"He will be a rich man: A great sum of money is waiting to be paid over
to him as his inheritance; you are all henceforth very wealthy. Bravest
and best of children, I thank Heaven that you are rewarded!"
She turned her head towards his shoulder, and raised her arm towards his
neck; then cried out, "Father! Father! Father!" and swooned away.
The housekeeper came running in at this, and Little Dorrit was soon
revived, smiling bravely at her own weakness. But the news had been too
much for her. It was the dream of her lifetime--come true!
"Come!" she exclaimed, "we must not lose a moment, but must hasten to my
father!"
When the turnkey, who was on duty, admitted them into the lodge, he saw
something in their faces which filled him with astonishment. He stood
looking after them, when they hurried into the prison, as though he
perceived that they had come back accompanied by a ghost apiece. Two or
three debtors whom they passed, looked after them too, and presently
joining the turnkey, formed a little group on the lodge steps, in the
midst of which there originated a whisper that the Father was going to
get his discharge. Within a few minutes it was heard in the remotest
room in the prison.
Little Dorrit opened the door from without, and they both entered. Her
father was sitting in his old gray gown, and his old black cap, in the
sunlight by the window, reading his newspaper. His glasses were in his
hand, and he had just looked round; surprised at first, no doubt, by her
step upon the stairs, not expecting her until night; surprised again, by
seeing Arthur Clennam in her company. As they came in, the same
unwonted look in both of them, which had already caught attention in the
yard below, struck him. He did not rise or speak, but laid down his
glasses and his newspaper on the table beside him, and looked at them
with his mouth a little open, and his lips trembling. When Arthur put
out his hand, he touched it, but not with his usual state; and then he
turned to his daughter, who had sat down close beside him with her hands
upon his shoulder, and looked attentively in her face.
"Father! I have been made so happy this morning!"
"You have been made so happy, my dear?"
"By Mr. Clennam, father. He brought me such joyful and wonderful
intelligence about you!"
Her agitation was great, and the tears rolled down her face. He put his
hand suddenly to his heart, and looked at Clennam.
"Compose yourself, sir," said Clennam, "and take a little time to think.
To think of the brightest and most fortunate accidents of life. We have
all heard of great surprises of joy. They are not at an end."
"Mr. Clennam? Not at an end? Not at an end for--" He touched himself
upon the breast, instead of saying "me."
"No," returned Clennam.
He looked at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to change into a
very old haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall beyond the
window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out the hand
that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.
"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone!"
He remained in the same attitude, looking steadfastly at him.
"And in its place," said Clennam, slowly and distinctly, "are the means
to possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr.
Dorrit, there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will
be free, and highly prosperous. I congratulate you with all my soul on
this change of fortune, and on the happy future into which you are soon
to carry the treasure you have been blessed with here--the best of all
the riches you can have elsewhere--the treasure in the dear child at
your side."
With those words, he pressed Mr. Dorrit's hand and released it; and his
daughter, laying her face against his, encircled him in the hour of his
prosperity with her arms, as she had in the long years of his adversity
encircled him with her love and toil and truth; and poured out her full
heart in gratitude, hope, joy, blissful ecstasy, and all for him.
"I shall see him, as I never saw him yet. I shall see my dear father,
with the dark cloud cleared away. I shall see him, as my poor mother
saw him long ago. Oh, my dear, my dear! Oh, father, father! Oh, thank
God, thank God!"
Mr. Dorrit came slowly out of the daze into which he had seemed to fall.
To divert his mind, Arthur told him how the good fortune had been found
through the skill of an agent.
"He shall be rewarded!" he exclaimed, starting up. "Every one shall
be--ha!--handsomely rewarded! Every cent I owe shall be paid. Oh! can
this be true? A freeman, and all my debts paid! Give me my purse,
Amy!"
He clutched it as if it were already overflowing with gold, and paced
rapidly up and down the room. Just then a great cheering arose in the
prison yard.
"The news has spread already," said Clennam, looking down from the
window. "Will you show yourself to them, Mr. Dorrit? They are very
earnest, and evidently wish it."
"I--hum--ha--I confess I could have desired, Amy, my dear," he said,
jogging about in a more feverish flutter than before, "to have made some
change in my dress first, and to have bought a--hum--a watch and chain.
But if it must be done as it is, it---ha--it must be done. Fasten the
collar of my shirt, my dear. Mr. Clennam, would you oblige me--hum--with
a blue neckcloth you will find in that drawer at your elbow. Button my
coat across at the chest, my love. It looks--ha--it looks broader,
buttoned."
