If the room to which my bed was removed were a sentient thing that couldgive evidence, I might appeal to it at this day--who sleeps there now,I wonder!--to bear witness for me what a heavy heart I carried to it.I went up there, hearing the dog in the yard bark after me all the waywhile I climbed the stairs; and, looking as blank and strange upon theroom as the room looked upon me, sat down with my small hands crossed,and thought.

I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, of thecracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the walls, of the flaws inthe window-glass making ripples and dimples on the prospect, of thewashing-stand being rickety on its three legs, and having a discontentedsomething about it, which reminded me of Mrs. Gummidge under theinfluence of the old one. I was crying all the time, but, except that Iwas conscious of being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thoughtwhy I cried. At last in my desolation I began to consider that I wasdreadfully in love with little Em'ly, and had been torn away from her tocome here where no one seemed to want me, or to care about me, half asmuch as she did. This made such a very miserable piece of business ofit, that I rolled myself up in a corner of the counterpane, and criedmyself to sleep.

I was awoke by somebody saying 'Here he is!' and uncovering my hot head.My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of themwho had done it.

'Davy,' said my mother. 'What's the matter?'

I thought it was very strange that she should ask me, and answered,'Nothing.' I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my tremblinglip, which answered her with greater truth. 'Davy,' said my mother.'Davy, my child!'

I dare say no words she could have uttered would have affected meso much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in thebedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would haveraised me up.

'This is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing!' said my mother. 'I haveno doubt at all about it. How can you reconcile it to your conscience,I wonder, to prejudice my own boy against me, or against anybody who isdear to me? What do you mean by it, Peggotty?'

Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only answered, in asort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated after dinner, 'Lordforgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and for what you have said this minute,may you never be truly sorry!'

'It's enough to distract me,' cried my mother. 'In my honeymoon, too,when my most inveterate enemy might relent, one would think, and notenvy me a little peace of mind and happiness. Davy, you naughty boy!Peggotty, you savage creature! Oh, dear me!' cried my mother, turningfrom one of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, 'what atroublesome world this is, when one has the most right to expect it tobe as agreeable as possible!'

I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Peggotty's,and slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was Mr. Murdstone's hand, andhe kept it on my arm as he said:

'What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten?--Firmness, my dear!'

'I am very sorry, Edward,' said my mother. 'I meant to be very good, butI am so uncomfortable.'

'Indeed!' he answered. 'That's a bad hearing, so soon, Clara.'

'I say it's very hard I should be made so now,' returned my mother,pouting; 'and it is--very hard--isn't it?'

He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. I knew aswell, when I saw my mother's head lean down upon his shoulder, and herarm touch his neck--I knew as well that he could mould her pliant natureinto any form he chose, as I know, now, that he did it.

'Go you below, my love,' said Mr. Murdstone. 'David and I will comedown, together. My friend,' turning a darkening face on Peggotty, whenhe had watched my mother out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile;'do you know your mistress's name?'

'She has been my mistress a long time, sir,' answered Peggotty, 'I oughtto know it.' 'That's true,' he answered. 'But I thought I heard you, asI came upstairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has takenmine, you know. Will you remember that?'

Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed herself out of theroom without replying; seeing, I suppose, that she was expected to go,and had no excuse for remaining. When we two were left alone, he shutthe door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him,looked steadily into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily,to his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem againto hear my heart beat fast and high.

'David,' he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, 'if Ihave an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?'

'I don't know.'

'I beat him.'

I had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, in mysilence, that my breath was shorter now.

'I make him wince, and smart. I say to myself, "I'll conquer thatfellow"; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should doit. What is that upon your face?'

'Dirt,' I said.

He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked thequestion twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my babyheart would have burst before I would have told him so.

'You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow,' he said,with a grave smile that belonged to him, 'and you understood me verywell, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me.'

