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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi, everyone. Welcome back. I'm so glad that you're donkeys. Sorry, I just had to do that. I love that chapter. I love the donkeys. It's so crazy and so weird and I'm so excited to talk to you about it. So thank you so much for being here. As always, Davey has made it to his Aunt Betsy, but wow, is she crazy. And I cannot wait to talk about it. So let's do that. But before we do, just a quick reminder that tomorrow is tea time. So tea time happens in our online community, which is called the Drawing Room. Not because we draw there, but because it's where we withdraw after the show to keep talking about this book, other books, life in general. It's a wonderful place to be. If you're not yet a member, you can join up. It's very easy. You just scroll into the show notes of this episode. There's a link there, it's clearly labeled. Click that and you'll get more information about how to sign up and the different membership tiers that we have. If you are a member of the landed gentry, or if you sign up now to become a member of the landed gentry, then you are entitled to join us for tea time. Tea Times are monthly voice chats, kind of like a group phone call where we get to talk to each other. So I'm there, you're there, we can talk to each other. You can also just listen if you prefer not to talk. And it's about an hour long and we talk about, we'll talk about this book. Definitely. You can ask me anything. I already have some ask me anything questions. You can add more between now and then or even just ask when you're there. It's always a lot of fun. I always feel like the time flies by. That's me at least. And maybe it does feel that way for you too. But if you'd like to join us, it's tomorrow. So tomorrow, tomorrow, if you're listening in real time. So Tuesday the 24th of February at 8pm Eastern. And it's in the drawing room. So if you would like to join us, and you're already signed up and you're a member of the Landed Gentry, then please just come on over tomorrow at 8pm Eastern if you're not, please click the link in the show notes, sign up, and then you can join us. And I really hope to see you there, whether you're an old friend or a new one. I love to chat with my old friends and make new friends. So I hope that you'll be there tomorrow, Tuesday, February 24th, at 8pm Eastern. Okay. Other than that, all the usual things. Subscribe, tap the five stars, leave a positive review, tell a friend about the show. I mean, come on, who doesn't want to hear Ms. Betsy yelling about donkeys? Really, Honestly, I mean, it's a great laugh. So please, tell a friend. Tell them it's wonderfully weird over here right now. It's story time for grownups, and you'd love it if they joined because I would love it if they joined. The the more the merrier. So tell a friend. Okay, we are going to be reading chapter 14 today. Last time was chapter 13. I've got some great comments, so first, let's just remind ourselves. If we need a reminder of what happened last time, here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, Davey is now all alone, without any money or any way to get to Dover except walk. So he sets off, he sells his waistcoat for some money, and he encounters several unsavory characters along the way, including a man that he sells his coat to who is very, very, very strange. He walks and he walks, sleeping outside when it gets to be nighttime, and he spends one night outside his old school, but he doesn't go in, and he's becoming more and more disheveled and exhausted. And finally, after days and days, he arrives at Dover, and a kind cart driver directs him to his aunt's neighborhood. He finds a woman named Janet who works for Miss Betsy, and she shows him where the house is. He stands outside until his aunt comes out and he tells her that he is her nephew. His aunt is completely surprised and kind of insane, but she takes him in and calls down a man named Mr. Dick, who Davey thinks might actually be crazy but is certainly not very smart. But Ms. Betsy seems to feel that he is a great oracle of some kind, and she asks him what to do. So on his advice, they give Davey some food and a bath. And as things go on, it's clear that Miss Betsy, although very odd, is actually, in her way, kind of kind. She is obsessed with donkeys in the sense that she hates them and she interrupts things constantly to make the donkeys get off of her grass near her house. Davey doesn't know whether she's going to help him long term or not, but she lets him sleep in the house that night and but she does lock him in from the outside. So that's where we left him. He's spending the night in Miss Betsy's house. All right, I'm going to read two comments today. The first one comes from Paula FERNANDEZ. Paula says, Ms. Betsy Trotwood is truly one loony character. I will always think of her when I see a donkey. I'm actually thankful that Devi wasn't born a girl. And the second one comes from Harini. Harini says, I am glad Devi finally reached Miss Betsy. I think Ms. Betsy is hilarious. To me it sounds like she wants to be tough on the exterior but is really a soft hearted person on the inside. I hope and am feeling positive that she can be a guardian for David. Okay, so the jury is kind of still out, I think on Miss Betsy. Davey finally made his way to her in the last chapter at great, perfect personal hardship. And we're going to talk about that in just a second. But he did in fact actually make it to Miss Betsy's house. But the question that we've had all this time, ever since he decided to run away to his aunt, the question of whether or not Ms. Betsy is going to take him in and if she does take him in, is she going to be the loving caregiver that he so desperately needs? That question is still kind of unanswered. And I picked these two comments because I think they represent the two opinions that I've been hearing most in in your letters this time. One, as represented by Paula's letter, is that Ms. Betsy is completely insane. She's a total weirdo. Davey should probably just back away slowly and go and find someone else to care for him. I mean, I know Paula didn't say all of that. I'm filling in some details, but that's essentially One viewpoint, that Ms. Betsy is a total lunatic and it doesn't seem like she's going to take Davey in or that he should stay with her even if she would. The other, as represented by Harini's letter, is that Betsy is kind of nuts, but she's harmlessly nuts, hilariously nuts. And that there are perhaps some signs that she's not as hard hearted