </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?" said Mr. Creakle. "My
-stars! But give me leave to ask you, Mr. What's
-your name, whether, when you talk about
-favorites, you showed proper respect to me? To me,
-sir," said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him
-suddenly and drawing it back again, "the principal
-of this establishment and your employer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to
-admit," said Mr. Mell. "I should not have done
-so if I had been cool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here Steerforth struck in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he said I was mean, and then he said
-I was base, and then I called him a beggar. If
-</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> had been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called
-him a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take
-the consequences of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without considering, perhaps, whether there
-were any consequences to be taken, I felt quite
-in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an
-impression on the boys, too, for there was a low
-stir among them, though no one spoke a word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am surprised, Steerforth,—although your
-candor does you honor," said Mr. Creakle, "does
-you honor, certainly,—I am surprised, Steerforth,
-I must say, that you should attach such
-an epithet to any person employed and paid in
-Salem House, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Steerforth gave a short laugh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle,
-"to my remark. I expect more than that from
-you, Steerforth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If Mr. Mell looked homely in my eyes before
-the handsome boy, it would be quite impossible
-to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him deny it," said Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried
-Mr. Creakle. "Why, where does he go a begging?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's
-one," said Steerforth. "It's all the same."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify
-myself," said Steerforth, "and to say what I
-mean,—what I have to say is, that his mother
-lives on charity in an almshouse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant with a
-severe frown and labored politeness:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell.
-Have the goodness, if you please, to set
-him right before the assembled school."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is right, sir, without correction," returned
-Mr. Mell, in the midst of a dead silence; "what
-he has said is true."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be so good then as to declare publicly, will
-you," said Mr. Creakle, putting his head on one
-side and rolling his eyes round the school,
-"whether it ever came to my knowledge until
-this moment?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe not directly," he returned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> not," said Mr. Creakle.
-"Don't you, man?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, I think you knew my circumstances
-when I came here, and that a bare living wage—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think, if you come to that," said
-Mr. Creakle, with his veins swelling again bigger
-than ever, "that you've been in a wrong
-position altogether, and mistook this for a charity
-school. Mr. Mell, we'll part if you please. The
-sooner the better."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising,
-"like the present."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, to you!" said Mr. Creakle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of
-all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing round the
-room and patting me gently on the shoulder.
-"James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you
-is that you may come to be ashamed of what
-you have done to-day. At present I would
-prefer to see you anything rather than a friend
-to me or to any one in whom I feel an interest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Mr. Mell walked out with his property
-under his arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Creakle made a speech, in which he
-thanked Steerforth for asserting (though
-perhaps too warmly) the independence and
-respectability of Salem House; and which he wound
-up by shaking hands with Steerforth, while we
-gave three cheers,—I did not quite know what
-for, but I suppose for Steerforth, and so joined
-in them ardently, though I felt miserable.
-Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being
-discovered in tears instead of cheers on account
-of Mr. Mell's departure: and went back to his
-sofa or wherever he had come from.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he had gone there was an awkward
-silence. Somehow we all felt uncomfortable or
-ashamed. As for Steerforth, he said he was
-angry with Traddles and glad he had caught it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Traddles, who was relieving himself as
-usual with a burst of skeletons, said he didn't
-care. Mr. Mell was ill-used.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> have," returned Traddles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have I done?" said Steerforth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done?" retorted Traddles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurt his feelings and lost him his situation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"His feelings!" repeated Steerforth, disdainfully.
