It was yet early in the morning of the following day, when, as I waswalking in my garden with my aunt (who took little other exercisenow, being so much in attendance on my dear Dora), I was told that Mr.Peggotty desired to speak with me. He came into the garden to meet mehalf-way, on my going towards the gate; and bared his head, as it wasalways his custom to do when he saw my aunt, for whom he had a highrespect. I had been telling her all that had happened overnight. Withoutsaying a word, she walked up with a cordial face, shook hands with him,and patted him on the arm. It was so expressively done, that she had noneed to say a word. Mr. Peggotty understood her quite as well as if shehad said a thousand.

'I'll go in now, Trot,' said my aunt, 'and look after Little Blossom,who will be getting up presently.'

'Not along of my being heer, ma'am, I hope?' said Mr. Peggotty. 'Unlessmy wits is gone a bahd's neezing'--by which Mr. Peggotty meant to say,bird's-nesting--'this morning, 'tis along of me as you're a-going toquit us?'

'You have something to say, my good friend,' returned my aunt, 'and willdo better without me.'

'By your leave, ma'am,' returned Mr. Peggotty, 'I should take it kind,pervising you doen't mind my clicketten, if you'd bide heer.'

'Would you?' said my aunt, with short good-nature. 'Then I am sure Iwill!'

So, she drew her arm through Mr. Peggotty's, and walked with him to aleafy little summer-house there was at the bottom of the garden, whereshe sat down on a bench, and I beside her. There was a seat for Mr.Peggotty too, but he preferred to stand, leaning his hand on the smallrustic table. As he stood, looking at his cap for a little while beforebeginning to speak, I could not help observing what power and forceof character his sinewy hand expressed, and what a good and trustycompanion it was to his honest brow and iron-grey hair.

'I took my dear child away last night,' Mr. Peggotty began, as heraised his eyes to ours, 'to my lodging, wheer I have a long time beenexpecting of her and preparing fur her. It was hours afore she knowed meright; and when she did, she kneeled down at my feet, and kiender saidto me, as if it was her prayers, how it all come to be. You may believeme, when I heerd her voice, as I had heerd at home so playful--and seeher humbled, as it might be in the dust our Saviour wrote in with hisblessed hand--I felt a wownd go to my 'art, in the midst of all itsthankfulness.'

He drew his sleeve across his face, without any pretence of concealingwhy; and then cleared his voice.

'It warn't for long as I felt that; for she was found. I had on'y tothink as she was found, and it was gone. I doen't know why I do so muchas mention of it now, I'm sure. I didn't have it in my mind a minuteago, to say a word about myself; but it come up so nat'ral, that Iyielded to it afore I was aweer.'

'You are a self-denying soul,' said my aunt, 'and will have yourreward.'

Mr. Peggotty, with the shadows of the leaves playing athwart hisface, made a surprised inclination of the head towards my aunt, as anacknowledgement of her good opinion; then took up the thread he hadrelinquished.

'When my Em'ly took flight,' he said, in stern wrath for the moment,'from the house wheer she was made a prisoner by that theer spottedsnake as Mas'r Davy see,--and his story's trew, and may GOD confoundhim!--she took flight in the night. It was a dark night, with a manystars a-shining. She was wild. She ran along the sea beach, believingthe old boat was theer; and calling out to us to turn away our faces,for she was a-coming by. She heerd herself a-crying out, like as ifit was another person; and cut herself on them sharp-pinted stones androcks, and felt it no more than if she had been rock herself. Ever sofur she run, and there was fire afore her eyes, and roarings in herears. Of a sudden--or so she thowt, you unnerstand--the day broke, wetand windy, and she was lying b'low a heap of stone upon the shore, anda woman was a-speaking to her, saying, in the language of that country,what was it as had gone so much amiss?'

He saw everything he related. It passed before him, as he spoke, sovividly, that, in the intensity of his earnestness, he presented whathe described to me, with greater distinctness than I can express. I canhardly believe, writing now long afterwards, but that I was actuallypresent in these scenes; they are impressed upon me with such anastonishing air of fidelity.

'As Em'ly's eyes--which was heavy--see this woman better,' Mr. Peggottywent on, 'she know'd as she was one of them as she had often talked toon the beach. Fur, though she had run (as I have said) ever so fur inthe night, she had oftentimes wandered long ways, partly afoot, partlyin boats and carriages, and know'd all that country, 'long the coast,miles and miles. She hadn't no children of her own, this woman, beinga young wife; but she was a-looking to have one afore long. And maymy prayers go up to Heaven that 'twill be a happiness to her, and acomfort, and a honour, all her life! May it love her and be dootiful toher, in her old age; helpful of her at the last; a Angel to her heer,and heerafter!'