as she seems and that she actually might be inclined to take deviant and that if she did, she might be a good caregiver for him. But I think that as it currently stands, we really don't know yet which way this is going to go. And I think Dickens is doing that on purpose because at this point in the story, Davey doesn't know which way this is going to go and Miss Betsy isn't telling him. Though I would say it is potentially a good sign that she hasn't just completely thrown him out. Right? She has allowed him to stay at least for the night, but she's also locked him in, which doesn't feel particularly friendly. So will she send him back to Mr. Murdstone in the morning or will she agree to take him in? And if she does take him in, will it be another awful situation for Davey or will he finally find some love and hospitality? All those questions are still very much up in the air. So we should take a look at what, what we actually learn about Miss Betsy in this chapter. But I do want to back up for just a second and take stock of Davey's situation because I think Chapter 13 marked a potential turning point for him. Though what he's turning to is still unclear because from the beginning, Davey has been moving further and further away from the love and family that he ought to have. Right? He began by losing his mother as she used to be when he was little because she married Mr. Murdstone and everything changed. Then he lost his mother even further, being sent away to school. Then he lost her completely because she died. Then he lost his second mother, Peggy, because he went to work at Murdstone and Grinby's. So those weekly visits that she promised him couldn't continue, so he didn't have her either. And then by running away, he became literally homeless. And that moment of realizing that he actually has no home at all, no place that is his, no people who care about him, it clearly affects him profoundly. Here is what he never shall I forget the lonely sensation of first lying down without a roof above my head. Right. He'll never forget it. It was a huge moment for him. And it's clear that he feels like a total outcast from the world and from the life that he wants, but also from the world in general. And Dickens shows us this so brilliantly by having him sleep outside the walls of Salem House. I mean, what a poignant image. Inside is the place where he was receiving the education that would have set him life that he wants. Yes, he was beaten there and that was bad. But he had friends. He was living a middle class life. He was being prepared for A middle class adulthood. He was on the right track, essentially. And now here he is literally shut out, sleeping outside while all the schoolboys sleep inside. And in his loneliness, he latches on to the boys, even though they don't even know he's there because they much more than the boys working in the warehouse, they are the sorts of boys that he feels comfortable with, the sorts of boys he wants to be like. So just knowing that they're in there and that that life still exists is a comfort to Davey in a way. Here's what he says. A plan had occurred to me of passing the night which I was going to carry into execution. This was to lie behind the wall at the back of my old school in a corner where there used to be a haystack. I imagined it would be a kind of company to have the boys and the bedroom where I used to tell the stories so near me, although the boys would know nothing of my being there and the bedroom would yield me no shelter. It's really very touching, I think. So Dickens gives us that image to show us how removed Davie is from the life that he wants. And he also gives us the image of the people going to church, which again, I think is so brilliant and so poignant because it just shows us how outside of everything Davey is, he's been moving further and further and further away from home, home, from family, from middle class life. And now he's watching as people, people like him, like what he used to be, he's watching as these people go into church and he is excluded. Here's what it says. In due time. I heard the church bells ringing as I plodded on and I met people who were going to church and I passed a church or two where the congregation were inside and the sound of singing came out into the sunshine. And it's so touching and it says, but the peace and rest of the old Sunday morning were on everything except me. So my point here is that DAVIES Arrival at Ms. Betsy's house is potentially the end of this long downward trajectory that he's been on from essentially the second chapter of the book when Mr. Murdstone showed up on the scene. But it's only the end of that trajectory if Ms. Betsy takes him in. Because I don't know about you, but I certainly could think of additional bad things that might happen if she kicked him out and he was truly homeless and friendless. I mean, he could still go to Peggy at that point, but again, not indefinitely. He could go back to Murdstone and Grimby's but they may not take him back since he ran away without any explanation. So if Miss Betsy kicks him out, then he's potentially out on the streets. He's potentially literally homeless without anything else to really sell. I mean, that weird guy that he sold his jacket to probably isn't the only person who buys clothes, but eventually he's going to run out of clothes to sell and he has nothing else. So will he have to beg to steal? We don't know. It could get worse, but it also could get better. And it rests entirely on what Miss Betsy decides to do with him. So let's take a quick look at Miss Betsy before we start today's chapter. So the one thing we have known about Miss Betsy all along is that she doesn't like boys, right? She left Davey's house never to return because Davey was a boy and not a girl. And the first thing that happens when Davey meets her again is that she reiterates this dislike of boys. Here is what it says. Go away, said Ms. Betsy, shaking her head and making a distant chop in the air with her knife. Go along. No boys here. So that doesn't bode well. She's chopping at him with a knife and telling him she doesn't allow any boys. But the only thing that Davey can think to do in the face of this is to call on the one thing that he desperately needs, which is family. He says, if you please, Aunt, I'm your nephew. Right? He names their familial ties, which is telling. I think he's trying to say that he's not just any boy, that he belongs to her in a sense and that she belongs to him. He says aunt and nephew in the same breath. And this does seem to actually provoke some kind of reaction