We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket-handkerchief wasquite wet through, when the carrier stopped short. Looking out toascertain for what, I saw, to MY amazement, Peggotty burst from a hedgeand climb into the cart. She took me in both her arms, and squeezed meto her stays until the pressure on my nose was extremely painful, thoughI never thought of that till afterwards when I found it very tender. Nota single word did Peggotty speak. Releasing one of her arms, she putit down in her pocket to the elbow, and brought out some paper bags ofcakes which she crammed into my pockets, and a purse which she put intomy hand, but not one word did she say. After another and a final squeezewith both arms, she got down from the cart and ran away; and, my beliefis, and has always been, without a solitary button on her gown. Ipicked up one, of several that were rolling about, and treasured it as akeepsake for a long time.

The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were coming back. Ishook my head, and said I thought not. 'Then come up,' said the carrierto the lazy horse; who came up accordingly.

Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to thinkit was of no use crying any more, especially as neither Roderick Random,nor that Captain in the Royal British Navy, had ever cried, that Icould remember, in trying situations. The carrier, seeing me in thisresolution, proposed that my pocket-handkerchief should be spread uponthe horse's back to dry. I thanked him, and assented; and particularlysmall it looked, under those circumstances.

I had now leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff leather purse,with a snap, and had three bright shillings in it, which Peggotty hadevidently polished up with whitening, for my greater delight. But itsmost precious contents were two half-crowns folded together in a bitof paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, 'For Davy. With mylove.' I was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to be so goodas to reach me my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he thought Ihad better do without it, and I thought I really had, so I wiped my eyeson my sleeve and stopped myself.

For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous emotions, I wasstill occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After we had jogged on forsome little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.

'All the way where?' inquired the carrier.

'There,' I said.

'Where's there?' inquired the carrier.

'Near London,' I said.

'Why that horse,' said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out,'would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.'

'Are you only going to Yarmouth then?' I asked.

'That's about it,' said the carrier. 'And there I shall take you to thestage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to--wherever it is.'

As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis)to say--he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatictemperament, and not at all conversational--I offered him a cake as amark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant,and which made no more impression on his big face than it would havedone on an elephant's.

'Did SHE make 'em, now?' said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward, in hisslouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm on each knee.

'Peggotty, do you mean, sir?'

'Ah!' said Mr. Barkis. 'Her.'

'Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.'

'Do she though?' said Mr. Barkis. He made up his mouth as if to whistle,but he didn't whistle. He sat looking at the horse's ears, as if he sawsomething new there; and sat so, for a considerable time. By and by, hesaid:

'No sweethearts, I b'lieve?'

'Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?' For I thought he wantedsomething else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description ofrefreshment.

'Hearts,' said Mr. Barkis. 'Sweet hearts; no person walks with her!'

'With Peggotty?'

'Ah!' he said. 'Her.'

'Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.'

'Didn't she, though!' said Mr. Barkis.

Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't whistle, butsat looking at the horse's ears.

'So she makes,' said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection,'all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?'

I replied that such was the fact.

'Well. I'll tell you what,' said Mr. Barkis. 'P'raps you might bewritin' to her?'

'I shall certainly write to her,' I rejoined.

'Ah!' he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. 'Well! If you waswritin' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was willin';would you?'

'That Barkis is willing,' I repeated, innocently. 'Is that all themessage?'

'Ye-es,' he said, considering. 'Ye-es. Barkis is willin'.'

'But you will be at Blunderstone again tomorrow, Mr. Barkis,' I said,faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, andcould give your own message so much better.'

As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head,and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profoundgravity, 'Barkis is willin'. That's the message,' I readily undertookits transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotelat Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper andan inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: 'My dearPeggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mama.Yours affectionately. P.S. He says he particularly wants you toknow--BARKIS IS WILLING.'

When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkisrelapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite worn out by all thathad happened lately, lay down on a sack in the cart and fell asleep. Islept soundly until we got to Yarmouth; which was so entirely newand strange to me in the inn-yard to which we drove, that I at onceabandoned a latent hope I had had of meeting with some of Mr. Peggotty'sfamily there, perhaps even with little Em'ly herself.