He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to be like Mrs.Gummidge, and motioned me with his head to obey him directly. I hadlittle doubt then, and I have less doubt now, that he would have knockedme down without the least compunction, if I had hesitated.

'Clara, my dear,' he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked meinto the parlour, with his hand still on my arm; 'you will not be madeuncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthfulhumours.'

God help me, I might have been improved for my whole life, I might havebeen made another creature perhaps, for life, by a kind word at thatseason. A word of encouragement and explanation, of pity for my childishignorance, of welcome home, of reassurance to me that it was home, mighthave made me dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in myhypocritical outside, and might have made me respect instead of hatehim. I thought my mother was sorry to see me standing in the room soscared and strange, and that, presently, when I stole to a chair, shefollowed me with her eyes more sorrowfully still--missing, perhaps, somefreedom in my childish tread--but the word was not spoken, and the timefor it was gone.

We dined alone, we three together. He seemed to be very fond of mymother--I am afraid I liked him none the better for that--and she wasvery fond of him. I gathered from what they said, that an elder sisterof his was coming to stay with them, and that she was expected thatevening. I am not certain whether I found out then, or afterwards, that,without being actively concerned in any business, he had some share in,or some annual charge upon the profits of, a wine-merchant's housein London, with which his family had been connected from hisgreat-grandfather's time, and in which his sister had a similarinterest; but I may mention it in this place, whether or no.

After dinner, when we were sitting by the fire, and I was meditating anescape to Peggotty without having the hardihood to slip away, lestit should offend the master of the house, a coach drove up to thegarden-gate and he went out to receive the visitor. My mother followedhim. I was timidly following her, when she turned round at the parlourdoor, in the dusk, and taking me in her embrace as she had been used todo, whispered me to love my new father and be obedient to him. She didthis hurriedly and secretly, as if it were wrong, but tenderly; and,putting out her hand behind her, held mine in it, until we came nearto where he was standing in the garden, where she let mine go, and drewhers through his arm.

It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy-looking lady shewas; dark, like her brother, whom she greatly resembled in face andvoice; and with very heavy eyebrows, nearly meeting over her large nose,as if, being disabled by the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers,she had carried them to that account. She brought with her twouncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the lids in hardbrass nails. When she paid the coachman she took her money out of a hardsteel purse, and she kept the purse in a very jail of a bag which hungupon her arm by a heavy chain, and shut up like a bite. I had never, atthat time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was.

She was brought into the parlour with many tokens of welcome, and thereformally recognized my mother as a new and near relation. Then shelooked at me, and said:

'Is that your boy, sister-in-law?'

My mother acknowledged me.

'Generally speaking,' said Miss Murdstone, 'I don't like boys. How d'yedo, boy?'

Under these encouraging circumstances, I replied that I was very well,and that I hoped she was the same; with such an indifferent grace, thatMiss Murdstone disposed of me in two words:

'Wants manner!'

Having uttered which, with great distinctness, she begged the favour ofbeing shown to her room, which became to me from that time forth a placeof awe and dread, wherein the two black boxes were never seen open orknown to be left unlocked, and where (for I peeped in once or twice whenshe was out) numerous little steel fetters and rivets, with which MissMurdstone embellished herself when she was dressed, generally hung uponthe looking-glass in formidable array.

As well as I could make out, she had come for good, and had no intentionof ever going again. She began to 'help' my mother next morning, and wasin and out of the store-closet all day, putting things to rights, andmaking havoc in the old arrangements. Almost the first remarkable thingI observed in Miss Murdstone was, her being constantly haunted bya suspicion that the servants had a man secreted somewhere on thepremises. Under the influence of this delusion, she dived into thecoal-cellar at the most untimely hours, and scarcely ever opened thedoor of a dark cupboard without clapping it to again, in the belief thatshe had got him.

Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone, she was aperfect Lark in point of getting up. She was up (and, as I believeto this hour, looking for that man) before anybody in the house wasstirring. Peggotty gave it as her opinion that she even slept with oneeye open; but I could not concur in this idea; for I tried it myselfafter hearing the suggestion thrown out, and found it couldn't be done.

On the very first morning after her arrival she was up and ringing herbell at cock-crow. When my mother came down to breakfast and was goingto make the tea, Miss Murdstone gave her a kind of peck on the cheek,which was her nearest approach to a kiss, and said:

'Now, Clara, my dear, I am come here, you know, to relieve you of allthe trouble I can. You're much too pretty and thoughtless'--my motherblushed but laughed, and seemed not to dislike this character--'to haveany duties imposed upon you that can be undertaken by me. If you'll beso good as give me your keys, my dear, I'll attend to all this sort ofthing in future.'

From that time, Miss Murdstone kept the keys in her own little jail allday, and under her pillow all night, and my mother had no more to dowith them than I had.

My mother did not suffer her authority to pass from her without a shadowof protest. One night when Miss Murdstone had been developing certainhousehold plans to her brother, of which he signified his approbation,my mother suddenly began to cry, and said she thought she might havebeen consulted.

'Clara!' said Mr. Murdstone sternly. 'Clara! I wonder at you.'

'Oh, it's very well to say you wonder, Edward!' cried my mother, 'andit's very well for you to talk about firmness, but you wouldn't like ityourself.'

Firmness, I may observe, was the grand quality on which both Mr. andMiss Murdstone took their stand. However I might have expressedmy comprehension of it at that time, if I had been called upon, Inevertheless did clearly comprehend in my own way, that it was anothername for tyranny; and for a certain gloomy, arrogant, devil's humour,that was in them both. The creed, as I should state it now, was this.Mr. Murdstone was firm; nobody in his world was to be so firm as Mr.Murdstone; nobody else in his world was to be firm at all, for everybodywas to be bent to his firmness. Miss Murdstone was an exception.She might be firm, but only by relationship, and in an inferior andtributary degree. My mother was another exception. She might be firm,and must be; but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believingthere was no other firmness upon earth.

'It's very hard,' said my mother, 'that in my own house--'

'My own house?' repeated Mr. Murdstone. 'Clara!'

'OUR own house, I mean,' faltered my mother, evidently frightened--'Ihope you must know what I mean, Edward--it's very hard that in YOUR ownhouse I may not have a word to say about domestic matters. I am sureI managed very well before we were married. There's evidence,' said mymother, sobbing; 'ask Peggotty if I didn't do very well when I wasn'tinterfered with!'

'Edward,' said Miss Murdstone, 'let there be an end of this. I gotomorrow.'

'Jane Murdstone,' said her brother, 'be silent! How dare you toinsinuate that you don't know my character better than your wordsimply?'

'I am sure,' my poor mother went on, at a grievous disadvantage, andwith many tears, 'I don't want anybody to go. I should be verymiserable and unhappy if anybody was to go. I don't ask much. I am notunreasonable. I only want to be consulted sometimes. I am very muchobliged to anybody who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as amere form, sometimes. I thought you were pleased, once, with my being alittle inexperienced and girlish, Edward--I am sure you said so--but youseem to hate me for it now, you are so severe.'

'Edward,' said Miss Murdstone, again, 'let there be an end of this. I gotomorrow.'

'Jane Murdstone,' thundered Mr. Murdstone. 'Will you be silent? How dareyou?'

Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket-handkerchief, and heldit before her eyes.

'Clara,' he continued, looking at my mother, 'you surprise me! Youastound me! Yes, I had a satisfaction in the thought of marryingan inexperienced and artless person, and forming her character, andinfusing into it some amount of that firmness and decision of whichit stood in need. But when Jane Murdstone is kind enough to come to myassistance in this endeavour, and to assume, for my sake, a conditionsomething like a housekeeper's, and when she meets with a base return--'

'Oh, pray, pray, Edward,' cried my mother, 'don't accuse me of beingungrateful. I am sure I am not ungrateful. No one ever said I wasbefore. I have many faults, but not that. Oh, don't, my dear!'