in Miss Betsy. She's kind of in shock. She sort of sits down on the ground right there in the garden. And after naming their ties to each other, Davey launches into the story of his hardships. And it feels kind of as if he feels that he's finally reached a person he can confide in or break down to. It's sort of like when you're a kid and you get hurt at school or something and you hold it together while the teacher is calling your mom, but the minute your mom shows up, you burst into tears. I mean, Davy doesn't know if Ms. Betsy is going to act toward him like a mom, but he's clearly put all his hopes on her and he's acting that same way. Here's what he says I am David Copperfield of Blunderstone in Suffolk, where you came on the night when I was born and saw my dear mama. I have been very unhappy since she died. I have been slighted and taught nothing and thrown upon myself and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you. I was robbed at first, setting out and have walked all the way and have never slept in a bed since I began the journey. And then it says here, my self support gave way all at once and with a movement of my hands intended to show her my ragged state and call it to witness that I had suffered something. I broke into a passion of cold crying which I suppose had been pent up within me all week. And Miss Betsy does take him in. She doesn't kick him out or say, no, you're a boy, I hate you, or whatever. She's clearly very upset by this situation and she brings him inside and she tries to figure out what to do. And it's certainly true that Ms. Betsy is wacky, right? She's obsessed with donkeys. Kind of hilariously obsessed with them in my opinion. She has this guy in her house, Mr. Dick, who seems to Davey to be in some way mad. There seems to be something wrong with his mind, but Miss Betsy seems to think he's some kind of oracle or something like that. Who he is and what he's doing there is still very much a mystery. She's still clearly anti boy. We're told that this servant Janet is one of a very long line of servants that Miss Betsy is trying to convince to swear off men, but who keeps running off to get married. And Miss Betsy has this sort of funny way of talking about the fact that Davey isn't a girl, which is that she talks about Davies sister Betsy Trotwood, meaning the girl who wasn't born when Davy was born instead and Ms. Betsy says she would have lived with her godmother and we should have been devoted to one another. Where in the name of wonder should his sister Betsy Trotwood have run from or to. Which actually does imply that Miss Betsy is capable of loving and caring for a child, but a girl child. So that may not be helpful to Davey, but still. So Ms. Betsy is really, really wacky. I don't know about you, but I find the whole Miss Betsy scene in chapter 13 to be really funny. So she's wacky, but in a way that doesn't really seem threatening or scary necessarily. And like Harini says, there are signs that she may be at least capable of being A caring and loving adult. One of them is what I just said a moment ago, that she seems to feel that she would have cared for Devi's sister if she'd existed. But the other happens hilariously in the middle of one of these donkey incidents. Here is that quote. It says, these interruptions were of the more ridiculous to me because she was giving me broth out of a tablespoon at the time, having firmly persuaded herself that I was actually starving and must receive nourishment at first in very small quantities. And while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she would put it back into the basin, cry janet donkeys, and go out to the assault. She's feeding him broth from a spoon with her own hand because she thinks he's starving. She also gives him a bath, she gives him clothes, she gives him a bed to sleep in. So it's not a totally hopeless picture, I don't think. And while she's definitely loony, she doesn't actually seem malevolent. Will it turn out that she's the caregiver that Davey needs? We don't know, but I don't think that we should lose hope just yet. I think it remains to be seen. So let's see, let's keep reading. But as always, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmore.com and click on Contact Me or scroll into the Show Notes and click that link that's there. It's the same link, goes right to my email. I do write back. The only time I don't write back is if you put your email address in wrong. Then I try to write back and it gets bounced back to me. Or if you have some kind of, like, controls on your thing. I know some kids have controls. I've tried to write back and it says, no, I can't write to them. So just make sure that you are able to receive emails and then I will write back and I will choose some of yours, as always, to share on the show. So please do get in touch and please do join us tomorrow for tea time. If you're listening in real time and you would like to come. All right, let's get started with chapter 14 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 14. My aunt makes up her mind about me. On going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing so profoundly over the breakfast table with her elbow on the tray that the contents of the urn had overflowed the teapot and were laying the whole tablecloth under water. When my entrance put her meditations to flight, I felt sure that I had been the subject of her reflections and was more than ever anxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not express my anxiety, lest it should give her offence. My eyes, however, not being so much under control as my tongue, were attracted towards my aunt. Very often during breakfast I never could look at her for a few moments together, but I found her looking at me in an odd, thoughtful manner, as if I were an immense way off. Instead of being on the other side of the small round table. When she had finished her breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back in her chair, knitted her brows, folded her arms, and contemplated me at her leisure with such a fixedness of attention that I was quite overpowered by embarrassment. Not having as yet finished my own breakfast, I attempted to hide my confusion by proceeding with it, but my knife tumbled over my fork, my fork tripped up my knife. I chipped bits of bacon a surprising height into the air instead of cutting them for my own eating, and choked myself with my tea, which persisted in going the wrong way instead of the right one, and until I gave in altogether and sat blushing under my aunt's close scrutiny. Hello, said my aunt. After a long