The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I lookfar back, into the blank of my infancy, are my mother with her prettyhair and youthful shape, and Peggotty with no shape at all, and eyes sodark that they seemed to darken their whole neighbourhood in her face,and cheeks and arms so hard and red that I wondered the birds didn'tpeck her in preference to apples.

I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, dwarfedto my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I goingunsteadily from the one to the other. I have an impression on my mindwhich I cannot distinguish from actual remembrance, of the touch ofPeggotty's forefinger as she used to hold it out to me, and of its beingroughened by needlework, like a pocket nutmeg-grater.

This may be fancy, though I think the memory of most of us can gofarther back into such times than many of us suppose; just as I believethe power of observation in numbers of very young children to be quitewonderful for its closeness and accuracy. Indeed, I think that mostgrown men who are remarkable in this respect, may with greater proprietybe said not to have lost the faculty, than to have acquired it; therather, as I generally observe such men to retain a certain freshness,and gentleness, and capacity of being pleased, which are also aninheritance they have preserved from their childhood.

I might have a misgiving that I am 'meandering' in stopping to say this,but that it brings me to remark that I build these conclusions, in partupon my own experience of myself; and if it should appear fromanything I may set down in this narrative that I was a child of closeobservation, or that as a man I have a strong memory of my childhood, Iundoubtedly lay claim to both of these characteristics.

Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my infancy, the firstobjects I can remember as standing out by themselves from a confusion ofthings, are my mother and Peggotty. What else do I remember? Let me see.

There comes out of the cloud, our house--not new to me, but quitefamiliar, in its earliest remembrance. On the ground-floor is Peggotty'skitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, inthe centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner,without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me,walking about, in a menacing and ferocious manner. There is one cock whogets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me asI look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is sofierce. Of the geese outside the side-gate who come waddling afterme with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream atnight: as a man environed by wild beasts might dream of lions.

Here is a long passage--what an enormous perspective I make ofit!--leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door. A darkstore-room opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past atnight; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars and oldtea-chests, when there is nobody in there with a dimly-burning light,letting a mouldy air come out of the door, in which there is the smellof soap, pickles, pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Thenthere are the two parlours: the parlour in which we sit of an evening,my mother and I and Peggotty--for Peggotty is quite our companion, whenher work is done and we are alone--and the best parlour where we siton a Sunday; grandly, but not so comfortably. There is something of adoleful air about that room to me, for Peggotty has told me--I don'tknow when, but apparently ages ago--about my father's funeral, and thecompany having their black cloaks put on. One Sunday night my motherreads to Peggotty and me in there, how Lazarus was raised up from thedead. And I am so frightened that they are afterwards obliged to take meout of bed, and show me the quiet churchyard out of the bedroom window,with the dead all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn moon.

There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as the grass ofthat churchyard; nothing half so shady as its trees; nothing half soquiet as its tombstones. The sheep are feeding there, when I kneel up,early in the morning, in my little bed in a closet within my mother'sroom, to look out at it; and I see the red light shining on thesun-dial, and think within myself, 'Is the sun-dial glad, I wonder, thatit can tell the time again?'

Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew! With a windownear it, out of which our house can be seen, and IS seen many timesduring the morning's service, by Peggotty, who likes to make herselfas sure as she can that it's not being robbed, or is not in flames. Butthough Peggotty's eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does,and frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at theclergyman. But I can't always look at him--I know him without that whitething on, and I am afraid of his wondering why I stare so, and perhapsstopping the service to inquire--and what am I to do? It's a dreadfulthing to gape, but I must do something. I look at my mother, but shepretends not to see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes facesat me. I look at the sunlight coming in at the open door throughthe porch, and there I see a stray sheep--I don't mean a sinner, butmutton--half making up his mind to come into the church. I feel thatif I looked at him any longer, I might be tempted to say something outloud; and what would become of me then! I look up at the monumentaltablets on the wall, and try to think of Mr. Bodgers late of thisparish, and what the feelings of Mrs. Bodgers must have been, whenaffliction sore, long time Mr. Bodgers bore, and physicians were invain. I wonder whether they called in Mr. Chillip, and he was in vain;and if so, how he likes to be reminded of it once a week. I look fromMr. Chillip, in his Sunday neckcloth, to the pulpit; and think what agood place it would be to play in, and what a castle it would make, withanother boy coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvetcushion with the tassels thrown down on his head. In time my eyesgradually shut up; and, from seeming to hear the clergyman singing adrowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, until I fall off the seat witha crash, and am taken out, more dead than alive, by Peggotty.