'When Jane Murdstone meets, I say,' he went on, after waiting until mymother was silent, 'with a base return, that feeling of mine is chilledand altered.'

'Don't, my love, say that!' implored my mother very piteously.'Oh, don't, Edward! I can't bear to hear it. Whatever I am, I amaffectionate. I know I am affectionate. I wouldn't say it, if Iwasn't sure that I am. Ask Peggotty. I am sure she'll tell you I'maffectionate.'

'There is no extent of mere weakness, Clara,' said Mr. Murdstone inreply, 'that can have the least weight with me. You lose breath.'

'Pray let us be friends,' said my mother, 'I couldn't live undercoldness or unkindness. I am so sorry. I have a great many defects, Iknow, and it's very good of you, Edward, with your strength of mind, toendeavour to correct them for me. Jane, I don't object to anything. Ishould be quite broken-hearted if you thought of leaving--' My motherwas too much overcome to go on.

'Jane Murdstone,' said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, 'any harsh wordsbetween us are, I hope, uncommon. It is not my fault that so unusual anoccurrence has taken place tonight. I was betrayed into it by another.Nor is it your fault. You were betrayed into it by another. Let us bothtry to forget it. And as this,' he added, after these magnanimous words,'is not a fit scene for the boy--David, go to bed!'

I could hardly find the door, through the tears that stood in my eyes.I was so sorry for my mother's distress; but I groped my way out, andgroped my way up to my room in the dark, without even having the heartto say good night to Peggotty, or to get a candle from her. When hercoming up to look for me, an hour or so afterwards, awoke me, she saidthat my mother had gone to bed poorly, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstonewere sitting alone.

Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, I paused outside theparlour door, on hearing my mother's voice. She was very earnestly andhumbly entreating Miss Murdstone's pardon, which that lady granted, anda perfect reconciliation took place. I never knew my mother afterwardsto give an opinion on any matter, without first appealing to MissMurdstone, or without having first ascertained by some sure means, whatMiss Murdstone's opinion was; and I never saw Miss Murdstone, when outof temper (she was infirm that way), move her hand towards her bag asif she were going to take out the keys and offer to resign them to mymother, without seeing that my mother was in a terrible fright.

The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, darkened the Murdstonereligion, which was austere and wrathful. I have thought, since,that its assuming that character was a necessary consequence of Mr.Murdstone's firmness, which wouldn't allow him to let anybody off fromthe utmost weight of the severest penalties he could find any excusefor. Be this as it may, I well remember the tremendous visages withwhich we used to go to church, and the changed air of the place. Again,the dreaded Sunday comes round, and I file into the old pew first, likea guarded captive brought to a condemned service. Again, Miss Murdstone,in a black velvet gown, that looks as if it had been made out of a pall,follows close upon me; then my mother; then her husband. There is noPeggotty now, as in the old time. Again, I listen to Miss Murdstonemumbling the responses, and emphasizing all the dread words with a cruelrelish. Again, I see her dark eyes roll round the church when she says'miserable sinners', as if she were calling all the congregation names.Again, I catch rare glimpses of my mother, moving her lips timidlybetween the two, with one of them muttering at each ear like lowthunder. Again, I wonder with a sudden fear whether it is likely thatour good old clergyman can be wrong, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone right,and that all the angels in Heaven can be destroying angels. Again, if Imove a finger or relax a muscle of my face, Miss Murdstone pokes me withher prayer-book, and makes my side ache.

Yes, and again, as we walk home, I note some neighbours looking at mymother and at me, and whispering. Again, as the three go on arm-in-arm,and I linger behind alone, I follow some of those looks, and wonder ifmy mother's step be really not so light as I have seen it, and if thegaiety of her beauty be really almost worried away. Again, I wonderwhether any of the neighbours call to mind, as I do, how we used towalk home together, she and I; and I wonder stupidly about that, all thedreary dismal day.