time. I looked up and met her sharp, bright glance respectfully. I have written to him, said my aunt. To. To your father in law, said my aunt. I have sent him a letter that I'll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will fall out. I can tell him. Does he know where I am, aunt? I inquired, alarmed. I have told him, said my aunt with a nod. Shall I be given up to him? I faltered. I don't know, said my aunt. We shall see. Oh, I can't think what I shall do. I exclaimed. If I have to go back to Mr. Murdstone. I don't know anything about it, said my aunt, shaking her head. I can't say I am sure. We shall see. My spirit sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavy of heart. My aunt, without appearing to take much heed of me, put on a coarse apron with a bib which she took out of the press, washed up the teacups with her own hands, and when everything was washed and set in the tray again, and the cloth folded and put on the top of the hole, rang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the crumbs with a little broom, putting on a pair of gloves first, until there did not appear to be one microscopic speck left on the carpet. Next dusted and arranged the room, which was dusted and arranged to a hair's breadth already. When all these tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took off the gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular corner of the press from which they had been taken, brought out her work box to her own table in the open window, and sat down with the green fan between her and the light to work. I wish you'd go upstairs, said my aunt as she threaded her needle, and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I'll be glad to know how he gets on with his memorial. I rose with all alacrity to acquit myself of this commission. I suppose, said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she had eyed the needle in threading it. You think Mr. Dick a short name, eh? I thought it was rather a short name yesterday, I confessed. You're not to suppose that he hasn't got a longer name, if he chose to use it, said my aunt with a loftier air. Babley. Mr. Richard Babley. That's the gentleman's true name. I was going to suggest with a modest sense of my youth and the familiarity I had been already guilty of, that I had better give him the full benefit of that name, when my aunt went on to say, but don't you call him by it, whatever you do. He can't bear his name. That's a peculiarity of his, though I don't know that it's much of a peculiarity either, for he has been ill used enough by some that bear it to have a mortal antipathy for it, heaven knows, meaning he's been mistreated by people who bear the same name as him. So his family members have mistreated him, which is why he doesn't like his name. Mr. Dick is his name, here and everywhere else. Now, if he ever went anywhere else, which he don't. So take care, child. You don't call him anything but Mr. Dick. I promised to obey and went upstairs with my message, thinking as I went that if Mr. Dick had been working at his memorial long at the same rate as I had seen him working at it through the open door when I came down he was probably getting on very well indeed. I found him still driving at it with a long pen and his head almost laid upon the paper, he was so intent upon it that I had ample leisure to observe the large paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manuscript, the number of pens, and above all the quantity of ink which he seemed to have in in half gallon jars by the Dozen before he observed my being present. Ha, Phoebus, said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. How does the world go? I'll tell you what, he added in a lower tone. I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned, but it's a. Here. He beckoned to me and put his lips close to my ear. It's a mad world, mad as bedlam, boy, said Mr. Dick, taking snuff from a round box on the table and laughing heartily. So Bedlam is a famous mental institution. Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I delivered my message. Well, said Mr. Dick, in answer, my compliments to her and I, I believe I have made a start. I think I have made a start, said Mr. Dick, passing his hand among his grey hair and casting anything but a confident look at his manuscript. You have been to school? Yes, sir, I answered, for a short time. Do you recollect the date? Said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly at me and taking up his pen to note it down. When King Charles I had his head cut off, I said I believed it happened in the year 1649. Well, returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his pen and looking dubiously at me. So the books say. But I don't see how that can be. Because if it was so long ago, how could the people about him have made that mistake of putting some of the trouble out of his head after it was taken off and into mine? I was very much surprised by the inquiry, but could give no information on this point. It's very strange, said Mr. Dick with a despondent look upon his papers, and with his hand among his hair again, that I never can get that quite right. I never can make that perfectly clear. But no matter, no matter, he said cheerfully and rousing himself. There's time enough. My compliments to Ms. Trotwood. I am getting on very well indeed. I was going away when he directed my attention to the kite. What do you think of that for a kite? He said. I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it must have been as much as 7ft high. I made it. We'll go and fly it, you and I, said Mr. Dick. Do you see this? He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very closely and laboriously written, but so plainly that as I looked along the lines, I thought I saw some allusion to King Charles I's head again in one or two places. There's plenty of string, said Mr. Dick, and when it flies high, it takes the facts a long way. That's my manner of diffusing em. I don't know where they may come down. It's according to circumstances and the wind and so forth, but I take my chance of that. His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something so reverend in it, though it was hale and hearty, that I was not sure, but that he was having a good humoured jest with me. So I laughed and he laughed, and we parted the best of friends. Well, child, said my aunt when I went downstairs, and what of Mr. Dick this morning? I informed her that he sent his compliments and was getting on very well indeed. What do you think of him? Said my aunt. I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the