-"His feelings will soon get the better of
-it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like
-yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation,—which
-was a precious one, wasn't it?—do you
-suppose I am not going to write home and take
-care that he gets some money? Polly?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>We thought this intention very noble in
-Steerforth, whose mother was a widow, and rich, and
-would do almost anything, it was said, that he
-asked her. We were all extremely glad to see
-Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to
-the skies. But as I look back at it now, I should
-rather have been Traddles that day than any
-other boy in the room. And I think the other
-boys will say so too.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>I pass over all that happened at school, until
-the anniversary of my birthday came round in
-March. Except that Steerforth was more to be
-admired than ever, I remember nothing. He
-was going away at the end of the half-year, if
-not sooner, and was more spirited and independent
-than ever; but beyond this I remember
-nothing. The great event by which that time is
-marked in my mind, seems to have swallowed
-up all lesser recollections, and to exist alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was after breakfast, and we had been summoned
-in from the playground, when Mr. Creakle
-entered and said:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"David Copperfield is to go into the parlor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I expected a hamper from Peggotty, and
-brightened at the order. Some of the boys
-about me put in their claim not to be forgotten
-in the distribution of the good things, as I got
-out of my seat with great alacrity. But when I
-reached the parlor I saw no one except
-Mrs. Creakle, who held an open letter in her hand
-and looked at me gravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too young to know how the world
-changes every day," said Mrs. Creakle, "and
-how the people in it pass away. But we all
-have to learn it, David; some of us when we
-are young, some of us when we are old, some
-of us at all times of our lives."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at her earnestly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When you came away from home," said Mrs. Creakle,
-after a pause, "were they all well?" After
-another pause, "Was your mamma well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I trembled without distinctly knowing why,
-and still looked at her earnestly, making no
-attempt to answer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said she, "I grieve to tell you
-that I hear this morning your mamma is very ill."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A mist arose between Mrs. Creakle and me,
-and her figure seemed to move in it for an
-instant. Then I felt the burning tears run down
-my face, and it was steady again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is very dangerously ill," she added.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I knew all now.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is dead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no need to tell me so. I had
-already broken out into a desolate cry, and felt
-an orphan in the wide world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was very kind to me. She kept me
-there all day, and left me alone sometimes;
-and I cried and wore myself to sleep, and
-awoke and cried again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next night I left Salem House, after a
-tender adieu to Steerforth, Traddles, and all the
-rest. I little thought that I left the school
-never to return.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When I reached home I was in Peggotty's
-arms before I got to the door, and she took me
-into the house. Her grief burst out when she
-first saw me; but she controlled it soon, and
-spoke in whispers, and walked softly, as if the
-dead could be disturbed. She had not been in
-bed, I found, for a long time. She sat up at
-night still, and watched. As long as her poor
-dear pretty was above the ground, she said, she
-would never desert her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I
-went into the parlor where he was, but sat by
-the fireside, weeping silently, and pondering in
-his elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was
-busy at her writing-desk, which was covered
-with letters and papers, gave me her cold
-finger-nails, and asked me, in an iron whisper,
-if I had been measured for my mourning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I will not dwell upon the dull, sorrowful days
-before and after my dear mother's funeral. The
-house had been cold and quiet enough before,
-but was now almost terrifying. And had it not
-been for Peggotty I do not know how I should
-have stood it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But soon even she was denied me. Miss
-Murdstone had never liked her, and now lost
-no time in dismissing her from our service.
-The single ray of light in this gloomy time is
-a little visit I was allowed to make with her to
-Yarmouth, to our old friends, Mr. Peggotty,
-Ham, and Emily. The latter was much grown
-now, but prettier than ever, and shyer about
-letting me kiss her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Barkis, the honest carrier, after having
-been "willing" all this time, was hugely
-gratified to gain a favorable answer from Peggotty.
-They were married while I was there, and I was
-glad to leave my faithful old nurse so well
-provided for.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then I returned home—no, I cannot say that
-word—to Mr. and Miss Murdstone.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="i-begin-life-on-my-own-account"><span class="bold large">IV. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>And now I fell into a state of neglect,
-which I cannot look back upon
-without sorrow. I was as one alone—apart
-from all friendly notice, apart from the
-society of all other boys of my own age, apart
-from all companionship but my own spiritless
-thoughts,—which seems to cast its gloom upon
-this paper as I write.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What would I have given to have been sent
-to the hardest school that ever was kept—to
-have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere?
-No such hope dawned upon me. They disliked
-me; and they steadily overlooked me. I think
-Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about
-this time; but it is little to the purpose. He
-could not bear me; and in putting me from him
-he tried, as I believe, to put away the notion
-that I had any claim upon him—and succeeded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten,
-or starved; but day by day I was made to feel
-that I was in the way, and an altogether useless
-member of society. Finally Mr. Murdstone
-called me to him one day, and told me that he
-could not afford to send me to school, but that
-I must go to work for myself. He had a
-partner in the wine trade in London, and I was to
-be given a position there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Accordingly, Miss Murdstone packed me off
-without loss of time; and I went to work—at
-ten years old—washing bottles in a vile-smelling
-warehouse down by the water-side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There were three or four of us boys, counting
-me; and I was shown how to work by an older
-lad whose name was Mick Walker, and who
-wore a ragged apron and paper cap. He
-introduced me to another boy by the queer name of
-Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, later, that this
-youth had started out with another name, but
-had been given this one on account of a pale,
-mealy complexion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No words can express the secret agony of my
-soul as I sank into this companionship;
-compared these associates with those of my happier
-childhood—not to say with Steerforth, Traddles,
-and the rest of those boys; and felt my
-hopes of growing up to be a learned and
-distinguished man crushed in my bosom. The
-feeling of being utterly without hope; of the shame
-I felt in my position; of the misery it was to
-believe that what I had learned would pass away
-from me, little by little, never to be brought
-back any more; cannot be written. As often
-as Mick Walker went away in the course of that
-forenoon, I mingled my tears with the water in
-which I was washing the bottles. But I was
-careful never to let the others see me in tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I was given the splendid salary of seven
-shillings[#] a week for my services, and out of that I
-had to feed and clothe myself. My lodgings
-were provided for, at the home of a Mr. Micawber,
-a portly, dignified man with a large,
-shiny bald head and rusty, genteel clothes.