There had been some talk on occasions of my going to boarding-school.Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of courseagreed with them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet.In the meantime, I learnt lessons at home. Shall I ever forget thoselessons! They were presided over nominally by my mother, but really byMr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always present, and found thema favourable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalledfirmness, which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I was keptat home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to learn, and willingenough, when my mother and I had lived alone together. I can faintlyremember learning the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I lookupon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of theirshapes, and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S, seem to presentthemselves again before me as they used to do. But they recall nofeeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walkedalong a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book, and to have beencheered by the gentleness of my mother's voice and manner all theway. But these solemn lessons which succeeded those, I remember as thedeath-blow of my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. Theywere very long, very numerous, very hard--perfectly unintelligible,some of them, to me--and I was generally as much bewildered by them as Ibelieve my poor mother was herself.

Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.

I come into the second-best parlour after breakfast, with my books,and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready for me at herwriting-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chairby the window (though he pretends to be reading a book), or as MissMurdstone, sitting near my mother stringing steel beads. The very sightof these two has such an influence over me, that I begin to feel thewords I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, all slidingaway, and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by theby?

I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps ahistory, or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I giveit into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I havegot it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I tripover another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble overhalf-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the bookif she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:

'Oh, Davy, Davy!'

'Now, Clara,' says Mr. Murdstone, 'be firm with the boy. Don't say, "Oh,Davy, Davy!" That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not knowit.'

'He does NOT know it,' Miss Murdstone interposes awfully.

'I am really afraid he does not,' says my mother.

'Then, you see, Clara,' returns Miss Murdstone, 'you should just givehim the book back, and make him know it.'

'Yes, certainly,' says my mother; 'that is what I intend to do, my dearJane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid.'

I obey the first clause of the injunction by trying once more, but amnot so successful with the second, for I am very stupid. I tumble downbefore I get to the old place, at a point where I was all right before,and stop to think. But I can't think about the lesson. I think of thenumber of yards of net in Miss Murdstone's cap, or of the price of Mr.Murdstone's dressing-gown, or any such ridiculous problem that I haveno business with, and don't want to have anything at all to do with. Mr.Murdstone makes a movement of impatience which I have been expectingfor a long time. Miss Murdstone does the same. My mother glancessubmissively at them, shuts the book, and lays it by as an arrear to beworked out when my other tasks are done.

There is a pile of these arrears very soon, and it swells like a rollingsnowball. The bigger it gets, the more stupid I get. The case is sohopeless, and I feel that I am wallowing in such a bog of nonsense, thatI give up all idea of getting out, and abandon myself to my fate. Thedespairing way in which my mother and I look at each other, as I blunderon, is truly melancholy. But the greatest effect in these miserablelessons is when my mother (thinking nobody is observing her) triesto give me the cue by the motion of her lips. At that instant, MissMurdstone, who has been lying in wait for nothing else all along, saysin a deep warning voice:

'Clara!'

My mother starts, colours, and smiles faintly. Mr. Murdstone comes outof his chair, takes the book, throws it at me or boxes my ears with it,and turns me out of the room by the shoulders.

Even when the lessons are done, the worst is yet to happen, in the shapeof an appalling sum. This is invented for me, and delivered to me orallyby Mr. Murdstone, and begins, 'If I go into a cheesemonger's shop, andbuy five thousand double-Gloucester cheeses at fourpence-halfpenny each,present payment'--at which I see Miss Murdstone secretly overjoyed.I pore over these cheeses without any result or enlightenment untildinner-time, when, having made a Mulatto of myself by getting the dirtof the slate into the pores of my skin, I have a slice of bread to helpme out with the cheeses, and am considered in disgrace for the rest ofthe evening.