question by replying that I thought him a very nice gentleman. But my aunt was not to be so put off, for she laid her work down in her lap and said, folding her hands upon it, come. Your sister Betsy Trotwood would have told me what she thought of anyone directly. Be as like your sister as you can, and speak out. Is he is Mr. Dick, I ask because I don't know, aunt. Is he at all out of his mind? Then I stammered, for I felt I was on dangerous ground. Not a morsel, said my aunt. Oh, indeed, I observed faintly. If there is anything in the world, said my aunt, with great decision and force of manner, that Mr. Dick is not, it's that I had nothing better to offer than another timid. Oh, indeed, he has been called mad, said my aunt. I have a selfish pleasure in saying he has been called mad, or I should not have had the benefit of his society and advice for these last 10 years and upwards. In fact, ever since your sister Betsy Trotwood disappointed me so long as that, I said. And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call him mad, pursued my aunt. Mr. Dick is a sort of distant connection of mine. It doesn't matter how. I needn't enter into that. If it hadn't been for me, his own brother would have shut him up for life, that's all. I am afraid it was hypocritical in me, but seeing that my aunt felt strongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt strongly too. A proud fool, said my aunt, because his brother was a little eccentric, though he is not half so eccentric as a good many people. He didn't like to have him visible about his house, and sent him away to some private asylum place, though he had been left to his particular care by their deceased father, who thought him almost a natural and a wise man. He Must have been to think so. Mad himself, no doubt. Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavored to look quite convinced also. So I stepped in, said my aunt, and made him an offer. I said, your brother's sane. A great deal more sane than you are, or ever will be, it is to be hoped. Let him have his little income and come and live with me. I am not afraid of him. I am not proud. I am ready to take care of him, and shall not ill treat him, as some people besides the asylum folks have done. After a good deal of squabbling, said my aunt, I got him, and he has been here ever since. He is the most friendly and amenable creature in existence. And as for advice, but nobody knows what that man's mind is except myself. My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head as if she smoothed defiance of the whole world out of the one and shook it out of the other. He had a favourite sister, said my aunt, a good creature and very kind to him. But she did what they all took a husband, and he did what they all made her wretched. It had such an effect upon the mind of Mr. Dick. That's not madness. I hope. That combined with his fear of his brother and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into a fever. That was before he came to me. But the recollection of it is oppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to you about King Charles I, child? Yes, aunt. Ah, said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a little vexed. That's his allegorical way of expressing it. He connects his illness with great disturbance and agitation. Naturally. And that's the figure or the simile or whatever it's called which he chooses to use. And why shouldn't he? I think it's proper, I said. Certainly, Aunt. It's not a business like way of speaking, said my aunt. Nor a worldly way. I'm aware of that, and that's the reason why I insist upon it, that there shan't be a word about it in his memorial. Is it a memorial about his own history that he's writing and yes, child, said my aunt, rubbing her nose again, he is memorializing the Lord Chancellor or the Lord Somebody or other, one of those people at all events who are paid to be memorialized about his affairs. I suppose it will go in one of these days. He hasn't been able to draw it up yet without introducing that mode of expressing himself. But it don't signify. It keeps him employed. In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for upwards of 10 years endeavoring to keep King Charles I out of the memorial, but he had been constantly getting into it and was there. Now, I say again, said my aunt, nobody knows what that man's mind is except myself, and he's the most amenable and friendly creature in existence. If he likes to fly a kite sometimes. What of that? Franklin used to fly a kite. He was a Quaker, or something of that sort, if I am not mistaken, and a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculous object than anybody else. If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these particulars for my especial behoof, and as a piece of confidence in me, I should have felt very much distinguished and should have augured favourably from such a mark of her good opinion. But I could hardly help observing that she had launched into them chiefly because the question was raised in her own mind and with very little reference to me, though she had addressed herself to me in the absence of anybody else, meaning she's sort of trying to convince herself of all of this, rather than tell David. At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her championship of poor, harmless Mr. Dick not only inspired my young breast with some selfish hope for myself, but warmed it unselfishly towards her. I believe that I began to know that there was something about my aunt, notwithstanding her many eccentricities and odd humours, to be honoured and trusted in, though she was just as sharp that day as on the day before, and was in and out about the donkeys just as often, and was thrown into a tremendous state of indignation when a young man going by ogled Janet at a window, which was one of the gravest misdemeanors that could be committed against my aunt's dignity. She seemed to me to command more of my respect, if not less of my fear. The anxiety I underwent in the interval, which necessarily elapsed before a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. Murdstone, was extreme, but I made an endeavour to suppress it, and to be as agreeable as I could in a quiet way both to my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter and I would have gone out to fly the great kite, but that I had still no other clothes than the anything but ornamental garments with which I had been decorated on the first day, and which confined me to the house. House, except for an hour after dark, when my aunt, for my health's sake, paraded