'Amen!' said my aunt.

'She had been summat timorous and down,' said Mr. Peggotty, and had sat,at first, a little way off, at her spinning, or such work as it was,when Em'ly talked to the children. But Em'ly had took notice of her,and had gone and spoke to her; and as the young woman was partial tothe children herself, they had soon made friends. Sermuchser, that whenEm'ly went that way, she always giv Em'ly flowers. This was her asnow asked what it was that had gone so much amiss. Em'ly told her,and she--took her home. She did indeed. She took her home,' said Mr.Peggotty, covering his face.

He was more affected by this act of kindness, than I had ever seen himaffected by anything since the night she went away. My aunt and I didnot attempt to disturb him.

'It was a little cottage, you may suppose,' he said, presently, 'but shefound space for Em'ly in it,--her husband was away at sea,--and she kepit secret, and prevailed upon such neighbours as she had (they was notmany near) to keep it secret too. Em'ly was took bad with fever,and, what is very strange to me is,--maybe 'tis not so strange toscholars,--the language of that country went out of her head, and shecould only speak her own, that no one unnerstood. She recollects, as ifshe had dreamed it, that she lay there always a-talking her own tongue,always believing as the old boat was round the next pint in the bay, andbegging and imploring of 'em to send theer and tell how she was dying,and bring back a message of forgiveness, if it was on'y a wured. A'mostthe whole time, she thowt,--now, that him as I made mention on just nowwas lurking for her unnerneath the winder; now that him as had broughther to this was in the room,--and cried to the good young woman not togive her up, and know'd, at the same time, that she couldn't unnerstand,and dreaded that she must be took away. Likewise the fire was aforeher eyes, and the roarings in her ears; and theer was no today, noryesterday, nor yet tomorrow; but everything in her life as ever hadbeen, or as ever could be, and everything as never had been, and asnever could be, was a crowding on her all at once, and nothing clear norwelcome, and yet she sang and laughed about it! How long this lasted, Idoen't know; but then theer come a sleep; and in that sleep, from beinga many times stronger than her own self, she fell into the weakness ofthe littlest child.'

Here he stopped, as if for relief from the terrors of his owndescription. After being silent for a few moments, he pursued his story.

'It was a pleasant arternoon when she awoke; and so quiet, that therewarn't a sound but the rippling of that blue sea without a tide, uponthe shore. It was her belief, at first, that she was at home upon aSunday morning; but the vine leaves as she see at the winder, and thehills beyond, warn't home, and contradicted of her. Then, come in herfriend to watch alongside of her bed; and then she know'd as the oldboat warn't round that next pint in the bay no more, but was fur off;and know'd where she was, and why; and broke out a-crying on that goodyoung woman's bosom, wheer I hope her baby is a-lying now, a-cheering ofher with its pretty eyes!'

He could not speak of this good friend of Emily's without a flow oftears. It was in vain to try. He broke down again, endeavouring to blessher!

'That done my Em'ly good,' he resumed, after such emotion as I couldnot behold without sharing in; and as to my aunt, she wept with all herheart; 'that done Em'ly good, and she begun to mend. But, the languageof that country was quite gone from her, and she was forced to makesigns. So she went on, getting better from day to day, slow, but sure,and trying to learn the names of common things--names as she seemednever to have heerd in all her life--till one evening come, when shewas a-setting at her window, looking at a little girl at play upon thebeach. And of a sudden this child held out her hand, and said, whatwould be in English, "Fisherman's daughter, here's a shell!"--for youare to unnerstand that they used at first to call her "Pretty lady", asthe general way in that country is, and that she had taught 'em tocall her "Fisherman's daughter" instead. The child says of a sudden,"Fisherman's daughter, here's a shell!" Then Em'ly unnerstands her; andshe answers, bursting out a-crying; and it all comes back!

'When Em'ly got strong again,' said Mr. Peggotty, after another shortinterval of silence, 'she cast about to leave that good young creetur,and get to her own country. The husband was come home, then; and the twotogether put her aboard a small trader bound to Leghorn, and from thatto France. She had a little money, but it was less than little as theywould take for all they done. I'm a'most glad on it, though they wasso poor! What they done, is laid up wheer neither moth or rust dothcorrupt, and wheer thieves do not break through nor steal. Mas'r Davy,it'll outlast all the treasure in the wureld.