With his trembling hand he pushed his gray hair up, and then, taking
Clennam and his daughter for supporters, appeared at the window leaning
on an arm of each. The inmates cheered him very heartily, and he kissed
his hand to them with great urbanity and protection. When he withdrew
into the room again, he said "Poor creatures!" in a tone of much pity
for their miserable condition.
Presently he said, unexpectedly:
"Mr. Clennam, I beg your pardon. Am I to understand, my dear sir, that
I could--ha--could pass through the lodge at this moment, and--hum--take
a walk?"
"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
forms to be completed; and although your detention here is now in itself
a form, I fear it has to be observed for a few hours longer."
"A few hours, sir," he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to
a man who is choking for want of air?"
It was the cry of a man who had been imprisoned for nearly a quarter of
a century.
Little Dorrit had been thinking too. After softly putting his gray hair
aside, and touching his forehead with her lips, she looked towards
Arthur, who came nearer to her, and pursued in a low whisper the subject
of her thoughts.
"Mr. Clennam, will he pay all his debts before he leaves here?"
"No doubt. All."
"All the debts for which he has been imprisoned here, all my life and
longer?"
"No doubt."
There was something of uncertainty and remonstrance in her look;
something that was not all satisfaction. He wondered to detect it, and
said:
"Are you not glad?"
"It seems to me hard," said Little Dorrit, "that he should have lost so
many years and suffered so much, and at last pay all the debts as well.
It seems to me hard that he should pay in life and money both."
"My dear child--" Clennam was beginning.
"Yes, I know I am wrong," she pleaded timidly, "don't think any worse of
me; it has grown up with me here."
The prison, which could spoil so many things, had tainted Little
Dorrit's mind no more than this. It was the first speck Clennam had
ever seen, it was the last speck Clennam ever saw, of the prison
atmosphere upon her.
He thought this, and forebore to say another word. With the thought,
her purity and goodness came before him in their brightest light. The
little spot made them the more beautiful.
*THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD*
*I. MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS*
The first things that I seem to remember are the figure of my mother
with her pretty hair and youthful face, and Peggotty, our faithful
servant, large of figure, black of eye, and with cheeks and arms so hard
and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck them in preference to
apples. I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart,
dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I
going unsteadily from the one to the other. My father I never saw, for
he died before I was born.
What else do I remember? Let me see. There comes to me a vision of our
quaint cosy little home, the "Rookery." On the ground floor is
Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a
pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a
corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall
to me, walking about, in a ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets
upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as I look
at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce.
Of the geese outside the gate who come waddling after me with their long
necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream fearfully at night.
Here is a long passage leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front
door. A dark storeroom opens out of it, and that is a place to be run
past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars
and old tea-chests, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles,
pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are the two
parlors: the parlor in which we sit of an evening, my mother and I and
Peggotty--for Peggotty is quite our companion, when her work is done and
we are alone--and the best parlor where we sit on a Sunday; grandly but
not so comfortably.
And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom
windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and the ragged
old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm trees at the bottom of the
front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the yard where
the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are--a very preserve of
butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and
padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than
fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my mother
gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting gooseberries slyly,
and trying to look unmoved.
A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing
in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlor. When my mother is out
of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her
bright curls round her fingers and straightening her waist, and nobody
knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of
being so pretty.
That is among my very earliest impressions,--that, and a sense that we
were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submit ourselves in most
things to her direction.
Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlor fire, alone. I had
been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must not have read very
clearly, for I remember she had a cloudy impression that they were a
sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and sleepy; but having leave,
as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from spending the
evening at a neighbor's, I would rather have died upon my post than have
gone to bed.
We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with alligators, when the
bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother looking
unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman with beautiful
black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last
Sunday.
As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and
kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow
than a monarch--or something like that.
"What does that mean?" I asked him, over her shoulder.
He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deep
voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother's in
touching me--which it did. I put it away as well as I could. My mother
gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl,
turned to thank the gentleman for bringing her home.
From the moment that I first saw the gentleman with the black whiskers,
I held a deep instinctive dislike to him. And I am sure Peggotty agreed
with me, from some remarks I chanced to hear her utter to my mother.
But Mr. Murdstone--that was his name--began coming often to the Rookery,
and exerted himself always to be agreeable to me, calling me a fine boy
and patting me on the head; so I tried to think myself very ungrateful.
But still I could not make myself like him. The sight of him made me
fear that something was going to happen--I didn't know what.