me up and down on the cliff outside before going to bed at length, the reply from Mr. Murdstone came, and my aunt informed me, to my infinite terror, that he was coming to speak to her herself on the next day. On the next day, still bundled up in my curious habiliments, I sat counting the time, flushed and heated by the conflict of sinking hopes and rising fears within me, and waiting to be startled by the sight of the gloomy face whose non arrival startled me every minute. My aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, but I observed no other token of her preparing herself to receive the visitor so much dreaded by me. She sat at work in the window, and I sat by with my thoughts running astray on all possible and impossible results of Mr. Murdstone's visit, until pretty late in the afternoon. Our dinner had been indefinitely postponed, but it was growing so late that my aunt had ordered it to be got ready when she gave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation and amazement, I beheld Miss Murdstone on a side saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of green and stop in front of the house, looking about her. Go along with you. Cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist at the window. You have no business here. How dare you trespass. Go along, oh, you bold faced thing. My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Ms. Murdstone looked about her that I really believe she was motionless and unable for the moment to dart out. According to custom, I seized the opportunity to inform her who it was, and that the gentleman now coming near the offender, for the way up was very steep and he had dropped behind, was Mr. Murdstone himself. I don't care who it is. Cried my aunt, still shaking her head and gesticulating anything but welcome from the bow window. I won't be trespassed upon. I won't allow it. Go away, Janet. Turn him round, lead him off. And I saw from behind my aunt a sort of hurried battle piece in which the donkey stood, resisting everybody with all his four legs planted different ways, While Janet tried to pull him round by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on. Miss Murdstone struck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys who had come to see the engagement shouted vigorously. But my aunt, suddenly decrying among them the young malefactor who was the donkey's guardian and who was one of the most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly in his teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, captured him, dragged him with his jacket over his head and his heels grinding the ground and into the garden, and calling upon Janet to fetch the constable and justices that he might be taken, tried, and executed on the spot, held him at bay there. This part of the business, however, did not last long, for the young rascal, being expert at a variety of feints and dodges of which my aunt had no conception, soon went whooping away, leaving some deep impressions of his nailed boots in the flower beds, and taking his donkey in triumph with him. Him. Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, had dismounted and was now waiting with her brother at the bottom of the steps until my aunt should be at leisure to receive them. My aunt, a little ruffled by the combat, marched past them into the house with great dignity, and took no notice of their presence until they were announced by Janet. Shall I go away, aunt? I asked, trembling. No, sir, said my aunt, certainly not. With which she pushed me into a corner near her and fenced me in with a chair, as if it were a prison or a bar of justice. This position I continued to occupy during the whole interview, and from it I now saw Mr. And Ms. Murdstone enter the room. Oh, said my aunt, I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make no exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it. Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers, said Miss Murdstone. Is it? Said my aunt. Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities and interposing, began Miss Trotwood. I beg your pardon, observed my aunt with a keen look. You are the Mr. Murdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, David Copperfield of Blunderstone Rookery. Though why rookery, I don't know. I am, said Mr. Murdstone. You'll excuse my saying, sir, returned my aunt, that I think it would have been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poor child alone. I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked, observed Miss Murdstone, bridling, that I consider our lamented Clara to have been in all essential respects, a mere child. It is a comfort to you and me, ma', am, said my aunt, who are getting on in life and are not likely to be made unhappy by our personal attractions. That nobody can say the same for us. No doubt, returned Miss Murdstone, though I thought not with a very ready or gracious assent. And it certainly might have been, as you say, a better and happier thing for my brother, if he had never entered into such A marriage. I have always been of that opinion. I have no doubt you have, said my aunt. Janet, my compliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him to come down. Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, frowning at the wall. When he came, my aunt performed the ceremony of introduction. Mr. Dick, an old and intimate friend, on whose judgment, said my aunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. Dick, who was biting his forefinger and looking rather foolish, I rely. Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth on this hint and stood among the group with a grave and attentive expression of face. My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who went on. Miss Trotwood, on the receipt of your letter, I considered it an act of greater justice to myself, and perhaps of more respect to you. Thank you, said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. You needn't mind me to answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey pursued Mr. Murdstone, rather than by letter. This unhappy boy, who has run away from his friends and his occupation, and whose appearance interposed his sister, directing general attention to me in my indefinable costume, is perfectly scandalous and disgraceful. Jane Murdstone, said her brother, have the goodness not to interrupt me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasiness, both during the lifetime of my late dear wife and since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit, a violent temper, and an untoward, intractable