And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticedbedroom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and theragged old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm-trees at the bottomof the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond theyard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are--a very preserveof butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate andpadlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer thanfruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where mymother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting furtivegooseberries, and trying to look unmoved. A great wind rises, and thesummer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight,dancing about the parlour. When my mother is out of breath and restsherself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls roundher fingers, and straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than Ido that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.

That is among my very earliest impressions. That, and a sense that wewere both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submitted ourselves in mostthings to her direction, were among the first opinions--if they may beso called--that I ever derived from what I saw.

Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlour fire, alone. Ihad been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must have read veryperspicuously, or the poor soul must have been deeply interested, for Iremember she had a cloudy impression, after I had done, that they werea sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and dead sleepy; buthaving leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home fromspending the evening at a neighbour's, I would rather have died uponmy post (of course) than have gone to bed. I had reached that stage ofsleepiness when Peggotty seemed to swell and grow immensely large.I propped my eyelids open with my two forefingers, and lookedperseveringly at her as she sat at work; at the little bit of wax-candleshe kept for her thread--how old it looked, being so wrinkled inall directions!--at the little house with a thatched roof, where theyard-measure lived; at her work-box with a sliding lid, with a view ofSt. Paul's Cathedral (with a pink dome) painted on the top; at the brassthimble on her finger; at herself, whom I thought lovely. I felt sosleepy, that I knew if I lost sight of anything for a moment, I wasgone.

'Peggotty,' says I, suddenly, 'were you ever married?'

'Lord, Master Davy,' replied Peggotty. 'What's put marriage in yourhead?'

She answered with such a start, that it quite awoke me. And then shestopped in her work, and looked at me, with her needle drawn out to itsthread's length.

'But WERE you ever married, Peggotty?' says I. 'You are a very handsomewoman, an't you?'

I thought her in a different style from my mother, certainly; but ofanother school of beauty, I considered her a perfect example. Therewas a red velvet footstool in the best parlour, on which my motherhad painted a nosegay. The ground-work of that stool, and Peggotty'scomplexion appeared to me to be one and the same thing. The stool wassmooth, and Peggotty was rough, but that made no difference.

'Me handsome, Davy!' said Peggotty. 'Lawk, no, my dear! But what putmarriage in your head?'

'I don't know!--You mustn't marry more than one person at a time, mayyou, Peggotty?'

'Certainly not,' says Peggotty, with the promptest decision.

'But if you marry a person, and the person dies, why then you may marryanother person, mayn't you, Peggotty?'

'YOU MAY,' says Peggotty, 'if you choose, my dear. That's a matter ofopinion.'

'But what is your opinion, Peggotty?' said I.

I asked her, and looked curiously at her, because she looked socuriously at me.

'My opinion is,' said Peggotty, taking her eyes from me, after a littleindecision and going on with her work, 'that I never was married myself,Master Davy, and that I don't expect to be. That's all I know about thesubject.'

'You an't cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?' said I, after sittingquiet for a minute.

I really thought she was, she had been so short with me; but I was quitemistaken: for she laid aside her work (which was a stocking of her own),and opening her arms wide, took my curly head within them, and gave ita good squeeze. I know it was a good squeeze, because, being very plump,whenever she made any little exertion after she was dressed, some of thebuttons on the back of her gown flew off. And I recollect two burstingto the opposite side of the parlour, while she was hugging me.