-Mr. Micawber was perpetually dodging
-creditors while he waited for "something to turn
-up," as he expressed it. But in his way he was
-kind to me.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] About $1.68.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Still I had no one upon earth to go to for
-friendship or advice, I must needs skimp and
-save to be sure of having enough bread and
-cheese to eat; and no one lifted a finger to
-help me, a frightened little stranger in a large,
-terrifying city. I look back upon it now as a
-horrible dream. I know that I worked from
-morning till night with common men and boys,
-a shabby child. I know that I lounged about
-the streets poorly clothed and half starved. I
-know that but for the mercy of God, I might
-easily have been—for any other care that was
-taken of me—a little thief or vagabond.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in these darkest days a bright idea came
-to me—I don't know when or how, but come
-it did, and refused to depart. I remembered
-having heard of an aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood,
-my dear father's sister. I had heard both my
-mother and Peggotty speak of her, with some
-awe, it is true, as being a rather eccentric
-woman, who did not like boys, but still I
-resolved to find her. So I wrote to Peggotty and
-asked the address, and also for the loan of half
-a guinea. I had resolved to run away and appeal
-to my aunt for protection.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Peggotty's answer soon came with much love
-and the half guinea. She told me that Miss
-Betsey lived near Dover, but she couldn't say exactly
-where. This was vague enough, but didn't deter
-me in the slightest. I worked my week out at
-the warehouse, and, bidding Mick Walker and
-Mealy Potatoes good-bye, ran away forthwith.
-I may have had the notion of running all the
-way to Dover when I started. I had a small
-box of clothes and the half guinea, but a carter
-robbed me of both of them the first day. So,
-reduced to a few odd pence, I made but slow
-progress on foot, and sleeping out in the open
-by night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For six days I trudged my weary way, pawning
-my coat for food, and not daring to ask aid
-from any one, for fear of being seized and sent
-back to London. But at last I limped in upon
-the bare white downs near Dover, sunburnt and
-in rags.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By dint of inquiries I was directed to Miss
-Betsey Trotwood's house, and I lost no time in
-going there—a sorry enough figure, as you may
-imagine. It was a neat little cottage looking
-out from some cliffs upon the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As I stood at the gate peeping in and wondering
-how I had best proceed, a tall, slim lady
-came out of the house. She had a handkerchief
-tied over her cap, a pair of gardener's gloves on
-her hands, and carried a pruning-knife.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go away!" said Miss Betsey (for it was
-none other), shaking her head when she saw
-me, and making a distant chop in the air with
-her knife. "Go along! No boys here!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as
-she marched to a corner of her garden, and
-stooped to dig a root. Then, without a scrap
-of courage, but with a great deal of desperation,
-I went softly in and stood beside her, touching
-her with my finger.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, ma'am," I began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started and looked up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, aunt."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"EH?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of
-amazement I have never heard approached.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, aunt, I am your nephew."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down
-in the garden-path.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am David Copperfield, of the Rookery. I
-used to hear my dear mamma speak of you
-before she died. I have been neglected and
-mistreated, and so I ran away and came to you.