It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortunate studiesgenerally took this course. I could have done very well if I had beenwithout the Murdstones; but the influence of the Murdstones upon me waslike the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird. Even whenI did get through the morning with tolerable credit, there was notmuch gained but dinner; for Miss Murdstone never could endure to see meuntasked, and if I rashly made any show of being unemployed, called herbrother's attention to me by saying, 'Clara, my dear, there's nothinglike work--give your boy an exercise'; which caused me to be clappeddown to some new labour, there and then. As to any recreation with otherchildren of my age, I had very little of that; for the gloomy theologyof the Murdstones made all children out to be a swarm of little vipers(though there WAS a child once set in the midst of the Disciples), andheld that they contaminated one another.

The natural result of this treatment, continued, I suppose, for some sixmonths or more, was to make me sullen, dull, and dogged. I was notmade the less so by my sense of being daily more and more shut out andalienated from my mother. I believe I should have been almost stupefiedbut for one circumstance.

It was this. My father had left a small collection of books in a littleroom upstairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined my own) and whichnobody else in our house ever troubled. From that blessed little room,Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, theVicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Robinson Crusoe, cameout, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, andmy hope of something beyond that place and time,--they, and the ArabianNights, and the Tales of the Genii,--and did me no harm; for whateverharm was in some of them was not there for me; I knew nothing of it. Itis astonishing to me now, how I found time, in the midst of my poringsand blunderings over heavier themes, to read those books as I did. Itis curious to me how I could ever have consoled myself under mysmall troubles (which were great troubles to me), by impersonating myfavourite characters in them--as I did--and by putting Mr. and MissMurdstone into all the bad ones--which I did too. I have been Tom Jones(a child's Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I havesustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a stretch, Iverily believe. I had a greedy relish for a few volumes of Voyages andTravels--I forget what, now--that were on those shelves; and for daysand days I can remember to have gone about my region of our house,armed with the centre-piece out of an old set of boot-trees--the perfectrealization of Captain Somebody, of the Royal British Navy, in danger ofbeing beset by savages, and resolved to sell his life at a great price.The Captain never lost dignity, from having his ears boxed with theLatin Grammar. I did; but the Captain was a Captain and a hero, indespite of all the grammars of all the languages in the world, dead oralive.

This was my only and my constant comfort. When I think of it, thepicture always rises in my mind, of a summer evening, the boys at playin the churchyard, and I sitting on my bed, reading as if for life.Every barn in the neighbourhood, every stone in the church, and everyfoot of the churchyard, had some association of its own, in my mind,connected with these books, and stood for some locality made famous inthem. I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-steeple; I havewatched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping to rest himselfupon the wicket-gate; and I know that Commodore Trunnion held that clubwith Mr. Pickle, in the parlour of our little village alehouse.

The reader now understands, as well as I do, what I was when I came tothat point of my youthful history to which I am now coming again.

One morning when I went into the parlour with my books, I found mymother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstonebinding something round the bottom of a cane--a lithe and limber cane,which he left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in theair.

'I tell you, Clara,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'I have been often floggedmyself.'

'To be sure; of course,' said Miss Murdstone.

'Certainly, my dear Jane,' faltered my mother, meekly. 'But--but do youthink it did Edward good?'

'Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara?' asked Mr. Murdstone, gravely.

'That's the point,' said his sister.

To this my mother returned, 'Certainly, my dear Jane,' and said no more.

I felt apprehensive that I was personally interested in this dialogue,and sought Mr. Murdstone's eye as it lighted on mine.

'Now, David,' he said--and I saw that cast again as he said it--'youmust be far more careful today than usual.' He gave the cane anotherpoise, and another switch; and having finished his preparation of it,laid it down beside him, with an impressive look, and took up his book.

This was a good freshener to my presence of mind, as a beginning. I feltthe words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line,but by the entire page; I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed,if I may so express it, to have put skates on, and to skim away from mewith a smoothness there was no checking.