'Now let me hear some more about the Crorkindills,' said Peggotty, whowas not quite right in the name yet, 'for I an't heard half enough.'

I couldn't quite understand why Peggotty looked so queer, or why shewas so ready to go back to the crocodiles. However, we returned to thosemonsters, with fresh wakefulness on my part, and we left their eggs inthe sand for the sun to hatch; and we ran away from them, and baffledthem by constantly turning, which they were unable to do quickly, onaccount of their unwieldy make; and we went into the water after them,as natives, and put sharp pieces of timber down their throats; and inshort we ran the whole crocodile gauntlet. I did, at least; but I hadmy doubts of Peggotty, who was thoughtfully sticking her needle intovarious parts of her face and arms, all the time.

We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with the alligators, whenthe garden-bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother,looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman withbeautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us fromchurch last Sunday.

As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms andkiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellowthan a monarch--or something like that; for my later understandingcomes, I am sensible, to my aid here.

'What does that mean?' I asked him, over her shoulder.

He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deepvoice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother's intouching me--which it did. I put it away, as well as I could.

'Oh, Davy!' remonstrated my mother.

'Dear boy!' said the gentleman. 'I cannot wonder at his devotion!'

I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother's face before. Shegently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl,turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble as to bring herhome. She put out her hand to him as she spoke, and, as he met it withhis own, she glanced, I thought, at me.

'Let us say "good night", my fine boy,' said the gentleman, when he hadbent his head--I saw him!--over my mother's little glove.

'Good night!' said I.

'Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!' said the gentleman,laughing. 'Shake hands!'

My right hand was in my mother's left, so I gave him the other.

'Why, that's the Wrong hand, Davy!' laughed the gentleman.

MY mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my formerreason, not to give it him, and I did not. I gave him the other, and heshook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and went away.

At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a lastlook with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door was shut.

Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, secured thefastenings instantly, and we all went into the parlour. My mother,contrary to her usual habit, instead of coming to the elbow-chair by thefire, remained at the other end of the room, and sat singing to herself.--'Hope you have had a pleasant evening, ma'am,' said Peggotty, standingas stiff as a barrel in the centre of the room, with a candlestick inher hand.

'Much obliged to you, Peggotty,' returned my mother, in a cheerfulvoice, 'I have had a VERY pleasant evening.'

'A stranger or so makes an agreeable change,' suggested Peggotty.

'A very agreeable change, indeed,' returned my mother.

Peggotty continuing to stand motionless in the middle of the room, andmy mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, though I was not so soundasleep but that I could hear voices, without hearing what they said.When I half awoke from this uncomfortable doze, I found Peggotty and mymother both in tears, and both talking.

'Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked,' saidPeggotty. 'That I say, and that I swear!'

'Good Heavens!' cried my mother, 'you'll drive me mad! Was ever anypoor girl so ill-used by her servants as I am! Why do I do myselfthe injustice of calling myself a girl? Have I never been married,Peggotty?'

'God knows you have, ma'am,' returned Peggotty. 'Then, how can youdare,' said my mother--'you know I don't mean how can you dare,Peggotty, but how can you have the heart--to make me so uncomfortableand say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that Ihaven't, out of this place, a single friend to turn to?'

'The more's the reason,' returned Peggotty, 'for saying that it won'tdo. No! That it won't do. No! No price could make it do. No!'--I thoughtPeggotty would have thrown the candlestick away, she was so emphaticwith it.

'How can you be so aggravating,' said my mother, shedding more tearsthan before, 'as to talk in such an unjust manner! How can you go on asif it was all settled and arranged, Peggotty, when I tell you overand over again, you cruel thing, that beyond the commonest civilitiesnothing has passed! You talk of admiration. What am I to do? If peopleare so silly as to indulge the sentiment, is it my fault? What am I todo, I ask you? Would you wish me to shave my head and black my face, ordisfigure myself with a burn, or a scald, or something of that sort? Idare say you would, Peggotty. I dare say you'd quite enjoy it.'