disposition, both my sister and myself have endeavoured to correct his vices but ineffectually. And I have felt, we both have felt, I may say, my sister being fully in my confidence, that it is right you should receive this grave and dispassionate assurance from our lips. It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by my brother, said Miss Murdstone, but I beg to observe that of all the boys in the world, I believe this, this is the worst boy. Strong, said my aunt shortly, but not at all too strong for the facts, returned Miss Murdstone. Ha. Said my aunt. Well, sir, I have my own opinions, resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose face darkened more and more the more he and my aunt observed each other, which they did very narrowly. As to the best mode of bringing him up, they are founded in part on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge of my own means and resources. I am responsible for them to myself. I act upon them, and I say no more about them. It is enough that I place this boy under the eye of a friend of my own in a respectable business, that it does not please him that he runs away from it, makes himself a common vagabond about the country and comes here in rags. To appeal to you, Miss Trotwood, I wish to set before you honourably the exact consequences, so far as they are within my knowledge of your abetting him in this appeal. But about the respectable business first, said my aunt, if he had been your own boy, you would have put him to it just the same. I suppose. If he had been my brother's own boy, returned Miss Murdstone, striking in his character, I trust, would have been altogether different. Or if the poor child, his mother had been alive, he would still have gone into the respectable business, would he? Said my aunt. I believe, said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his head, that Clara would have disputed nothing, which myself and my sister Jane Murdstone were agreed was for the best. Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur. Humph, said my aunt. Unfortunate baby, Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, was rattling it so loudly now that my aunt felt it necessary to check him with a look before saying, the poor child's annuity died with her. Died with her, replied Mr. Murdstone. And there was no settlement of the property, the house and garden, the what's its name? Rookery without any rooks in it. Upon her boy, it had been left to her unconditionally by her first husband, Mr. Murdstone began when my aunt caught him up with the greatest irascibility and impatience. So irascibility means hot temper. Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that. Left to her unconditionally, I think I see David Copperfield looking forward to any condition of any sort or kind, though it stared him point blank in the face. Of course, it was left to her unconditionally. But when she married again, when she took that most disastrous step of marrying you. In short, said my aunt, to be plain, did no one put in a word for the boy at that time? My late wife loved her second husband, ma', am, said Mr. Murdstone, and trusted implicitly in him. Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, most unfortunate baby, returned my aunt, shaking her head at him. That's what she was. And now, what have you got to say next? Merely this, Miss Trotwood. He returned. I am here to take David back, to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as I think proper and to deal with him as I think right. I am not here to make any promise or give any pledge to anybody. You may possibly have some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away and in his complaints to you. You, Your manner, which I must say, does not seem intended to propitiate, meaning she doesn't seem inclined to try to ingratiate herself with them, induces me to think it possible. Now, I must caution you that if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all. If you step in between him and me now, you step in, Miss Trotwood, forever. I cannot trifle or be trifled with. I am here for the first and last time to take him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not, and you tell me he is not on any pretense, it is indifferent to me what? My doors are shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are open to him to this address. My aunt had listened with the closest attention, sitting perfectly upright with her hands folded on one knee and looking grimly on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned her eyes so as to command Miss Murdstone without otherwise disturbing her attitude, and said, well, ma', am, have you got anything to remark? Indeed, Miss Trotwood, said Miss Murdstone. All that I could say has been so well said by my brother and all that I know to be the fact has been so plainly stated by him that I have nothing to add except my thanks for your politeness. For your very great politeness, I am sure, said Miss Murdstone with an irony which no more affected my aunt than it discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham. 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 said that neither Mr. Nor Ms. Murdstone had ever liked me or had ever been kind to me. That they had made my mama, who always loved me, dearly unhappy about me, and that I knew it well and that Peggotty knew it. I said that I had been more miserable than I thought anybody could believe, who only knew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my aunt, I forget in what terms now, but I remember that they affected me very much then 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 triumphantly, give me your hand, for your common sense is invaluable. Having shaken it. With great cordiality, she pulled me towards her and said to Mr. Can go when you like. I'll take my chance with the boy. If he's all you say he is, at least I can do as much for him then as you have done. But I don't believe a word of it. Ms. Trotwood, rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders as he rose. If you were a gentleman. Bah, stuff and nonsense, Said my aunt. Don't talk to me. How exquisitely polite. Exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising overpowering. Really? Do you think? I don't know, said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to the sister and continuing to address the brother and to shake her head at him with infinite expression. What kind of life you must have led that poor, unhappy, misdirected baby. Do you think I don't know What a woeful day it was for the soft little creature when you first came in