'Em'ly got to France, and took service to wait on travelling ladies at ainn in the port. Theer, theer come, one day, that snake. --Let him nevercome nigh me. I doen't know what hurt I might do him!--Soon as she seehim, without him seeing her, all her fear and wildness returned uponher, and she fled afore the very breath he draw'd. She come to England,and was set ashore at Dover.

'I doen't know,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'for sure, when her 'art begun tofail her; but all the way to England she had thowt to come to her dearhome. Soon as she got to England she turned her face tow'rds it. But,fear of not being forgiv, fear of being pinted at, fear of some ofus being dead along of her, fear of many things, turned her from it,kiender by force, upon the road: "Uncle, uncle," she says to me, "thefear of not being worthy to do what my torn and bleeding breast solonged to do, was the most fright'ning fear of all! I turned back, whenmy 'art was full of prayers that I might crawl to the old door-step, inthe night, kiss it, lay my wicked face upon it, and theer be found deadin the morning."

'She come,' said Mr. Peggotty, dropping his voice to anawe-stricken whisper, 'to London. She--as had never seen it in herlife--alone--without a penny--young--so pretty--come to London. A'mostthe moment as she lighted heer, all so desolate, she found (as shebelieved) a friend; a decent woman as spoke to her about the needle-workas she had been brought up to do, about finding plenty of it fur her,about a lodging fur the night, and making secret inquiration concerningof me and all at home, tomorrow. When my child,' he said aloud, and withan energy of gratitude that shook him from head to foot, 'stood upon thebrink of more than I can say or think on--Martha, trew to her promise,saved her.'

I could not repress a cry of joy.

'Mas'r Davy!' said he, gripping my hand in that strong hand of his,'it was you as first made mention of her to me. I thankee, sir! She wasarnest. She had know'd of her bitter knowledge wheer to watch and whatto do. She had done it. And the Lord was above all! She come, white andhurried, upon Em'ly in her sleep. She says to her, "Rise up from worsethan death, and come with me!" Them belonging to the house would havestopped her, but they might as soon have stopped the sea. "Stand awayfrom me," she says, "I am a ghost that calls her from beside her opengrave!" She told Em'ly she had seen me, and know'd I loved her, andforgive her. She wrapped her, hasty, in her clothes. She took her, faintand trembling, on her arm. She heeded no more what they said, than ifshe had had no ears. She walked among 'em with my child, minding onlyher; and brought her safe out, in the dead of the night, from that blackpit of ruin!

'She attended on Em'ly,' said Mr. Peggotty, who had released my hand,and put his own hand on his heaving chest; 'she attended to my Em'ly,lying wearied out, and wandering betwixt whiles, till late next day.Then she went in search of me; then in search of you, Mas'r Davy. Shedidn't tell Em'ly what she come out fur, lest her 'art should fail, andshe should think of hiding of herself. How the cruel lady know'd ofher being theer, I can't say. Whether him as I have spoke so much of,chanced to see 'em going theer, or whether (which is most like, to mythinking) he had heerd it from the woman, I doen't greatly ask myself.My niece is found.

'All night long,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'we have been together, Em'lyand me. 'Tis little (considering the time) as she has said, in wureds,through them broken-hearted tears; 'tis less as I have seen of her dearface, as grow'd into a woman's at my hearth. But, all night long, herarms has been about my neck; and her head has laid heer; and we knowsfull well, as we can put our trust in one another, ever more.'

He ceased to speak, and his hand upon the table rested there in perfectrepose, with a resolution in it that might have conquered lions.

'It was a gleam of light upon me, Trot,' said my aunt, drying her eyes,'when I formed the resolution of being godmother to your sister BetseyTrotwood, who disappointed me; but, next to that, hardly anything wouldhave given me greater pleasure, than to be godmother to that good youngcreature's baby!'

Mr. Peggotty nodded his understanding of my aunt's feelings, but couldnot trust himself with any verbal reference to the subject of hercommendation. We all remained silent, and occupied with our ownreflections (my aunt drying her eyes, and now sobbing convulsively, andnow laughing and calling herself a fool); until I spoke.

'You have quite made up your mind,' said I to Mr. Peggotty, 'as to thefuture, good friend? I need scarcely ask you.'