Peggotty seemed to take this aspersion very much to heart, I thought.

'And my dear boy,' cried my mother, coming to the elbow-chair in whichI was, and caressing me, 'my own little Davy! Is it to be hinted to methat I am wanting in affection for my precious treasure, the dearestlittle fellow that ever was!'

'Nobody never went and hinted no such a thing,' said Peggotty.

'You did, Peggotty!' returned my mother. 'You know you did. What elsewas it possible to infer from what you said, you unkind creature,when you know as well as I do, that on his account only last quarter Iwouldn't buy myself a new parasol, though that old green one is frayedthe whole way up, and the fringe is perfectly mangy? You know it is,Peggotty. You can't deny it.' Then, turning affectionately to me, withher cheek against mine, 'Am I a naughty mama to you, Davy? Am I a nasty,cruel, selfish, bad mama? Say I am, my child; say "yes", dear boy, andPeggotty will love you; and Peggotty's love is a great deal better thanmine, Davy. I don't love you at all, do I?'

At this, we all fell a-crying together. I think I was the loudest ofthe party, but I am sure we were all sincere about it. I was quiteheart-broken myself, and am afraid that in the first transports ofwounded tenderness I called Peggotty a 'Beast'. That honest creature wasin deep affliction, I remember, and must have become quite buttonlesson the occasion; for a little volley of those explosives went off,when, after having made it up with my mother, she kneeled down by theelbow-chair, and made it up with me.

We went to bed greatly dejected. My sobs kept waking me, for a longtime; and when one very strong sob quite hoisted me up in bed, I foundmy mother sitting on the coverlet, and leaning over me. I fell asleep inher arms, after that, and slept soundly.

Whether it was the following Sunday when I saw the gentleman again,or whether there was any greater lapse of time before he reappeared,I cannot recall. I don't profess to be clear about dates. But there hewas, in church, and he walked home with us afterwards. He came in, too,to look at a famous geranium we had, in the parlour-window. It did notappear to me that he took much notice of it, but before he went he askedmy mother to give him a bit of the blossom. She begged him to choose itfor himself, but he refused to do that--I could not understand why--soshe plucked it for him, and gave it into his hand. He said he wouldnever, never part with it any more; and I thought he must be quite afool not to know that it would fall to pieces in a day or two.

Peggotty began to be less with us, of an evening, than she had alwaysbeen. My mother deferred to her very much--more than usual, it occurredto me--and we were all three excellent friends; still we were differentfrom what we used to be, and were not so comfortable among ourselves.Sometimes I fancied that Peggotty perhaps objected to my mother'swearing all the pretty dresses she had in her drawers, or to hergoing so often to visit at that neighbour's; but I couldn't, to mysatisfaction, make out how it was.

Gradually, I became used to seeing the gentleman with the blackwhiskers. I liked him no better than at first, and had the same uneasyjealousy of him; but if I had any reason for it beyond a child'sinstinctive dislike, and a general idea that Peggotty and I could makemuch of my mother without any help, it certainly was not THE reason thatI might have found if I had been older. No such thing came into my mind,or near it. I could observe, in little pieces, as it were; but as tomaking a net of a number of these pieces, and catching anybody in it,that was, as yet, beyond me.

One autumn morning I was with my mother in the front garden, when Mr.Murdstone--I knew him by that name now--came by, on horseback. He reinedup his horse to salute my mother, and said he was going to Lowestoft tosee some friends who were there with a yacht, and merrily proposed totake me on the saddle before him if I would like the ride.

The air was so clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed to like theidea of the ride so much himself, as he stood snorting and pawing at thegarden-gate, that I had a great desire to go. So I was sent upstairsto Peggotty to be made spruce; and in the meantime Mr. Murdstonedismounted, and, with his horse's bridle drawn over his arm, walkedslowly up and down on the outer side of the sweetbriar fence, while mymother walked slowly up and down on the inner to keep him company. Irecollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them from my little window; Irecollect how closely they seemed to be examining the sweetbriar betweenthem, as they strolled along; and how, from being in a perfectly angelictemper, Peggotty turned cross in a moment, and brushed my hair the wrongway, excessively hard.