The coach was in the yard, shining very much all over, but without anyhorses to it as yet; and it looked in that state as if nothing wasmore unlikely than its ever going to London. I was thinking this, andwondering what would ultimately become of my box, which Mr. Barkis hadput down on the yard-pavement by the pole (he having driven up the yardto turn his cart), and also what would ultimately become of me, when alady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints of meat werehanging up, and said:

'Is that the little gentleman from Blunderstone?'

'Yes, ma'am,' I said.

'What name?' inquired the lady.

'Copperfield, ma'am,' I said.

'That won't do,' returned the lady. 'Nobody's dinner is paid for here,in that name.'

'Is it Murdstone, ma'am?' I said.

'If you're Master Murdstone,' said the lady, 'why do you go and giveanother name, first?'

I explained to the lady how it was, who than rang a bell, and calledout, 'William! show the coffee-room!' upon which a waiter came runningout of a kitchen on the opposite side of the yard to show it, and seemeda good deal surprised when he was only to show it to me.

It was a large long room with some large maps in it. I doubt if I couldhave felt much stranger if the maps had been real foreign countries, andI cast away in the middle of them. I felt it was taking a liberty tosit down, with my cap in my hand, on the corner of the chair nearest thedoor; and when the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a setof castors on it, I think I must have turned red all over with modesty.

He brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the covers off insuch a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must have given him someoffence. But he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me atthe table, and saying, very affably, 'Now, six-foot! come on!'

I thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it extremelydifficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity,or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standingopposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadfulmanner every time I caught his eye. After watching me into the secondchop, he said:

'There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?'

I thanked him and said, 'Yes.' Upon which he poured it out of a juginto a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it lookbeautiful.

'My eye!' he said. 'It seems a good deal, don't it?'

'It does seem a good deal,' I answered with a smile. For it was quitedelightful to me, to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed,pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; andas he stood with one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light withthe other hand, he looked quite friendly.

'There was a gentleman here, yesterday,' he said--'a stout gentleman, bythe name of Topsawyer--perhaps you know him?'

'No,' I said, 'I don't think--'

'In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, grey coat, speckledchoker,' said the waiter.

'No,' I said bashfully, 'I haven't the pleasure--'

'He came in here,' said the waiter, looking at the light through thetumbler, 'ordered a glass of this ale--WOULD order it--I told himnot--drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn't to bedrawn; that's the fact.'

I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said Ithought I had better have some water.

'Why you see,' said the waiter, still looking at the light through thetumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, 'our people don't like thingsbeing ordered and left. It offends 'em. But I'll drink it, if you like.I'm used to it, and use is everything. I don't think it'll hurt me, if Ithrow my head back, and take it off quick. Shall I?'

I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thoughthe could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. When he did throw hishead back, and take it off quick, I had a horrible fear, I confess,of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and falllifeless on the carpet. But it didn't hurt him. On the contrary, Ithought he seemed the fresher for it.

'What have we got here?' he said, putting a fork into my dish. 'Notchops?'

'Chops,' I said.

'Lord bless my soul!' he exclaimed, 'I didn't know they were chops. Why,a chop's the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! Ain'tit lucky?'

So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other,and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction.He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that,another chop and another potato. When we had done, he brought me apudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to becomeabsent in his mind for some moments.

'How's the pie?' he said, rousing himself.

'It's a pudding,' I made answer.

'Pudding!' he exclaimed. 'Why, bless me, so it is! What!' looking at itnearer. 'You don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding!'

'Yes, it is indeed.'

'Why, a batter-pudding,' he said, taking up a table-spoon, 'is myfavourite pudding! Ain't that lucky? Come on, little 'un, and let's seewho'll get most.'

The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come inand win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch tomy dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind atthe first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw anyone enjoya pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as ifhis enjoyment of it lasted still.

Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that I askedfor the pen and ink and paper, to write to Peggotty. He not only broughtit immediately, but was good enough to look over me while I wrote theletter. When I had finished it, he asked me where I was going to school.

I said, 'Near London,' which was all I knew.

'Oh! my eye!' he said, looking very low-spirited, 'I am sorry for that.'

'Why?' I asked him.

'Oh, Lord!' he said, shaking his head, 'that's the school where theybroke the boy's ribs--two ribs--a little boy he was. I should say hewas--let me see--how old are you, about?'

I told him between eight and nine.

'That's just his age,' he said. 'He was eight years and six months oldwhen they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old whenthey broke his second, and did for him.'

I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was anuncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. His answer wasnot cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words, 'Withwhopping.'

The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion,which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride anddiffidence of having a purse (which I took out of my pocket), if therewere anything to pay.

'There's a sheet of letter-paper,' he returned. 'Did you ever buy asheet of letter-paper?'

I could not remember that I ever had.

'It's dear,' he said, 'on account of the duty. Threepence. That'sthe way we're taxed in this country. There's nothing else, except thewaiter. Never mind the ink. I lose by that.'

'What should you--what should I--how much ought I to--what would it beright to pay the waiter, if you please?' I stammered, blushing.

'If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cowpock,' said thewaiter, 'I wouldn't take a sixpence. If I didn't support a aged pairint,and a lovely sister,'--here the waiter was greatly agitated--'I wouldn'ttake a farthing. If I had a good place, and was treated well here, Ishould beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. But I liveon broken wittles--and I sleep on the coals'--here the waiter burst intotears.

I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that anyrecognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness ofheart. Therefore I gave him one of my three bright shillings, which hereceived with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb,directly afterwards, to try the goodness of.

It was a little disconcerting to me, to find, when I was being helpedup behind the coach, that I was supposed to have eaten all the dinnerwithout any assistance. I discovered this, from overhearing the lady inthe bow-window say to the guard, 'Take care of that child, George, orhe'll burst!' and from observing that the women-servants who were aboutthe place came out to look and giggle at me as a young phenomenon. Myunfortunate friend the waiter, who had quite recovered his spirits, didnot appear to be disturbed by this, but joined in the general admirationwithout being at all confused. If I had any doubt of him, I supposethis half awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that with the simpleconfidence of a child, and the natural reliance of a child upon superioryears (qualities I am very sorry any children should prematurely changefor worldly wisdom), I had no serious mistrust of him on the whole, eventhen.

I felt it rather hard, I must own, to be made, without deserving it, thesubject of jokes between the coachman and guard as to the coach drawingheavy behind, on account of my sitting there, and as to the greaterexpediency of my travelling by waggon. The story of my supposed appetitegetting wind among the outside passengers, they were merry upon itlikewise; and asked me whether I was going to be paid for, at school,as two brothers or three, and whether I was contracted for, or went uponthe regular terms; with other pleasant questions. But the worst ofit was, that I knew I should be ashamed to eat anything, when anopportunity offered, and that, after a rather light dinner, I shouldremain hungry all night--for I had left my cakes behind, at the hotel,in my hurry. My apprehensions were realized. When we stopped for supperI couldn't muster courage to take any, though I should have liked itvery much, but sat by the fire and said I didn't want anything. This didnot save me from more jokes, either; for a husky-voiced gentleman witha rough face, who had been eating out of a sandwich-box nearly all theway, except when he had been drinking out of a bottle, said I was likea boa-constrictor who took enough at one meal to last him a long time;after which, he actually brought a rash out upon himself with boiledbeef.