'Quite, Mas'r Davy,' he returned; 'and told Em'ly. Theer's mightycountries, fur from heer. Our future life lays over the sea.'

'They will emigrate together, aunt,' said I.

'Yes!' said Mr. Peggotty, with a hopeful smile. 'No one can't reproachmy darling in Australia. We will begin a new life over theer!'

I asked him if he yet proposed to himself any time for going away.

'I was down at the Docks early this morning, sir,' he returned, 'to getinformation concerning of them ships. In about six weeks or twomonths from now, there'll be one sailing--I see her this morning--wentaboard--and we shall take our passage in her.'

'Quite alone?' I asked.

'Aye, Mas'r Davy!' he returned. 'My sister, you see, she's that fondof you and yourn, and that accustomed to think on'y of her own country,that it wouldn't be hardly fair to let her go. Besides which, theer'sone she has in charge, Mas'r Davy, as doen't ought to be forgot.'

'Poor Ham!' said I.

'My good sister takes care of his house, you see, ma'am, and he takeskindly to her,' Mr. Peggotty explained for my aunt's better information.'He'll set and talk to her, with a calm spirit, wen it's like hecouldn't bring himself to open his lips to another. Poor fellow!' saidMr. Peggotty, shaking his head, 'theer's not so much left him, that hecould spare the little as he has!'

'And Mrs. Gummidge?' said I.

'Well, I've had a mort of consideration, I do tell you,' returned Mr.Peggotty, with a perplexed look which gradually cleared as he wenton, 'concerning of Missis Gummidge. You see, wen Missis Gummidge fallsa-thinking of the old 'un, she an't what you may call good company.Betwixt you and me, Mas'r Davy--and you, ma'am--wen Mrs. Gummidge takesto wimicking,'--our old country word for crying,--'she's liable to beconsidered to be, by them as didn't know the old 'un, peevish-like. NowI DID know the old 'un,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and I know'd his merits,so I unnerstan' her; but 'tan't entirely so, you see, withothers--nat'rally can't be!'

My aunt and I both acquiesced.

'Wheerby,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'my sister might--I doen't say she would,but might--find Missis Gummidge give her a leetle trouble now-and-again.Theerfur 'tan't my intentions to moor Missis Gummidge 'long with them,but to find a Beein' fur her wheer she can fisherate for herself.'(A Beein' signifies, in that dialect, a home, and to fisherate is toprovide.) 'Fur which purpose,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'I means to make hera 'lowance afore I go, as'll leave her pretty comfort'ble. She's thefaithfullest of creeturs. 'Tan't to be expected, of course, at hertime of life, and being lone and lorn, as the good old Mawther is tobe knocked about aboardship, and in the woods and wilds of a new andfur-away country. So that's what I'm a-going to do with her.'

He forgot nobody. He thought of everybody's claims and strivings, buthis own.

'Em'ly,' he continued, 'will keep along with me--poor child, she's sorein need of peace and rest!--until such time as we goes upon our voyage.She'll work at them clothes, as must be made; and I hope her troubleswill begin to seem longer ago than they was, wen she finds herself oncemore by her rough but loving uncle.'

MY aunt nodded confirmation of this hope, and imparted greatsatisfaction to Mr. Peggotty.

'Theer's one thing furder, Mas'r Davy,' said he, putting his hand in hisbreast-pocket, and gravely taking out the little paper bundle I hadseen before, which he unrolled on the table. 'Theer's these herebanknotes--fifty pound, and ten. To them I wish to add the money as shecome away with. I've asked her about that (but not saying why), and haveadded of it up. I an't a scholar. Would you be so kind as see how 'tis?'

He handed me, apologetically for his scholarship, a piece of paper, andobserved me while I looked it over. It was quite right.

'Thankee, sir,' he said, taking it back. 'This money, if you doen'tsee objections, Mas'r Davy, I shall put up jest afore I go, in a coverdirected to him; and put that up in another, directed to his mother.I shall tell her, in no more wureds than I speak to you, what it's theprice on; and that I'm gone, and past receiving of it back.'

I told him that I thought it would be right to do so--that I wasthoroughly convinced it would be, since he felt it to be right.

'I said that theer was on'y one thing furder,' he proceeded with a gravesmile, when he had made up his little bundle again, and put it in hispocket; 'but theer was two. I warn't sure in my mind, wen I come outthis morning, as I could go and break to Ham, of my own self, what hadso thankfully happened. So I writ a letter while I was out, and putit in the post-office, telling of 'em how all was as 'tis; and that Ishould come down tomorrow to unload my mind of what little needs a-doingof down theer, and, most-like, take my farewell leave of Yarmouth.'