Not long after that, when Peggotty and I were sitting alone, she darning
and I reading farther in the crocodile book,--for my mother was out, as
she often was, with Mr. Murdstone,--she bit off a thread and asked:
"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 doubtfully.
"Oh, what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggotty, holding up her hands.
"Then there's the sea; and the boats and ships; 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 by her summary of delights, and replied that it would
indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?
"Why, then, I'll as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, intent upon my
face, "that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as
ever she comes home. There now!"
"But what's she to do while we're away?" said I, putting my small elbows
on the table to argue the point. "She can't live by herself."
If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel of
that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worth
darning.
"I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know."
"Oh, bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. "Don't you
know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs.
Grayper's going to have a lot of company."
Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmost
impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it was
that identical neighbor), to ascertain if we could get leave to carry
out this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I had
expected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arranged
that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid
for.
The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it came
soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid
that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other accident might
stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's cart, which departed
in the morning after breakfast. I would have given any money to have
been allowed to wrap myself up over-night, and sleep in my hat and
boots.
It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect how
eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected what
I did leave for ever.
I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my mother
ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss me
once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with which
she lifted up her face to mine.
As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where she
was, and chided her for being so moved. I was looking back round the
awning of the cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty,
who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything but
satisfied, as the face she brought back into the cart denoted.
The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I thought, as he
shuffled along with his head down. But Peggotty had brought along a
basket of refreshments which would have lasted us handsomely for a
journey three times as long. And at last we drove up to the Yarmouth
tavern, where we found Ham awaiting us. He was a huge, strong fellow,
about six feet high, with a simple, good-natured face.
He put me upon his shoulder, and my box under his arm, and trudged away
easily down a lane littered with shipbuilders' odds and ends, past
forges, yards and gas works, till we came out upon an open waste of
sand, with the sea pounding upon it and eating away at it. Then Ham
said,
"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!"
I looked in all directions, as far as I could, and away at the sea, but
no house could _I_ make out. There was a black barge, or some other
kind of boat, not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron
funnel sticking out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but
nothing else in the way of a house that was visible to me.
"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, roc's egg and all, I suppose I could
not have been more charmed with the 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; but the charm of it was that it was a _real boat_
which had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had
never been intended to be lived in on dry land.
It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a
table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and a tea-tray with a
painting on it. The tray was kept from tumbling down by a Bible; and
the tray, if it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups
and saucers and a tea-pot around the book. On the walls there were some
colored pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects. There were
some hooks in the beams of the ceiling whose use I did not know; and
some lockers and boxes scattered around, which served for seats.
One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house was the smell
of fish, which was so searching that when I took out my
pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it
had wrapped up a lobster. On my whispering this to Peggotty, she
informed me that her brother dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish; and
I afterwards found that a heap of these creatures, in a state of
wonderful confusion with one another, and never leaving off pinching
whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden
lean-to where the pots and kettles were kept.
We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen
courtesying at the door when I was on Ham's back, about a quarter of a
mile off; likewise by a most beautiful little girl with a necklace of
blue beads, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but ran away
and hid herself.
By and by, when we had dined in a sumptuous manner off boiled fish,
melted butter, and potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very
good-natured face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her
a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt that he was her brother; and
so he turned out--being presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the
master of the house.
"Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty. "You'll find us rough, sir,
but you'll find us ready."
I thanked him and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a
delightful place.
The civil woman with the white apron was Mrs. Gummidge, an old widowed
lady who kept the boat-house in fine order. The little girl was Emily,
a niece of Mr. Peggotty's. She had never seen her father, just as I had
never seen mine--which was our first bond of sympathy. She had lost her
mother, too; and as we played together happily in the sand, I told her
all about my mother and how we had only each other and I was going to
grow up right away to take care of her.
Of course I was quite in love with little Emily. I am sure I loved her
quite as truly as one could possibly love. And I made her confess that
she loved me. So when the golden days flew by and the time of parting
drew near, our agony of mind was intense. The farewells were very
tearful; and if ever in my life I had a void in my heart, I had one that
day.
I am ashamed to confess that the delightful fortnight by the sea had
driven out all thoughts of home. But no sooner were we on the return
journey, than the home longing came crowding in upon me tenfold. I grew
so excited to see my mother, that it seemed as if I couldn't wait for
that blundering old cart. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these
transports, tried to check them, though very kindly, and looked confused
and out of sorts.