We had started from Yarmouth at three o'clock in the afternoon, and wewere due in London about eight next morning. It was Mid-summer weather,and the evening was very pleasant. When we passed through a village, Ipictured to myself what the insides of the houses were like, and whatthe inhabitants were about; and when boys came running after us, andgot up behind and swung there for a little way, I wondered whether theirfathers were alive, and whether they Were happy at home. I had plenty tothink of, therefore, besides my mind running continually on the kindof place I was going to--which was an awful speculation. Sometimes, Iremember, I resigned myself to thoughts of home and Peggotty; and toendeavouring, in a confused blind way, to recall how I had felt, andwhat sort of boy I used to be, before I bit Mr. Murdstone: which Icouldn't satisfy myself about by any means, I seemed to have bitten himin such a remote antiquity.

The night was not so pleasant as the evening, for it got chilly; andbeing put between two gentlemen (the rough-faced one and another) toprevent my tumbling off the coach, I was nearly smothered by theirfalling asleep, and completely blocking me up. They squeezed me so hardsometimes, that I could not help crying out, 'Oh! If you please!'--whichthey didn't like at all, because it woke them. Opposite me was anelderly lady in a great fur cloak, who looked in the dark more like ahaystack than a lady, she was wrapped up to such a degree. This lady hada basket with her, and she hadn't known what to do with it, for a longtime, until she found that on account of my legs being short, it couldgo underneath me. It cramped and hurt me so, that it made me perfectlymiserable; but if I moved in the least, and made a glass that was in thebasket rattle against something else (as it was sure to do), she gaveme the cruellest poke with her foot, and said, 'Come, don't YOU fidget.YOUR bones are young enough, I'm sure!'

At last the sun rose, and then my companions seemed to sleep easier.The difficulties under which they had laboured all night, and which hadfound utterance in the most terrific gasps and snorts, are not to beconceived. As the sun got higher, their sleep became lighter, and sothey gradually one by one awoke. I recollect being very much surprisedby the feint everybody made, then, of not having been to sleep at all,and by the uncommon indignation with which everyone repelled thecharge. I labour under the same kind of astonishment to this day, havinginvariably observed that of all human weaknesses, the one to which ourcommon nature is the least disposed to confess (I cannot imagine why) isthe weakness of having gone to sleep in a coach.

What an amazing place London was to me when I saw it in the distance,and how I believed all the adventures of all my favourite heroes to beconstantly enacting and re-enacting there, and how I vaguely made itout in my own mind to be fuller of wonders and wickedness than all thecities of the earth, I need not stop here to relate. We approached it bydegrees, and got, in due time, to the inn in the Whitechapel district,for which we were bound. I forget whether it was the Blue Bull, or theBlue Boar; but I know it was the Blue Something, and that its likenesswas painted up on the back of the coach.

The guard's eye lighted on me as he was getting down, and he said at thebooking-office door:

'Is there anybody here for a yoongster booked in the name of Murdstone,from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, to be left till called for?'

Nobody answered.

'Try Copperfield, if you please, sir,' said I, looking helplessly down.

'Is there anybody here for a yoongster, booked in the name of Murdstone,from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, but owning to the name of Copperfield, tobe left till called for?' said the guard. 'Come! IS there anybody?'

No. There was nobody. I looked anxiously around; but the inquiry made noimpression on any of the bystanders, if I except a man in gaiters, withone eye, who suggested that they had better put a brass collar round myneck, and tie me up in the stable.

A ladder was brought, and I got down after the lady, who was like ahaystack: not daring to stir, until her basket was removed. The coachwas clear of passengers by that time, the luggage was very soon clearedout, the horses had been taken out before the luggage, and now the coachitself was wheeled and backed off by some hostlers, out of the way.Still, nobody appeared, to claim the dusty youngster from Blunderstone,Suffolk.