We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in with an idea ofdistinguishing myself rather, conceiving that I was very well prepared;but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added tothe heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all thetime. And when we came at last to the five thousand cheeses (canes hemade it that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying.

'Clara!' said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.

'I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think,' said my mother.

I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, taking upthe cane:

'Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with perfect firmness,the worry and torment that David has occasioned her today. That would bestoical. Clara is greatly strengthened and improved, but we can hardlyexpect so much from her. David, you and I will go upstairs, boy.'

As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstonesaid, 'Clara! are you a perfect fool?' and interfered. I saw my motherstop her ears then, and I heard her crying.

He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely--I am certain he had adelight in that formal parade of executing justice--and when we gotthere, suddenly twisted my head under his arm.

'Mr. Murdstone! Sir!' I cried to him. 'Don't! Pray don't beat me! I havetried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone areby. I can't indeed!'

'Can't you, indeed, David?' he said. 'We'll try that.'

He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stoppedhim for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only a momentthat I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and inthe same instant I caught the hand with which he held me in my mouth,between my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to thinkof it.

He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all thenoise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--Iheard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and thedoor was locked outside; and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, andsore, and raging in my puny way, upon the floor.

How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillnessseemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when mysmart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!

I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawledup from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, andugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, andmade me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt Ifelt. It lay heavier on my breast than if I had been a most atrociouscriminal, I dare say.

It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I had been lying,for the most part, with my head upon the sill, by turns crying, dozing,and looking listlessly out), when the key was turned, and Miss Murdstonecame in with some bread and meat, and milk. These she put down upon thetable without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness,and then retired, locking the door after her.

Long after it was dark I sat there, wondering whether anybody else wouldcome. When this appeared improbable for that night, I undressed, andwent to bed; and, there, I began to wonder fearfully what would be doneto me. Whether it was a criminal act that I had committed? Whether Ishould be taken into custody, and sent to prison? Whether I was at allin danger of being hanged?

I never shall forget the waking, next morning; the being cheerful andfresh for the first moment, and then the being weighed down by the staleand dismal oppression of remembrance. Miss Murdstone reappeared beforeI was out of bed; told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk inthe garden for half an hour and no longer; and retired, leaving the dooropen, that I might avail myself of that permission.

I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, which lasted fivedays. If I could have seen my mother alone, I should have gone down onmy knees to her and besought her forgiveness; but I saw no one, MissMurdstone excepted, during the whole time--except at evening prayers inthe parlour; to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after everybodyelse was placed; where I was stationed, a young outlaw, all alone bymyself near the door; and whence I was solemnly conducted by my jailer,before any one arose from the devotional posture. I only observed thatmy mother was as far off from me as she could be, and kept her faceanother way so that I never saw it; and that Mr. Murdstone's hand wasbound up in a large linen wrapper.

The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any one. Theyoccupy the place of years in my remembrance. The way in which I listenedto all the incidents of the house that made themselves audible to me;the ringing of bells, the opening and shutting of doors, the murmuringof voices, the footsteps on the stairs; to any laughing, whistling, orsinging, outside, which seemed more dismal than anything else to me inmy solitude and disgrace--the uncertain pace of the hours, especiallyat night, when I would wake thinking it was morning, and find that thefamily were not yet gone to bed, and that all the length of night hadyet to come--the depressed dreams and nightmares I had--the return ofday, noon, afternoon, evening, when the boys played in the churchyard,and I watched them from a distance within the room, being ashamed toshow myself at the window lest they should know I was a prisoner--thestrange sensation of never hearing myself speak--the fleeting intervalsof something like cheerfulness, which came with eating and drinking,and went away with it--the setting in of rain one evening, with a freshsmell, and its coming down faster and faster between me and the church,until it and gathering night seemed to quench me in gloom, and fear, andremorse--all this appears to have gone round and round for years insteadof days, it is so vividly and strongly stamped on my remembrance. On thelast night of my restraint, I was awakened by hearing my own name spokenin a whisper. I started up in bed, and putting out my arms in the dark,said:

'Is that you, Peggotty?'