'And do you wish me to go with you?' said I, seeing that he leftsomething unsaid.

'If you could do me that kind favour, Mas'r Davy,' he replied. 'I knowthe sight on you would cheer 'em up a bit.'

My little Dora being in good spirits, and very desirous that I shouldgo--as I found on talking it over with her--I readily pledged myself toaccompany him in accordance with his wish. Next morning, consequently,we were on the Yarmouth coach, and again travelling over the old ground.

As we passed along the familiar street at night--Mr. Peggotty, indespite of all my remonstrances, carrying my bag--I glanced into Omerand Joram's shop, and saw my old friend Mr. Omer there, smoking hispipe. I felt reluctant to be present, when Mr. Peggotty first met hissister and Ham; and made Mr. Omer my excuse for lingering behind.

'How is Mr. Omer, after this long time?' said I, going in.

He fanned away the smoke of his pipe, that he might get a better view ofme, and soon recognized me with great delight.

'I should get up, sir, to acknowledge such an honour as this visit,'said he, 'only my limbs are rather out of sorts, and I am wheeled about.With the exception of my limbs and my breath, howsoever, I am as heartyas a man can be, I'm thankful to say.'

I congratulated him on his contented looks and his good spirits, andsaw, now, that his easy-chair went on wheels.

'It's an ingenious thing, ain't it?' he inquired, following thedirection of my glance, and polishing the elbow with his arm. 'It runsas light as a feather, and tracks as true as a mail-coach. Bless you,my little Minnie--my grand-daughter you know, Minnie's child--puts herlittle strength against the back, gives it a shove, and away we go, asclever and merry as ever you see anything! And I tell you what--it's amost uncommon chair to smoke a pipe in.'

I never saw such a good old fellow to make the best of a thing, andfind out the enjoyment of it, as Mr. Omer. He was as radiant, as ifhis chair, his asthma, and the failure of his limbs, were the variousbranches of a great invention for enhancing the luxury of a pipe.

'I see more of the world, I can assure you,' said Mr. Omer, 'in thischair, than ever I see out of it. You'd be surprised at the number ofpeople that looks in of a day to have a chat. You really would! There'stwice as much in the newspaper, since I've taken to this chair, as thereused to be. As to general reading, dear me, what a lot of it I do getthrough! That's what I feel so strong, you know! If it had been my eyes,what should I have done? If it had been my ears, what should I havedone? Being my limbs, what does it signify? Why, my limbs only made mybreath shorter when I used 'em. And now, if I want to go out intothe street or down to the sands, I've only got to call Dick, Joram'syoungest 'prentice, and away I go in my own carriage, like the LordMayor of London.'

He half suffocated himself with laughing here.

'Lord bless you!' said Mr. Omer, resuming his pipe, 'a man must takethe fat with the lean; that's what he must make up his mind to, in thislife. Joram does a fine business. Ex-cellent business!'

'I am very glad to hear it,' said I.

'I knew you would be,' said Mr. Omer. 'And Joram and Minnie are likeValentines. What more can a man expect? What's his limbs to that!'

His supreme contempt for his own limbs, as he sat smoking, was one ofthe pleasantest oddities I have ever encountered.

'And since I've took to general reading, you've took to general writing,eh, sir?' said Mr. Omer, surveying me admiringly. 'What a lovely workthat was of yours! What expressions in it! I read it every word--everyword. And as to feeling sleepy! Not at all!'

I laughingly expressed my satisfaction, but I must confess that Ithought this association of ideas significant.

'I give you my word and honour, sir,' said Mr. Omer, 'that when I laythat book upon the table, and look at it outside; compact in threeseparate and indiwidual wollumes--one, two, three; I am as proud asPunch to think that I once had the honour of being connected withyour family. And dear me, it's a long time ago, now, ain't it? Overat Blunderstone. With a pretty little party laid along with the otherparty. And you quite a small party then, yourself. Dear, dear!'

I changed the subject by referring to Emily. After assuring him that Idid not forget how interested he had always been in her, and howkindly he had always treated her, I gave him a general account of herrestoration to her uncle by the aid of Martha; which I knew would pleasethe old man. He listened with the utmost attention, and said, feelingly,when I had done:

'I am rejoiced at it, sir! It's the best news I have heard for manya day. Dear, dear, dear! And what's going to be undertook for thatunfortunate young woman, Martha, now?'