More solitary than Robinson Crusoe, who had nobody to look at himand see that he was solitary, I went into the booking-office, and, byinvitation of the clerk on duty, passed behind the counter, and sat downon the scale at which they weighed the luggage. Here, as I sat lookingat the parcels, packages, and books, and inhaling the smell of stables(ever since associated with that morning), a procession of mosttremendous considerations began to march through my mind. Supposingnobody should ever fetch me, how long would they consent to keep methere? Would they keep me long enough to spend seven shillings? Should Isleep at night in one of those wooden bins, with the other luggage,and wash myself at the pump in the yard in the morning; or should Ibe turned out every night, and expected to come again to be left tillcalled for, when the office opened next day? Supposing there was nomistake in the case, and Mr. Murdstone had devised this plan to get ridof me, what should I do? If they allowed me to remain there until myseven shillings were spent, I couldn't hope to remain there when I beganto starve. That would obviously be inconvenient and unpleasant to thecustomers, besides entailing on the Blue Whatever-it-was, the risk offuneral expenses. If I started off at once, and tried to walk back home,how could I ever find my way, how could I ever hope to walk so far, howcould I make sure of anyone but Peggotty, even if I got back? If Ifound out the nearest proper authorities, and offered myself to go for asoldier, or a sailor, I was such a little fellow that it was most likelythey wouldn't take me in. These thoughts, and a hundred other suchthoughts, turned me burning hot, and made me giddy with apprehension anddismay. I was in the height of my fever when a man entered and whisperedto the clerk, who presently slanted me off the scale, and pushed me overto him, as if I were weighed, bought, delivered, and paid for.

As I went out of the office, hand in hand with this new acquaintance,I stole a look at him. He was a gaunt, sallow young man, with hollowcheeks, and a chin almost as black as Mr. Murdstone's; but there thelikeness ended, for his whiskers were shaved off, and his hair, insteadof being glossy, was rusty and dry. He was dressed in a suit of blackclothes which were rather rusty and dry too, and rather short in thesleeves and legs; and he had a white neck-kerchief on, that was notover-clean. I did not, and do not, suppose that this neck-kerchief wasall the linen he wore, but it was all he showed or gave any hint of.

'You're the new boy?' he said. 'Yes, sir,' I said.

I supposed I was. I didn't know.

'I'm one of the masters at Salem House,' he said.

I made him a bow and felt very much overawed. I was so ashamed to alludeto a commonplace thing like my box, to a scholar and a master at SalemHouse, that we had gone some little distance from the yard before I hadthe hardihood to mention it. We turned back, on my humbly insinuatingthat it might be useful to me hereafter; and he told the clerk that thecarrier had instructions to call for it at noon.

'If you please, sir,' I said, when we had accomplished about the samedistance as before, 'is it far?'

'It's down by Blackheath,' he said.

'Is that far, sir?' I diffidently asked.

'It's a good step,' he said. 'We shall go by the stage-coach. It's aboutsix miles.'

I was so faint and tired, that the idea of holding out for six milesmore, was too much for me. I took heart to tell him that I had hadnothing all night, and that if he would allow me to buy something toeat, I should be very much obliged to him. He appeared surprised atthis--I see him stop and look at me now--and after considering for a fewmoments, said he wanted to call on an old person who lived not far off,and that the best way would be for me to buy some bread, or whatever Iliked best that was wholesome, and make my breakfast at her house, wherewe could get some milk.

Accordingly we looked in at a baker's window, and after I had made aseries of proposals to buy everything that was bilious in the shop, andhe had rejected them one by one, we decided in favour of a nice littleloaf of brown bread, which cost me threepence. Then, at a grocer's shop,we bought an egg and a slice of streaky bacon; which still left whatI thought a good deal of change, out of the second of the brightshillings, and made me consider London a very cheap place. Theseprovisions laid in, we went on through a great noise and uproar thatconfused my weary head beyond description, and over a bridge which, nodoubt, was London Bridge (indeed I think he told me so, but I was halfasleep), until we came to the poor person's house, which was a part ofsome alms-houses, as I knew by their look, and by an inscription on astone over the gate which said they were established for twenty-fivepoor women.

The Master at Salem House lifted the latch of one of a number of littleblack doors that were all alike, and had each a little diamond-panedwindow on one side, and another little diamond--paned window above; andwe went into the little house of one of these poor old women, who wasblowing a fire to make a little saucepan boil. On seeing the masterenter, the old woman stopped with the bellows on her knee, and saidsomething that I thought sounded like 'My Charley!' but on seeing mecome in too, she got up, and rubbing her hands made a confused sort ofhalf curtsey.