There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my name again, in atone so very mysterious and awful, that I think I should have gone intoa fit, if it had not occurred to me that it must have come through thekeyhole.

I groped my way to the door, and putting my own lips to the keyhole,whispered: 'Is that you, Peggotty dear?'

'Yes, my own precious Davy,' she replied. 'Be as soft as a mouse, or theCat'll hear us.'

I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and was sensible of theurgency of the case; her room being close by.

'How's mama, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?'

I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I wasdoing on mine, before she answered. 'No. Not very.'

'What is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear? Do you know?'

'School. Near London,' was Peggotty's answer. I was obliged to get herto repeat it, for she spoke it the first time quite down my throat,in consequence of my having forgotten to take my mouth away from thekeyhole and put my ear there; and though her words tickled me a gooddeal, I didn't hear them.

'When, Peggotty?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of mydrawers?' which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it.

'Yes,' said Peggotty. 'Box.'

'Shan't I see mama?'

'Yes,' said Peggotty. 'Morning.'

Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and delivered thesewords through it with as much feeling and earnestness as a keyholehas ever been the medium of communicating, I will venture to assert:shooting in each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst ofits own.

'Davy, dear. If I ain't been azackly as intimate with you. Lately, as Iused to be. It ain't because I don't love you. Just as well and more, mypretty poppet. It's because I thought it better for you. And for someoneelse besides. Davy, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear?'

'Ye-ye-ye-yes, Peggotty!' I sobbed.

'My own!' said Peggotty, with infinite compassion. 'What I want to say,is. That you must never forget me. For I'll never forget you. And I'lltake as much care of your mama, Davy. As ever I took of you. And I won'tleave her. The day may come when she'll be glad to lay her poor head.On her stupid, cross old Peggotty's arm again. And I'll write to you,my dear. Though I ain't no scholar. And I'll--I'll--' Peggotty fell tokissing the keyhole, as she couldn't kiss me.

'Thank you, dear Peggotty!' said I. 'Oh, thank you! Thank you! Will youpromise me one thing, Peggotty? Will you write and tell Mr. Peggotty andlittle Em'ly, and Mrs. Gummidge and Ham, that I am not so bad as theymight suppose, and that I sent 'em all my love--especially to littleEm'ly? Will you, if you please, Peggotty?'

The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the keyhole with thegreatest affection--I patted it with my hand, I recollect, as if it hadbeen her honest face--and parted. From that night there grew up in mybreast a feeling for Peggotty which I cannot very well define. She didnot replace my mother; no one could do that; but she came into a vacancyin my heart, which closed upon her, and I felt towards her somethingI have never felt for any other human being. It was a sort of comicalaffection, too; and yet if she had died, I cannot think what I shouldhave done, or how I should have acted out the tragedy it would have beento me.

In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was goingto school; which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. Shealso informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come downstairs intothe parlour, and have my breakfast. There, I found my mother, very paleand with red eyes: into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from mysuffering soul.

'Oh, Davy!' she said. 'That you could hurt anyone I love! Try to bebetter, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy,that you should have such bad passions in your heart.'

They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was moresorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eatmy parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread-and-butter,and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and thenglance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and than look down, or look away.

'Master Copperfield's box there!' said Miss Murdstone, when wheels wereheard at the gate.

I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstoneappeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door. The boxwas taken out to his cart, and lifted in.

'Clara!' said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note.

'Ready, my dear Jane,' returned my mother. 'Good-bye, Davy. You aregoing for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in theholidays, and be a better boy.'

'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated.

'Certainly, my dear Jane,' replied my mother, who was holding me. 'Iforgive you, my dear boy. God bless you!'

'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated.

Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say onthe way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; andthen I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.