"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through
them I don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors _will not_ give him time,
they must take the consequences."
In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested
and carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the
neighbourhood of that institution.
Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs.
Micawber held that her family had influence.
My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty
that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at
Hythe, Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men,
however, informing me on my asking him about these places that they were
all close together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing
the Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.
_III.--My Aunt Provides for Me_
It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
Dover and set foot in the town.
I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat
and waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent
that no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to
vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and
the Kentish soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds
from my aunt's garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb
or brush since I left London. In this plight I waited to introduce
myself to my formidable aunt.
As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother
had often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.
"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys here!"
I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.
"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.
"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have
been taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away
to you, and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since
I began the journey."
Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
crying.
Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
into the parlour.
The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I
am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then
she put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.
That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were
routed by my aunt.
Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut
against me henceforth.
"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?"
I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.
"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"
Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
measured for a suit of clothes directly!"
"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You
can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"
When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
Copperfield.
Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
me.
My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer,
Mr. Wickfield.
My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was
his only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so
bright and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was
on the staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about
Agnes, a good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.
The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of
my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very
strange at first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that
when I was examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in
the lowest form of the school.
But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off,
by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy
among my new companions.
"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean
in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot,
and I can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and
I am off!"
She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she
got into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.
_IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber_
I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but
looking much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest
stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a
red-brown. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,
with a white wisp of a neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a
long, lank, skeleton hand.
Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
him.
He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
his legal knowledge.
"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
for some time.
"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be
where he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a
'umble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My
father's former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."
"What is he now?" I asked.
"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be
thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"