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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<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 <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" 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 & 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. 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