'Can you cook this young gentleman's breakfast for him, if you please?'said the Master at Salem House.

'Can I?' said the old woman. 'Yes can I, sure!'

'How's Mrs. Fibbitson today?' said the Master, looking at another oldwoman in a large chair by the fire, who was such a bundle of clothesthat I feel grateful to this hour for not having sat upon her bymistake.

'Ah, she's poorly,' said the first old woman. 'It's one of her bad days.If the fire was to go out, through any accident, I verily believe she'dgo out too, and never come to life again.'

As they looked at her, I looked at her also. Although it was a warm day,she seemed to think of nothing but the fire. I fancied she was jealouseven of the saucepan on it; and I have reason to know that she took itsimpressment into the service of boiling my egg and broiling my bacon, indudgeon; for I saw her, with my own discomfited eyes, shake her fist atme once, when those culinary operations were going on, and no one elsewas looking. The sun streamed in at the little window, but she sat withher own back and the back of the large chair towards it, screening thefire as if she were sedulously keeping IT warm, instead of it keepingher warm, and watching it in a most distrustful manner. The completionof the preparations for my breakfast, by relieving the fire, gave hersuch extreme joy that she laughed aloud--and a very unmelodious laughshe had, I must say.

I sat down to my brown loaf, my egg, and my rasher of bacon, with abasin of milk besides, and made a most delicious meal. While I was yetin the full enjoyment of it, the old woman of the house said to theMaster:

'Have you got your flute with you?'

'Yes,' he returned.

'Have a blow at it,' said the old woman, coaxingly. 'Do!'

The Master, upon this, put his hand underneath the skirts of his coat,and brought out his flute in three pieces, which he screwed together,and began immediately to play. My impression is, after many years ofconsideration, that there never can have been anybody in the world whoplayed worse. He made the most dismal sounds I have ever heard producedby any means, natural or artificial. I don't know what the tuneswere--if there were such things in the performance at all, which Idoubt--but the influence of the strain upon me was, first, to make methink of all my sorrows until I could hardly keep my tears back; then totake away my appetite; and lastly, to make me so sleepy that I couldn'tkeep my eyes open. They begin to close again, and I begin to nod, as therecollection rises fresh upon me. Once more the little room, with itsopen corner cupboard, and its square-backed chairs, and its angularlittle staircase leading to the room above, and its three peacock'sfeathers displayed over the mantelpiece--I remember wondering when Ifirst went in, what that peacock would have thought if he had known whathis finery was doomed to come to--fades from before me, and I nod, andsleep. The flute becomes inaudible, the wheels of the coach are heardinstead, and I am on my journey. The coach jolts, I wake with a start,and the flute has come back again, and the Master at Salem House issitting with his legs crossed, playing it dolefully, while the old womanof the house looks on delighted. She fades in her turn, and he fades,and all fades, and there is no flute, no Master, no Salem House, noDavid Copperfield, no anything but heavy sleep.

I dreamed, I thought, that once while he was blowing into this dismalflute, the old woman of the house, who had gone nearer and nearer to himin her ecstatic admiration, leaned over the back of his chair and gavehim an affectionate squeeze round the neck, which stopped his playingfor a moment. I was in the middle state between sleeping and waking,either then or immediately afterwards; for, as he resumed--it was a realfact that he had stopped playing--I saw and heard the same old woman askMrs. Fibbitson if it wasn't delicious (meaning the flute), to which Mrs.Fibbitson replied, 'Ay, ay! yes!' and nodded at the fire: to which, I ampersuaded, she gave the credit of the whole performance.

When I seemed to have been dozing a long while, the Master at SalemHouse unscrewed his flute into the three pieces, put them up as before,and took me away. We found the coach very near at hand, and got upon theroof; but I was so dead sleepy, that when we stopped on the road to takeup somebody else, they put me inside where there were no passengers, andwhere I slept profoundly, until I found the coach going at a footpace upa steep hill among green leaves. Presently, it stopped, and had come toits destination.