'You touch a point that my thoughts have been dwelling on sinceyesterday,' said I, 'but on which I can give you no information yet, Mr.Omer. Mr. Peggotty has not alluded to it, and I have a delicacy indoing so. I am sure he has not forgotten it. He forgets nothing that isdisinterested and good.'

'Because you know,' said Mr. Omer, taking himself up, where he had leftoff, 'whatever is done, I should wish to be a member of. Put me down foranything you may consider right, and let me know. I never could thinkthe girl all bad, and I am glad to find she's not. So will my daughterMinnie be. Young women are contradictory creatures in some things--hermother was just the same as her--but their hearts are soft and kind.It's all show with Minnie, about Martha. Why she should consider itnecessary to make any show, I don't undertake to tell you. But it's allshow, bless you. She'd do her any kindness in private. So, put me downfor whatever you may consider right, will you be so good? and drop mea line where to forward it. Dear me!' said Mr. Omer, 'when a man isdrawing on to a time of life, where the two ends of life meet; when hefinds himself, however hearty he is, being wheeled about for the secondtime, in a speeches of go-cart; he should be over-rejoiced to do akindness if he can. He wants plenty. And I don't speak of myself,particular,' said Mr. Omer, 'because, sir, the way I look at it is, thatwe are all drawing on to the bottom of the hill, whatever age we are,on account of time never standing still for a single moment. So let usalways do a kindness, and be over-rejoiced. To be sure!'

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it on a ledge in the backof his chair, expressly made for its reception.

'There's Em'ly's cousin, him that she was to have been married to,' saidMr. Omer, rubbing his hands feebly, 'as fine a fellow as there is inYarmouth! He'll come and talk or read to me, in the evening, for an hourtogether sometimes. That's a kindness, I should call it! All his life'sa kindness.'

'I am going to see him now,' said I.

'Are you?' said Mr. Omer. 'Tell him I was hearty, and sent my respects.Minnie and Joram's at a ball. They would be as proud to see you as Iam, if they was at home. Minnie won't hardly go out at all, you see, "onaccount of father", as she says. So I swore tonight, that if she didn'tgo, I'd go to bed at six. In consequence of which,' Mr. Omer shookhimself and his chair with laughter at the success of his device, 'sheand Joram's at a ball.'

I shook hands with him, and wished him good night.

'Half a minute, sir,' said Mr. Omer. 'If you was to go without seeingmy little elephant, you'd lose the best of sights. You never see sucha sight! Minnie!' A musical little voice answered, from somewhereupstairs, 'I am coming, grandfather!' and a pretty little girl withlong, flaxen, curling hair, soon came running into the shop.

'This is my little elephant, sir,' said Mr. Omer, fondling the child.'Siamese breed, sir. Now, little elephant!'

The little elephant set the door of the parlour open, enabling me to seethat, in these latter days, it was converted into a bedroom for Mr.Omer who could not be easily conveyed upstairs; and then hid her prettyforehead, and tumbled her long hair, against the back of Mr. Omer'schair.

'The elephant butts, you know, sir,' said Mr. Omer, winking, 'when hegoes at a object. Once, elephant. Twice. Three times!'

At this signal, the little elephant, with a dexterity that was next tomarvellous in so small an animal, whisked the chair round with Mr. Omerin it, and rattled it off, pell-mell, into the parlour, without touchingthe door-post: Mr. Omer indescribably enjoying the performance, andlooking back at me on the road as if it were the triumphant issue of hislife's exertions.

After a stroll about the town I went to Ham's house. Peggotty had nowremoved here for good; and had let her own house to the successor ofMr. Barkis in the carrying business, who had paid her very well for thegood-will, cart, and horse. I believe the very same slow horse that Mr.Barkis drove was still at work.

I found them in the neat kitchen, accompanied by Mrs. Gummidge, who hadbeen fetched from the old boat by Mr. Peggotty himself. I doubt ifshe could have been induced to desert her post, by anyone else. Hehad evidently told them all. Both Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge had theiraprons to their eyes, and Ham had just stepped out 'to take a turn onthe beach'. He presently came home, very glad to see me; and I hope theywere all the better for my being there. We spoke, with some approach tocheerfulness, of Mr. Peggotty's growing rich in a new country, and ofthe wonders he would describe in his letters. We said nothing of Emilyby name, but distantly referred to her more than once. Ham was theserenest of the party.