-I was robbed at first setting out, and have
-walked all the way, and have never slept in a
-bed since I began the journey."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here my self-support gave way all at once;
-and with a movement of my hands, intended to
-show her my ragged state, and call it to witness
-that I had suffered something, I broke into a
-passion of crying, which I suppose had been
-pent up within me all the week.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My aunt, with every sort of expression, sat
-on the gravel, staring at me, until I began to
-cry; when she got up in a great hurry, collared
-me, and took me into the parlor. Her first
-proceeding there was to unlock a tall press,
-bring out several bottles, and pour some of the
-contents of each into my mouth. I think they
-must have been taken out at random, for I am
-sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and
-salad dressing. Then she rang the bell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet," she said, when her servant came in,
-"go upstairs, give my compliments to
-Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dick proved to be a pleasant-faced man
-of whimsical ways, but upon whose advice my
-aunt greatly relied. As he proposed now that
-I be given a bath and put to bed, my aunt lost
-no time in following these ideas.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Janet had gone away to get the bath ready,
-when my aunt, to my great alarm, became in
-one moment rigid with wrath, and had hardly
-voice to cry out, "Janet! Donkeys!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Upon which, Janet came running up the
-stairs as if the house were in flames, darted out
-on a little piece of green in front, and warned
-off two donkeys that had presumed to set hoof
-upon it; while my aunt, rushing out of the
-house, seized the bridle of a third animal, led
-him forth from those sacred precincts, and
-boxed the ears of the unlucky urchin in attendance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To this hour I don't know whether my aunt
-had any lawful right of way over that patch of
-green; but she had settled it in her own mind
-that she had, and it was all the same to her.
-The one great outrage of her life, demanding
-to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a
-donkey over that spot. No matter what she
-was doing or saying, a donkey turned the
-current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon
-him straight. Jugs of water and watering-pots
-were kept in secret places ready to be discharged
-on the offending boys; sticks were laid in
-ambush behind the door; sallies were made at all
-hours; and incessant war prevailed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to
-the donkey-boys; or perhaps the more sagacious
-of the donkeys, understanding how the case
-stood, stubbornly delighted in coming that
-way. I only know that there were three alarms
-before the bath was ready; and that on the
-occasion of the last and most desperate of all,
-I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, with a
-sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy
-head against her own gate, before he realized
-what was the matter. These interruptions
-were the more ridiculous to me, because she
-was giving me broth out of a tablespoon at the
-time (having firmly persuaded herself that
-I was actually starving, and must receive
-food at first in very small quantities), and,
-while my mouth was yet open to receive the
-spoon, she would put it back into the basin,
-cry "Janet! Donkeys!" and go out to the
-assault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The bath was a great comfort. For I began
-to be sensible of acute pains in my limbs from
-lying out in the fields, and was now so tired
-and low that I could hardly keep myself awake
-for five minutes together. When I had bathed
-they enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers
-belonging to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two
-or three great shawls. What sort of bundle I
-looked like, I don't know, but I felt a very hot
-one. Feeling also very faint and drowsy, I
-soon fell asleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning at breakfast my aunt said,
-with a determined shake of her head, "Well,
-I've written to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To whom?" I ventured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To Mr. Murdstone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he know where I am, aunt?" I inquired, alarmed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I—be—given up to him?" I faltered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said my aunt. "We shall see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I can't think what I shall do," I
-exclaimed, "if I have to go back to Mr. Murdstone!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know anything about it," said my
-aunt, shaking her head. "I can't say, I am
-sure. We shall see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My spirits sank under these words, and I
-became very downcast and heavy of heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For the next few days I felt like a criminal
-condemned to die; although my aunt and
-Mr. Dick both were very kind to me. Finally the
-day of the expected visit from Mr. Murdstone
-arrived, but without bringing him till late in
-the afternoon. Our dinner had been postponed;
-but it was growing so late that my aunt had
-ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a
-sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation,
-I beheld Miss Murdstone, on a side-saddle,
-ride deliberately over the sacred piece of green,
-and stop in front of the house, looking about her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go along with you!" cried my aunt, shaking
-her head and her fist out of the window.
-"You have no business there. How dare you
-trespass? Go along! Oh, you bold-faced thing!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness
-with which Miss Murdstone looked about her,
-that I really believe she did not know what to
-do. I hastened to tell her who it was, and that
-Mr. Murdstone was following behind, but it
-made no difference. She glared at them as they
-entered the room in a most terrible way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at
-first to whom I had the pleasure of objecting.
-But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf.