A short walk brought us--I mean the Master and me--to Salem House, whichwas enclosed with a high brick wall, and looked very dull. Over a doorin this wall was a board with SALEM HOUSE upon it; and through a gratingin this door we were surveyed when we rang the bell by a surly face,which I found, on the door being opened, belonged to a stout man with abull-neck, a wooden leg, overhanging temples, and his hair cut close allround his head.

'The new boy,' said the Master.

The man with the wooden leg eyed me all over--it didn't take long, forthere was not much of me--and locked the gate behind us, and took outthe key. We were going up to the house, among some dark heavy trees,when he called after my conductor. 'Hallo!'

We looked back, and he was standing at the door of a little lodge, wherehe lived, with a pair of boots in his hand.

'Here! The cobbler's been,' he said, 'since you've been out, Mr. Mell,and he says he can't mend 'em any more. He says there ain't a bit of theoriginal boot left, and he wonders you expect it.'

With these words he threw the boots towards Mr. Mell, who went back afew paces to pick them up, and looked at them (very disconsolately,I was afraid), as we went on together. I observed then, for the firsttime, that the boots he had on were a good deal the worse for wear, andthat his stocking was just breaking out in one place, like a bud.

Salem House was a square brick building with wings; of a bare andunfurnished appearance. All about it was so very quiet, that I said toMr. Mell I supposed the boys were out; but he seemed surprised at mynot knowing that it was holiday-time. That all the boys were at theirseveral homes. That Mr. Creakle, the proprietor, was down by thesea-side with Mrs. and Miss Creakle; and that I was sent in holiday-timeas a punishment for my misdoing, all of which he explained to me as wewent along.

I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me, as the most forlornand desolate place I had ever seen. I see it now. A long room with threelong rows of desks, and six of forms, and bristling all round with pegsfor hats and slates. Scraps of old copy-books and exercises litter thedirty floor. Some silkworms' houses, made of the same materials, arescattered over the desks. Two miserable little white mice, left behindby their owner, are running up and down in a fusty castle made ofpasteboard and wire, looking in all the corners with their red eyesfor anything to eat. A bird, in a cage very little bigger than himself,makes a mournful rattle now and then in hopping on his perch, two incheshigh, or dropping from it; but neither sings nor chirps. There is astrange unwholesome smell upon the room, like mildewed corduroys, sweetapples wanting air, and rotten books. There could not well be more inksplashed about it, if it had been roofless from its first construction,and the skies had rained, snowed, hailed, and blown ink through thevarying seasons of the year.

Mr. Mell having left me while he took his irreparable boots upstairs, Iwent softly to the upper end of the room, observing all this as I creptalong. Suddenly I came upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written,which was lying on the desk, and bore these words: 'TAKE CARE OF HIM. HEBITES.'

I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a great dogunderneath. But, though I looked all round with anxious eyes, I couldsee nothing of him. I was still engaged in peering about, when Mr. Mellcame back, and asked me what I did up there?

'I beg your pardon, sir,' says I, 'if you please, I'm looking for thedog.'

'Dog?' he says. 'What dog?'

'Isn't it a dog, sir?'

'Isn't what a dog?'

'That's to be taken care of, sir; that bites.'

'No, Copperfield,' says he, gravely, 'that's not a dog. That's a boy.My instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back. I amsorry to make such a beginning with you, but I must do it.' With that hetook me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly constructed forthe purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and wherever I went,afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.

What I suffered from that placard, nobody can imagine. Whether it waspossible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody wasreading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherevermy back was, there I imagined somebody always to be. That cruel man withthe wooden leg aggravated my sufferings. He was in authority; and if heever saw me leaning against a tree, or a wall, or the house, he roaredout from his lodge door in a stupendous voice, 'Hallo, you sir! YouCopperfield! Show that badge conspicuous, or I'll report you!' Theplayground was a bare gravelled yard, open to all the back of the houseand the offices; and I knew that the servants read it, and the butcherread it, and the baker read it; that everybody, in a word, who camebackwards and forwards to the house, of a morning when I was ordered towalk there, read that I was to be taken care of, for I bit, I recollectthat I positively began to have a dread of myself, as a kind of wild boywho did bite.