The Rookery would come, however, in spite of her, when the carrier's
horse pleased--and did. How well I recollect it, on a cold, gray
afternoon, with a dull sky threatening rain!
The door opened, and I sprang in, half laughing and half crying as I
looked for my mother. It was not she who met me, but a strange servant.
"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."
"Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!" she answered, with
an air of cheerfulness.
"Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma?"
"Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand,
and speaking in a breathless sort of way; "what do you think? You have
got a Pa!"
I trembled, and turned white. Something--I don't know what, or
how--connected with my father's grave in the churchyard, and the raising
of the dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind.
"A new one," said Peggotty.
"A new one?" I repeated.
Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very
hard, and, putting out her hand, said,
"Come and see him."
"I don't want to see him."
"And your mamma," said Peggotty.
I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlor, where
she left me. 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 and kissed my mother; she kissed me,
patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I
could not look at her, I could not look at him. I knew quite well that
he was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and looked out
there, at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold.
As soon as I could, I crept upstairs. My old dear bedroom was changed,
and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to find anything
that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the
yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was
filled up with a great dog--deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him--and
he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at me.
*II. I FALL INTO DISGRACE*
That first lonely evening when I crept off alone, feeling that no one
wanted me, was the most miserable of my life. I rolled up in a corner
of my bed and cried myself to sleep.
Presently I was awakened 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 them who had done it.
"Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?"
I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered,
"Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling
lip, 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 me so
much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the
bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have
raised me up.
Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor
Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. It was Mr.
Murdstone's hand, and he 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."
"Go below, my dear," he answered. "David and I will come down
together."
When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair,
and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes.
"David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I
have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?"
"I don't know."
"I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquer
that fellow'; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should
do it. 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 the
question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby
heart 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 very
well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me."
"Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me
into the parlor, with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be made
uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful
humors."
What a little thing will change the current of our lives! I might have
been made another creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A word of
welcome home, of assurance that it _was_ home, might have made me
respect my new father instead of hate him. But the word was not spoken,
and the time for it was gone.
From that time my life was a lonely one. My mother petted me in secret,
but plainly stood in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntless
Peggotty must needs keep her peace. His word alone was law.
After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came to live with us. And from
the second day of her arrival she took charge of the household keys, and
managed things with a firmness second only to her brother himself.
There had been some talk of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and Miss
Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course agreed with
them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet, and in the
meantime I learned my lessons at home.
Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by
my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always
present, and found them a favorable occasion for giving my mother
lessons in that miscalled firmness which was the bane of both our lives.
I believe I was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to
learn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had lived alone
together. I can faintly remember learning the alphabet at her knee. To
this day, when I look upon the fat black letters in the primer, the
puzzling novelty of their shapes and the easy good-nature of O and Q and
S seem to present themselves again before me as they used to do. But
they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I
seem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as the
crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of my
mother's voice and manner all the way.
But these solemn lessons which succeeded I remember as the death-blow to
my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were very
long, very numerous, very hard,--and I was generally as much bewildered
by them as I believe 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 parlor after breakfast with my books and an
exercise-book and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her
writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair
by the window, though he pretends to be reading a book, or as Miss
Murdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing steel beads. The very
sight of these two has such an influence over me that I begin to feel
the words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head all sliding
away and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by the
bye?
I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a
history or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give
it into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have got
it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over
another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over
half-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book
if 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 know
it."
"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 give him
the book back and make him know it."
"Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend to do, my dear
Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid."
The natural result of this treatment was to make me sullen, dull, and
dogged; and my temper was not improved by the sense that I was daily
shut out from my mother.
One morning, after about six months of these lessons, when I went into
the parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, Miss
Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding 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 the air.
"Now, David," he said, "you must be far more careful to-day than usual."
He gave the cane another poise and another switch, and laid it down
beside him with an expressive look and took up his book.
This was a good freshener to my presence of mind as a beginning. I felt
the 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 me
with a smoothness there was no checking.
We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with an idea that I
was very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book
after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being
firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came to the last, my
mother burst out crying.
"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.
Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood up, cane in hand.
"David, you and I will go upstairs," he said.
He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely, and when we got there,
suddenly twisted my head under his arm.
"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! I
have tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone
are by. 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 stopped
him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for a
moment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards,
and in the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth, and bit it
through. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it!
He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the
noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--I
heard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the
door was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, upon
the floor.
How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness
seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my
smart 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 crawled
up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and
ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and
made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I
felt. It lay like lead upon my breast.
For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one except
Miss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in my
remembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whispered
through the keyhole.
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 the
Cat'll hear us."