But, Peggotty told me, when she lighted me to a little chamber where theCrocodile book was lying ready for me on the table, that he always wasthe same. She believed (she told me, crying) that he was broken-hearted;though he was as full of courage as of sweetness, and worked harder andbetter than any boat-builder in any yard in all that part. There weretimes, she said, of an evening, when he talked of their old life inthe boat-house; and then he mentioned Emily as a child. But, he nevermentioned her as a woman.

I thought I had read in his face that he would like to speak to mealone. I therefore resolved to put myself in his way next evening, as hecame home from his work. Having settled this with myself, I fell asleep.That night, for the first time in all those many nights, the candle wastaken out of the window, Mr. Peggotty swung in his old hammock in theold boat, and the wind murmured with the old sound round his head.

All next day, he was occupied in disposing of his fishing-boat andtackle; in packing up, and sending to London by waggon, such of hislittle domestic possessions as he thought would be useful to him; and inparting with the rest, or bestowing them on Mrs. Gummidge. She was withhim all day. As I had a sorrowful wish to see the old place once more,before it was locked up, I engaged to meet them there in the evening.But I so arranged it, as that I should meet Ham first.

It was easy to come in his way, as I knew where he worked. I met himat a retired part of the sands, which I knew he would cross, and turnedback with him, that he might have leisure to speak to me if he reallywished. I had not mistaken the expression of his face. We had walked buta little way together, when he said, without looking at me:

'Mas'r Davy, have you seen her?'

'Only for a moment, when she was in a swoon,' I softly answered.

We walked a little farther, and he said:

'Mas'r Davy, shall you see her, d'ye think?'

'It would be too painful to her, perhaps,' said I.

'I have thowt of that,' he replied. 'So 'twould, sir, so 'twould.'

'But, Ham,' said I, gently, 'if there is anything that I could writeto her, for you, in case I could not tell it; if there is anythingyou would wish to make known to her through me; I should consider it asacred trust.'

'I am sure on't. I thankee, sir, most kind! I think theer is something Icould wish said or wrote.'

'What is it?'

We walked a little farther in silence, and then he spoke.

''Tan't that I forgive her. 'Tan't that so much. 'Tis more as I beg ofher to forgive me, for having pressed my affections upon her. Odd times,I think that if I hadn't had her promise fur to marry me, sir, she wasthat trustful of me, in a friendly way, that she'd have told me what wasstruggling in her mind, and would have counselled with me, and I mighthave saved her.'

I pressed his hand. 'Is that all?' 'Theer's yet a something else,' hereturned, 'if I can say it, Mas'r Davy.'

We walked on, farther than we had walked yet, before he spoke again. Hewas not crying when he made the pauses I shall express by lines. He wasmerely collecting himself to speak very plainly.

'I loved her--and I love the mem'ry of her--too deep--to be able tolead her to believe of my own self as I'm a happy man. I could only behappy--by forgetting of her--and I'm afeerd I couldn't hardly bear asshe should be told I done that. But if you, being so full of learning,Mas'r Davy, could think of anything to say as might bring her to believeI wasn't greatly hurt: still loving of her, and mourning for her:anything as might bring her to believe as I was not tired of my life,and yet was hoping fur to see her without blame, wheer the wicked ceasefrom troubling and the weary are at rest--anything as would ease hersorrowful mind, and yet not make her think as I could ever marry, or as'twas possible that anyone could ever be to me what she was--I shouldask of you to say that--with my prayers for her--that was so dear.'

I pressed his manly hand again, and told him I would charge myself to dothis as well as I could.

'I thankee, sir,' he answered. ''Twas kind of you to meet me. 'Twas kindof you to bear him company down. Mas'r Davy, I unnerstan' very well,though my aunt will come to Lon'on afore they sail, and they'll uniteonce more, that I am not like to see him agen. I fare to feel sure on't.We doen't say so, but so 'twill be, and better so. The last you see onhim--the very last--will you give him the lovingest duty and thanks ofthe orphan, as he was ever more than a father to?'

This I also promised, faithfully.

'I thankee agen, sir,' he said, heartily shaking hands. 'I know wheeryou're a-going. Good-bye!'