-I make no exceptions. I don't allow anybody
-to do it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your regulation is rather awkward to
-strangers," said Miss Murdstone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Is</em><span> it!" said my aunt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Murdstone here cleared his throat and
-began, "Miss Trotwood—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," observed my aunt, with
-a keen look. "You are the Mr. Murdstone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," said Mr. Murdstone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll excuse my saying, sir," returned my
-aunt, "that I think it would have been a much
-better and happier thing if you had left that
-poor child alone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Murdstone colored, and Miss Murdstone
-looked as though she could bite nails.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I received your letter," said Mr. Murdstone,
-"and thought it best to see you personally about
-this unhappy boy who has run away from his
-friends and his position. I need not tell you
-that he has always given us great trouble and
-uneasiness. He is sullen and stubborn and has
-a violent temper. I thought it best that you
-should know this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm
-anything stated by my brother," said Miss
-Murdstone; "but I beg to observe, that, of all
-the boys in the world, I believe this is the worst
-boy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Strong!" said my aunt, shortly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But not at all too strong for the facts,"
-returned Miss Murdstone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said my aunt. "Well, sir?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon the death of his mother," continued
-Mr. Murdstone, scowling, "I obtained a
-respectable place for him—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it the sort of place you would have put
-a boy of your own in?" asked my aunt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If he had been my brother's own boy,"
-returned Miss Murdstone, striking in, "his
-character, I trust, would have been altogether
-different."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or if the poor child, his mother, had been
-alive, he would still have gone into the
-respectable business, would he?" said my aunt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe," said Mr. Murdstone, with a nod
-of his head, "that Clara would have disputed
-nothing which myself and my sister were agreed
-was for the best."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph!" said my aunt. "Well, sir, what next?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely this, Miss Trotwood," he returned.
-"I am here to take David back—to take him
-back unconditionally, and to deal with him as
-I think right. I am not here to make any
-promise to anybody. You may possibly have
-some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in
-his running away. Your manner induces me
-to think it possible. Now I must caution you
-that if you abet him once, you abet him for good
-and all. I cannot trifle, or be trifled with. I
-am here, for the first and last time, to take him
-away. Is he ready to go? If he is not, my
-doors are shut against him henceforth, and
-yours, I take it for granted, are opened to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To this address my aunt had listened with
-the closest attention, sitting perfectly upright,
-with her hands folded on one knee, and looking
-grimly on the speaker. When he had finished,
-she turned her eyes so as to command Miss
-Murdstone, and said,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, ma'am, have you got anything to remark?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Miss Trotwood," said Miss Murdstone,
-"all that I could say has been so well
-said by my brother, that I have nothing to add
-except my thanks for your politeness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This ironical remark, however, was wholly lost.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt.
-"Are you ready to go, David?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>I answered no, and entreated her not to let
-me go. I said that neither Mr. nor Miss Murdstone
-had ever liked me, or had ever been kind
-to me. That they had made my mamma, who
-always loved me dearly, unhappy about me, and
-that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it.
-And I begged and prayed my aunt—I forget
-in what terms now, but I remember that they
-affected me very much then—to befriend and
-protect me, for my father's sake.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do
-with this child?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have him measured for a suit of clothes,
-directly," said Mr. Dick, in his usual sudden way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, triumphantly,
-"give me your hand, for your common sense is
-invaluable."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Having shaken it with great cordiality, she
-pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can go when you like; I'll take my
-chance with the boy. If he's all you say he
-is, at least I can do as much for him then as
-you have done. But I don't believe a word of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Trotwood," rejoined Mr. Murdstone,
-shrugging his shoulders, as he rose, "if you
-were a gentleman—"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! stuff and nonsense!" said my aunt.
-"Don't talk to me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How exquisitely polite!" exclaimed Miss
-Murdstone, rising. "Overpowering, really!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I don't know," said my aunt,
-turning a deaf ear to the sister, and continuing
-to address the brother, and to shake her head at
-him, "what kind of life you must have led that
-poor, little woman you cajoled into marrying
-you? Do you think I don't know what a woeful
-day it was for her and her boy when </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> first
-came in her way?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And thereupon she read him such a lecture
-as I warrant he had never listened to before in
-his life, nor ever would again. He bit his lip
-in silence while she lectured, and all the color
-left his face. Miss Murdstone tried to
-interrupt the flow of words repeatedly, with no
-success at all. When she had ended—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good day, sir," said my aunt, "and good-bye!
-Good day to you, too, ma'am," turning
-suddenly upon his sister. "Let me see you
-ride a donkey over </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> green again, and as sure
-as you have a head upon your shoulders, I'll
-knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It would require a painter, and no common
-painter too, to depict my aunt's face as she
-delivered herself of this very unexpected
-sentiment, and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard
-it. But the manner of the speech, no less than
-the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone,
-without a word in answer, discreetly put her
-arm through her brother's, and walked haughtily
-out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the
-window looking after them, prepared, I have
-no doubt, to carry her threat into instant
-execution.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No attempt at defiance being made, however,
-her face gradually relaxed, and became so
-pleasant that I was emboldened to kiss and
-thank her; which I did with great heartiness,
-and with both my arms clasped round her neck.