Mr. Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on the green turfby the side of the road. He held me quite easily with one arm, and Idon't think I was restless usually; but I could not make up my mind tosit in front of him without turning my head sometimes, and looking up inhis face. He had that kind of shallow black eye--I want a better word toexpress an eye that has no depth in it to be looked into--which, whenit is abstracted, seems from some peculiarity of light to be disfigured,for a moment at a time, by a cast. Several times when I glanced at him,I observed that appearance with a sort of awe, and wondered what hewas thinking about so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker andthicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for being.A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the dotted indicationof the strong black beard he shaved close every day, reminded me ofthe wax-work that had travelled into our neighbourhood some half-a-yearbefore. This, his regular eyebrows, and the rich white, and black, andbrown, of his complexion--confound his complexion, and his memory!--mademe think him, in spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man. I have nodoubt that my poor dear mother thought him so too.

We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were smoking cigarsin a room by themselves. Each of them was lying on at least four chairs,and had a large rough jacket on. In a corner was a heap of coats andboat-cloaks, and a flag, all bundled up together.

They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner, when wecame in, and said, 'Halloa, Murdstone! We thought you were dead!'

'Not yet,' said Mr. Murdstone.

'And who's this shaver?' said one of the gentlemen, taking hold of me.

'That's Davy,' returned Mr. Murdstone.

'Davy who?' said the gentleman. 'Jones?'

'Copperfield,' said Mr. Murdstone.

'What! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's encumbrance?' cried the gentleman.'The pretty little widow?'

'Quinion,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'take care, if you please. Somebody'ssharp.'

'Who is?' asked the gentleman, laughing. I looked up, quickly; beingcurious to know.

'Only Brooks of Sheffield,' said Mr. Murdstone.

I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield; for,at first, I really thought it was I.

There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr.Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when hewas mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also. After somelaughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion, said:

'And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to theprojected business?'

'Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about it at present,'replied Mr. Murdstone; 'but he is not generally favourable, I believe.'

There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would ring thebell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he did; and whenthe wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit, and, beforeI drank it, stand up and say, 'Confusion to Brooks of Sheffield!' Thetoast was received with great applause, and such hearty laughter thatit made me laugh too; at which they laughed the more. In short, we quiteenjoyed ourselves.

We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the grass, andlooked at things through a telescope--I could make out nothing myselfwhen it was put to my eye, but I pretended I could--and then we cameback to the hotel to an early dinner. All the time we were out, the twogentlemen smoked incessantly--which, I thought, if I might judge fromthe smell of their rough coats, they must have been doing, ever sincethe coats had first come home from the tailor's. I must not forget thatwe went on board the yacht, where they all three descended into thecabin, and were busy with some papers. I saw them quite hard at work,when I looked down through the open skylight. They left me, during thistime, with a very nice man with a very large head of red hair and a verysmall shiny hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred shirt or waistcoaton, with 'Skylark' in capital letters across the chest. I thought it washis name; and that as he lived on board ship and hadn't a street doorto put his name on, he put it there instead; but when I called him Mr.Skylark, he said it meant the vessel.

I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver and steadier than thetwo gentlemen. They were very gay and careless. They joked freely withone another, but seldom with him. It appeared to me that he wasmore clever and cold than they were, and that they regarded him withsomething of my own feeling. I remarked that, once or twice when Mr.Quinion was talking, he looked at Mr. Murdstone sideways, as if to makesure of his not being displeased; and that once when Mr. Passnidge (theother gentleman) was in high spirits, he trod upon his foot, and gavehim a secret caution with his eyes, to observe Mr. Murdstone, who wassitting stern and silent. Nor do I recollect that Mr. Murdstone laughedat all that day, except at the Sheffield joke--and that, by the by, washis own.