With a slight wave of his hand, as though to explain to me that he couldnot enter the old place, he turned away. As I looked after his figure,crossing the waste in the moonlight, I saw him turn his face towards astrip of silvery light upon the sea, and pass on, looking at it, untilhe was a shadow in the distance.

The door of the boat-house stood open when I approached; and, onentering, I found it emptied of all its furniture, saving one of the oldlockers, on which Mrs. Gummidge, with a basket on her knee, was seated,looking at Mr. Peggotty. He leaned his elbow on the rough chimney-piece,and gazed upon a few expiring embers in the grate; but he raised hishead, hopefully, on my coming in, and spoke in a cheery manner.

'Come, according to promise, to bid farewell to 't, eh, Mas'r Davy?'he said, taking up the candle. 'Bare enough, now, an't it?' 'Indeed youhave made good use of the time,' said I.

'Why, we have not been idle, sir. Missis Gummidge has worked like a--Idoen't know what Missis Gummidge an't worked like,' said Mr. Peggotty,looking at her, at a loss for a sufficiently approving simile.

Mrs. Gummidge, leaning on her basket, made no observation.

'Theer's the very locker that you used to sit on, 'long with Em'ly!'said Mr. Peggotty, in a whisper. 'I'm a-going to carry it away with me,last of all. And heer's your old little bedroom, see, Mas'r Davy! A'mostas bleak tonight, as 'art could wish!'

In truth, the wind, though it was low, had a solemn sound, and creptaround the deserted house with a whispered wailing that was verymournful. Everything was gone, down to the little mirror with theoyster-shell frame. I thought of myself, lying here, when that firstgreat change was being wrought at home. I thought of the blue-eyed childwho had enchanted me. I thought of Steerforth: and a foolish, fearfulfancy came upon me of his being near at hand, and liable to be met atany turn.

''Tis like to be long,' said Mr. Peggotty, in a low voice, 'aforethe boat finds new tenants. They look upon 't, down beer, as beingunfortunate now!'

'Does it belong to anybody in the neighbourhood?' I asked.

'To a mast-maker up town,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'I'm a-going to give thekey to him tonight.'

We looked into the other little room, and came back to Mrs. Gummidge,sitting on the locker, whom Mr. Peggotty, putting the light on thechimney-piece, requested to rise, that he might carry it outside thedoor before extinguishing the candle.

'Dan'l,' said Mrs. Gummidge, suddenly deserting her basket, and clingingto his arm 'my dear Dan'l, the parting words I speak in this house is, Imustn't be left behind. Doen't ye think of leaving me behind, Dan'l! Oh,doen't ye ever do it!'

Mr. Peggotty, taken aback, looked from Mrs. Gummidge to me, and from meto Mrs. Gummidge, as if he had been awakened from a sleep.

'Doen't ye, dearest Dan'l, doen't ye!' cried Mrs. Gummidge, fervently.'Take me 'long with you, Dan'l, take me 'long with you and Em'ly! I'llbe your servant, constant and trew. If there's slaves in them partswhere you're a-going, I'll be bound to you for one, and happy, butdoen't ye leave me behind, Dan'l, that's a deary dear!'

'My good soul,' said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head, 'you doen't knowwhat a long voyage, and what a hard life 'tis!' 'Yes, I do, Dan'l! I canguess!' cried Mrs. Gummidge. 'But my parting words under this roof is,I shall go into the house and die, if I am not took. I can dig, Dan'l.I can work. I can live hard. I can be loving and patient now--more thanyou think, Dan'l, if you'll on'y try me. I wouldn't touch the 'lowance,not if I was dying of want, Dan'l Peggotty; but I'll go with you andEm'ly, if you'll on'y let me, to the world's end! I know how 'tis; Iknow you think that I am lone and lorn; but, deary love, 'tan't so nomore! I ain't sat here, so long, a-watching, and a-thinking of yourtrials, without some good being done me. Mas'r Davy, speak to him forme! I knows his ways, and Em'ly's, and I knows their sorrows, and can bea comfort to 'em, some odd times, and labour for 'em allus! Dan'l, dearyDan'l, let me go 'long with you!'

And Mrs. Gummidge took his hand, and kissed it with a homely pathos andaffection, in a homely rapture of devotion and gratitude, that he welldeserved.

We brought the locker out, extinguished the candle, fastened the dooron the outside, and left the old boat close shut up, a dark speck inthe cloudy night. Next day, when we were returning to London outside thecoach, Mrs. Gummidge and her basket were on the seat behind, and Mrs.Gummidge was happy.