her way, smirking and making great eyes at her. I'll be bound as if you couldn't say bo to a goose. I never heard anything so elegant, said Miss Murdstone. Do you think I can't understand you as well as I had seen you? Pursued my aunt. Now that I do see and hear you, which I tell you candidly, is anything but a pleasure to me. Oh, yes, bless us. Who? So smooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first, the poor benighted innocent had never seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped her. He doted on her, boy. Tenderly doted on him. He was to be another father to him. And they were all to live together in a garden of roses, weren't they? Ugh. Get along with you do, said my aunt. I have never heard anything like this person in my life. Exclaimed Miss Murdstone. And when you had made sure of the poor little fool, said my aunt, God forgive me that I should call her so she had gone where you won't go in a hurry, because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers. You must begin to train her. Must you begin to break her like a poor caged bird and wear her deluded life away in teaching her to sing your notes? This is either insanity or intoxication, said Miss Murdstone, in a perfect agony at not being able to turn the current of my aunt's address toward herself. And my suspicion is that it's intoxication. Miss Betsy, without taking the least notice of the interruption, continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if there had been no such thing. Mr. Murdstone, she said, shaking her finger at him, you were a tyrant to the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a loving baby, I know that. I knew it years before you ever saw her, and through the best part of her weakness you gave her the wound she died of. There is the truth for your comfort, however you like it, and you and your instruments may make the most of it. Allow me to inquire. Miss Trotwood interposed Miss Murdstone, whom you are pleased to call in a choice of words in which I am not experienced. My brother's instruments. It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before you ever saw her, and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you ever did see her is more than humanity can comprehend. It was clear enough that the poor, soft little thing would marry somebody at some time or other. But I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out. That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy. Here, said my aunt to the poor child you sometimes tormented her through afterwards, which is a disagreeable remembrance, and makes the sight of him odious. Now. Ay, ay, you needn't wince, said my aunt, I know it's true without that he had stood by the door all this while observant of her, with a smile upon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily contracted. I remarked now that though the smile was on his face, still his colour had gone in a moment, and he seemed to breathe as if he had been running. Good day, sir, said my aunt, and good bye. Good day to you too, ma', am, said my aunt, turning suddenly upon his sister. Let me see you ride a donkey over my green again. And as sure as you have a head upon your shoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off and tread upon. Would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict my aunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment, and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the manner of the speech, no less than the matter, was so fiery that Miss Murdstone, without a word in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's and walked haughtily out of the cottage, my aunt remaining in the window, looking after them, prepared, I have no doubt, in case of the donkey's reappearance, to carry her threat into instant execution. No attempt at defiance being made. However, her face gradually relaxed and became so pleasant that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her, which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped round her neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a great many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings with repeated bursts of laughter. You'll consider yourself guardian jointly with me of this child, Mr. Dick, said my aunt. I shall be delighted, said Mr. Dick, to be the guardian of David's son. Very good, returned my aunt. That's settled. I have been thinking, do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood? Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood. Certainly, said Mr. Dick. David's son. Trotwood. Trotwood Copperfield, you mean, returned my aunt. Yes, to be sure, yes. Trotwood Copperfield, said Mr. Dick, a little abashed. My aunt took so kindly to the notion that some ready made clothes which were purchased for me that afternoon were marked Trotwood Copperfield in her own handwriting and in indelible marking ink before I put them on. And it was settled that all the other clothes which were ordered to be made for me a complete outfit was bespoke. That afternoon should be marked in the same way. Thus I began my new life in a new name and with everything new about me. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt for many days like one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple of guardians in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about myself distinctly. The two things clearest in my mind were that a remoteness had come upon the old blunderstone life which seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable distance, and that a curtain had forever fallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby's. No one has ever raised that curtain since I have lifted it for a moment, even in this narrative, with a reluctant hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that life is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much mental suffering and want of hope, that I have never had the courage even to examine how long I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted for a year or more or less, I do not know. I only know that it was and ceased to be and that I have written. And there I leave it. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faith k.moore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the show notes. You can learn more about me, check out our merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favorite this is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded, and marketed by me, so I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. 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