We went home early in the evening. It was a very fine evening, and mymother and he had another stroll by the sweetbriar, while I was sent into get my tea. When he was gone, my mother asked me all about the day Ihad had, and what they had said and done. I mentioned what they had saidabout her, and she laughed, and told me they were impudent fellows whotalked nonsense--but I knew it pleased her. I knew it quite as well asI know it now. I took the opportunity of asking if she was at allacquainted with Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, but she answered No, only shesupposed he must be a manufacturer in the knife and fork way.

Can I say of her face--altered as I have reason to remember it, perishedas I know it is--that it is gone, when here it comes before me at thisinstant, as distinct as any face that I may choose to look on in acrowded street? Can I say of her innocent and girlish beauty, that itfaded, and was no more, when its breath falls on my cheek now, as itfell that night? Can I say she ever changed, when my remembrance bringsher back to life, thus only; and, truer to its loving youth than I havebeen, or man ever is, still holds fast what it cherished then?

I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after this talk,and she came to bid me good night. She kneeled down playfully by theside of the bed, and laying her chin upon her hands, and laughing, said:

'What was it they said, Davy? Tell me again. I can't believe it.'

'"Bewitching--"' I began.

My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me.

'It was never bewitching,' she said, laughing. 'It never could have beenbewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn't!'

'Yes, it was. "Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield",' I repeated stoutly. 'And,"pretty."'

'No, no, it was never pretty. Not pretty,' interposed my mother, layingher fingers on my lips again.

'Yes it was. "Pretty little widow."'

'What foolish, impudent creatures!' cried my mother, laughing andcovering her face. 'What ridiculous men! An't they? Davy dear--'

'Well, Ma.'

'Don't tell Peggotty; she might be angry with them. I am dreadfullyangry with them myself; but I would rather Peggotty didn't know.'

I promised, of course; and we kissed one another over and over again,and I soon fell fast asleep.

It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if it were the next daywhen Peggotty broached the striking and adventurous proposition I amabout to mention; but it was probably about two months afterwards.

We were sitting as before, one evening (when my mother was out asbefore), in company with the stocking and the yard-measure, and the bitof wax, and the box with St. Paul's on the lid, and the crocodile book,when Peggotty, after looking at me several times, and opening her mouthas if she were going to speak, without doing it--which I thought wasmerely gaping, or I should have been rather alarmed--said coaxingly:

'Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend afortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat?'

'Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?' I inquired, provisionally.

'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; andthe beach; and Am to play with--'

Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, mentioned in my first chapter; but shespoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.

I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it wouldindeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?

'Why then I'll as good as bet a guinea,' said Peggotty, intent upon myface, 'that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as evershe comes home. There now!'

'But what's she to do while we're away?' said I, putting my small elbowson the table to argue the point. 'She can't live by herself.'

If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel ofthat stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worthdarning.

'I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know.'

'Oh, bless you!' said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. 'Don'tyou know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs.Grayper's going to have a lot of company.'

Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmostimpatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it wasthat identical neighbour), to ascertain if we could get leave to carryout this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I hadexpected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arrangedthat night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paidfor.

The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it camesoon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraidthat an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other great convulsionof nature, might interpose to stop the expedition. We were to go in acarrier's cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I wouldhave given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself up over-night,and sleep in my hat and boots.

It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect howeager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected whatI did leave for ever.

I am glad to recollect that when the carrier's cart was at the gate, andmy mother stood there kissing me, a grateful fondness for her and forthe old place I had never turned my back upon before, made me cry. I amglad to know that my mother cried too, and that I felt her heart beatagainst mine.

I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my motherran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss meonce more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with whichshe lifted up her face to mine, and did so.

As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to whereshe was, and seemed to expostulate with her for being so moved. I waslooking back round the awning of the cart, and wondered what businessit was of his. Peggotty, who was also looking back on the other side,seemed anything but satisfied; as the face she brought back in the cartdenoted.

I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on thissupposititious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like theboy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again bythe buttons she would shed.