[Illustration: LITTLE EM'LY AND DAVID COPPERFIELD.]
The first things that assume shape and form in the recollections of my
childhood are my mother, with her pretty hair and youthful shape, and
Peggotty, our faithful serving maid, with no shape at all, and eyes so
dark that they seemed to darken their whole neighbourhood in her face, and
cheeks and arms so hard and red that I wonder the birds didn't peck her in
preference to apples.
What else do I remember?--let me see. There comes to me a vision of our
home, Blunderstone Rookery, with its ground-floor kitchen, and long
passage leading from it to the front door. A dark store-room opens out of
the kitchen, and in it there is the smell of soap, pickles, pepper,
candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are the two
parlours;--the one in which we sit of an evening, my mother and I and
Peggotty,--for Peggotty is quite our companion,--and the best parlour
where we sit on a Sunday; grandly, but not so comfortably, while my mother
reads the old familiar Bible stories to us.
And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom windows,
and the ragged old rooks' nests dangling in the elm-trees. I see the
garden--a very preserve of butterflies, where the pigeon house and
dog-kennel are, and the fruit trees. And I see again my mother winding her
bright curls around her fingers, and nobody is as proud of her beauty as I
am.
One night when Peggotty and I had been sitting cosily by the parlour fire,
my mother came home from spending the evening at a neighbour's, and with
her was a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers. As my mother
stooped to kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged
little fellow than a monarch.
"What does that mean?" I asked him. He smiled and patted me on the head in
reply, but somehow I didn't like him, and I shrank away, jealous that his
hand should touch my mother's in touching me--although my mother's gentle
chiding made me ashamed of the involuntary motion, and of my dislike for
this new friend of hers, but from chance words which I heard Peggotty
utter, I knew that she too felt as I did.
From that time the gentleman with black whiskers, Mr. Murdstone by name,
was at our house constantly, and gradually I became used to seeing him,
but I liked him no better than at first. The sight of him filled me with a
fear that something was going to happen, and time proved that I was right
in my apprehension. One night when my mother, as usual, was out, Peggotty
asked me,
"Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a
fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't _that_ be a treat?"
"Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?" I inquired, provisionally.
"Oh what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggotty, holding up her hands.
"Then there's the sea; and the boats; and the fishermen; and the beach;
and 'Am to play with----"
Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel of English
Grammar.
I was flushed with her summary of delights, and replied that it would
indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?
But Peggotty was sure that I would be allowed to go, and so it proved. My
mother did not seem nearly so much surprised as I expected, and arranged
at once for my visit.
The day soon came for our going. I was in a fever of expectation, and half
afraid that an earthquake might stop the expedition, but soon after
breakfast we set off, in a carrier's cart, and the carrier's lazy horse
shuffled along, carrying us towards Yarmouth. We had a fine basket of
refreshments, and we ate a good deal, and slept a good deal, and finally
arrived in Yarmouth, where at the public-house we found Ham waiting for
us. He was a huge, strong fellow of six feet, with a simpering boy's face
and curly light hair, and he insisted on carrying me on his back, as well
as a small box of ours under his arm. We turned down lanes, and went past
gas-works, boat-builders' yards, and riggers' lofts, and presently Ham
said,
"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!"
I looked over the wilderness, and away at the sea, and away at the river,
but no house could _I_ make out. There was a black barge not far off, high
and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel for a chimney, and smoking very
cosily.
"That's not it?" said I. "That ship-looking thing?"
"That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham.
If it had been Aladdin's palace, I could not have been more charmed with
the romantic idea of living in it. There was a delightful door cut in the
side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it. It was
beautifully clean inside and as tidy as possible. There was a table, and a
Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers. On the walls were some coloured
pictures of Biblical subjects. Abraham in red, going to sacrifice Isaac in
blue, and Daniel in yellow, cast into a den of green lions, were most
prominent. Also, there was a mantel-shelf, and some lockers and boxes
which served for seats. Then Peggotty showed me the completest little
bedroom ever seen, in the stern of the vessel, with a tiny bed, a little
looking-glass framed in oyster-shells, and a nosegay of seaweed in a blue
mug on the table. The walls were white-washed, and the patchwork
counterpane made my eyes quite ache with its brightness.
When I took out my pocket-handkerchief, it smelt as if it had wrapped up a
lobster. When I confided this to Peggotty, she told me that her brother
dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish, which accounted for the sea smells
in the delightful house.
The inmates of the boat were its master, Mr. Peggotty and his orphan
nephew and niece, Ham and little Em'ly, which latter was a beautiful
little girl, who wore a necklace of blue beads. There was also Mrs.
Gummidge, an old lady who sat continually by the fire and knitted, and who
was the widow of a former partner of Mr. Peggotty's.
With little Em'ly I at once fell violently in love, and we used to walk
upon the beach in a loving manner, hours and hours. I am sure I loved that
baby quite as truly and with more purity than can enter into the best love
of a later time of life; and when the time came for going home, our agony
of mind at parting was intense.
During my visit I had been completely absorbed in my new companions, but
no sooner were we turned homeward than my heart began to throb at thought
of again seeing my mother,--my comforter and friend. To my surprise, when
we reached the dear old Rookery, not my mother, but a strange servant
opened the door.
"Why, Peggotty," I said, ruefully, "isn't she come home?"
"Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty, "She's come home. Wait a bit,
Master Davy, and I'll--I'll tell you something."
Intensely agitated, Peggotty led me into the kitchen and closed the door,
then, as she untied her bonnet with a shaking hand, she said breathlessly;
"Master Davy, what do you think? You have got a Pa!"
I trembled and turned white, and thought of my father's grave in the
churchyard, which I knew so well.
"A new one," said Peggotty.
"A new one?" I repeated.
Peggotty gasped, as if she were swallowing something very hard, and,
putting out her hand, said,
"Come and see him."
"I don't want to see him."
"And your mama," said Peggotty.
I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlour. On one
side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother
dropped her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly, I thought.
"Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone. "Recollect! control yourself!
Davy boy, how do you do?"
I gave him my hand. Then I went over to my mother. She kissed me, patted
me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work, while Mr.
Murdstone watched us both. I turned to look out of the window, and as soon
as I could, I crept up-stairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, and I was
to sleep a long way off, and there on my bed, thinking miserable thoughts,
I cried myself to sleep. I was awakened by somebody saying, "Here he is!"
and there beside me were my mother and Peggotty, asking what was the
matter.