There was an old door in this playground, on which the boys had acustom of carving their names. It was completely covered with suchinscriptions. In my dread of the end of the vacation and their comingback, I could not read a boy's name, without inquiring in what tone andwith what emphasis HE would read, 'Take care of him. He bites.' Therewas one boy--a certain J. Steerforth--who cut his name very deep andvery often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather strong voice,and afterwards pull my hair. There was another boy, one Tommy Traddles,who I dreaded would make game of it, and pretend to be dreadfullyfrightened of me. There was a third, George Demple, who I fancied wouldsing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at that door, untilthe owners of all the names--there were five-and-forty of them in theschool then, Mr. Mell said--seemed to send me to Coventry by generalacclamation, and to cry out, each in his own way, 'Take care of him. Hebites!'

It was the same with the places at the desks and forms. It was the samewith the groves of deserted bedsteads I peeped at, on my way to, andwhen I was in, my own bed. I remember dreaming night after night, ofbeing with my mother as she used to be, or of going to a party at Mr.Peggotty's, or of travelling outside the stage-coach, or of dining againwith my unfortunate friend the waiter, and in all these circumstancesmaking people scream and stare, by the unhappy disclosure that I hadnothing on but my little night-shirt, and that placard.

In the monotony of my life, and in my constant apprehension of there-opening of the school, it was such an insupportable affliction! I hadlong tasks every day to do with Mr. Mell; but I did them, there beingno Mr. and Miss Murdstone here, and got through them without disgrace.Before, and after them, I walked about--supervised, as I have mentioned,by the man with the wooden leg. How vividly I call to mind the dampabout the house, the green cracked flagstones in the court, an old leakywater-butt, and the discoloured trunks of some of the grim trees, whichseemed to have dripped more in the rain than other trees, and to haveblown less in the sun! At one we dined, Mr. Mell and I, at the upper endof a long bare dining-room, full of deal tables, and smelling of fat.Then, we had more tasks until tea, which Mr. Mell drank out of a blueteacup, and I out of a tin pot. All day long, and until seven or eightin the evening, Mr. Mell, at his own detached desk in the schoolroom,worked hard with pen, ink, ruler, books, and writing-paper, making outthe bills (as I found) for last half-year. When he had put up his thingsfor the night he took out his flute, and blew at it, until I almostthought he would gradually blow his whole being into the large hole atthe top, and ooze away at the keys.

I picture my small self in the dimly-lighted rooms, sitting with myhead upon my hand, listening to the doleful performance of Mr. Mell,and conning tomorrow's lessons. I picture myself with my books shut up,still listening to the doleful performance of Mr. Mell, and listeningthrough it to what used to be at home, and to the blowing of the windon Yarmouth flats, and feeling very sad and solitary. I picture myselfgoing up to bed, among the unused rooms, and sitting on my bed-sidecrying for a comfortable word from Peggotty. I picture myself comingdownstairs in the morning, and looking through a long ghastly gash of astaircase window at the school-bell hanging on the top of an out-housewith a weathercock above it; and dreading the time when it shall ring J.Steerforth and the rest to work: which is only second, in my forebodingapprehensions, to the time when the man with the wooden leg shall unlockthe rusty gate to give admission to the awful Mr. Creakle. I cannotthink I was a very dangerous character in any of these aspects, but inall of them I carried the same warning on my back.

Mr. Mell never said much to me, but he was never harsh to me. I supposewe were company to each other, without talking. I forgot to mention thathe would talk to himself sometimes, and grin, and clench his fist, andgrind his teeth, and pull his hair in an unaccountable manner. But hehad these peculiarities: and at first they frightened me, though I soongot used to them.