-I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook
-hands with me a great many times, and hailed
-this happy close of the proceedings with
-repeated bursts of laughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly
-with me, of this child, Mr. Dick," said my aunt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be delighted," said Mr. Dick, "to
-be the guardian of David's son."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good," returned my aunt, "that's
-settled. I have been thinking, do you know,
-Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, to be sure. Trotwood Copperfield,"
-said Mr. Dick.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that
-some ready-made clothes, which were purchased
-for me the next day, were marked "Trotwood
-Copperfield," in her own handwriting, and in
-indelible marking-ink, before I put them on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus I began my new life, in a new name,
-and with everything new about me. Now that
-the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many
-days, like one in a dream. I never thought
-that I had a curious couple of guardians in my
-aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of
-anything about myself, distinctly. While a
-remoteness had come upon the old life—which
-seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable
-distance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In my new life I was to realize some of my
-youthful ambitions. I was to struggle, perhaps,
-but I was to succeed. And I was to find that
-my aunt—for all her gruff exterior—had a
-heart of gold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But whatever there was of happiness or of
-sorrow, of success or of failure, in my new life,
-does not belong to these pages. The identity
-of the child, and of the boy, David Copperfield,
-is now forever merged in the personality of
-Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire, the Prospective Man.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE "SILVER FOX FARM" SERIES</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>BY JAMES OTIS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">THE WIRELESS STATION AT SILVER FOX FARM.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A bright, vividly written narrative of the adventures of
-Paul Simpson and Ned Bartlett in helping the former's father
-start a farm for raising silver foxes on Barren Island, twelve
-miles off the Maine coast.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">THE AEROPLANE AT SILVER FOX FARM.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An absorbing story of the building and working of an
-aeroplane on Barren Island.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">BUILDING AN AIRSHIP AT SILVER FOX FARM.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Encouraged by their success in aeroplane-building, the boys
-of Silver Fox Farm go in for a full-fledged airship.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">AIRSHIP CRUISING FROM SILVER FOX FARM.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A further account of the marvels performed by the Silver
-Fox Farmers, including the story of the thrilling rescue of a
-shipwrecked yachting party by means of their great air-cruiser.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">BOY SCOUT BOOKS</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="bold">BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS.
-<br />BOY SCOUTS IN A LUMBER CAMP.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>OTHER BOOKS BY JAMES OTIS</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="bold">FOUND BY THE CIRCUS.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">Joel Hurford
-<br />Joey at the Fair
-<br />Two Stowaways</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">A Short Cruise
-<br />How the Twins Captured a Hessian
-<br />Aunt Hannah and Seth
-<br />How Tommy Saved the Barn
-<br />Our Uncle the Major
-<br />Christmas at Deacon Hackett's</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>8vo, illustrated.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold">Dorothy's Spy</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
-<br />NEW YORK</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE BAR B SERIES</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>By EDWIN L. SABIN</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">BAR B BOYS;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, THE YOUNG COW-PUNCHERS</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A picturesque story of Western ranch life. Illustrated
-by Charles Copeland.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">RANGE AND TRAIL</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Bar B Boys in winter and on the long trail from
-New Mexico to the home ranch. Illustrated by Clarence
-Rowe.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">CIRCLE K;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, FIGHTING FOR THE FLOCK</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The ranchmen are here engaged in the sheep industry,
-and the story has the same real Western flavor.
-Illustrated by Clarence Rowe.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">OLD FOUR-TOES;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, HUNTERS OF THE PEAKS</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two boys, Phil and Chet, Grizzly Dan and others,
-figure in this fascinating account of hunting, trapping,
-and Indian encounters. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">TREASURE MOUNTAIN;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, THE YOUNG PROSPECTORS</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tells of the locating of an old gold mine near the top
-of a mountain peak. One of the liveliest books in the
-series. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SCARFACE RANCH;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, THE YOUNG HOMESTEADERS</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Two young heroes here take up some government land
-and engage most successfully in cattle raising on their
-own account. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe.</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold">Each Volume 8vo, cloth.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>Also by MR. SABIN</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL;</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span>OR, BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A stirring narrative of packing, trailing, and camping
-In the West. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe. 12mo, cloth.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
-<br />NEW YORK</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em">
-</div>
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="backmatter">
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