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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. Welcome back. You know, it's funny, I think I've said this before and it's strange how this happens, but sometimes the things that are happening in the book somehow mirror things that are happening in real life. I remember when we read Jane Eyre, our very first book. The seasons in the book were mirroring the seasons in real life. And it was really cool and it was completely an accident. And now, at least where I am, there's kind of like an inkling of spring in the air. It's still cold, but the snow is starting to melt. It's warmer than it was. You know, remember it was as cold as Antarctica. I told you a while ago. And now it's not anymore. It's kind of like in the 40s and things like that. And I'm looking at the weather and it's. It seems like it's going to keep warming up and I just. Spring is coming. I can feel it and I'm really excited about it. This has been a long, long winter and I'm so ready for spring. And at the same time in the book, things are getting so much better for Devi. It's like winter is over and spring, spring is kind of unfurling in the story, metaphorically, and it's happening in real life too. And it's strange how often that happens with the books that we're reading here. I don't know why that is, but it's really cool. It's a really cool feature and I just wanted to share that with you. Also, something I wanted to share with you is how far into the book we are. People have started to ask, you know, they know it's going to be a really long book. It's going to take us through, through the summer. But how far are we? Which is a really great question, especially if you don't have a copy, you're not reading along, which I know many of you are just listening, and that's great. So I wanted to just share, to kind of give you a little bit of a signpost or a mile marker. So there are 64 chapters, I believe, in this book. And Today we're going to be reading chapter 16, which if my math is correct, which is always dubious. But I think that means we're pretty much exactly one quarter of the way through the book, which is really cool and fun. So we're a quarter of the way through and that means that as I've said before, we're going to be reading this book through pretty much mid August and mid August we'll probably be done. And then of course, we'll have a conclusion episode and everything. So just, you know, as a marker, that's where we are. And I'll try to keep giving you little signposts along the way so that you know how far we are. But you can also just sort of keep in mind that there are 64 chapters and also that will be done mid August. So I hope that answers the questions of those of you who have been wondering. Okay, so as I say, today is going to be chapter 16. Last time we read chapter 15, this is a very long chapter, so I'm going to try not to go on too much. Last time was a short chapter, so we don't have as much to talk about in the intro. So it works out well. So please just remember to subscribe, tap the five stars, leave a positive review. All of these things help people to find the show kind of by accident, like when they're scrolling through their podcast place players. If it has enough reviews and 5 star ratings and all of these things, then it will start to pop up in people's, you know, you should try this next feed or whatever that is. So if you could do that, that would be so helpful. And also, of course, just tell friends, tell your family, tell your co workers. I know so many of you are doing that and I love that. And I love that. Now I'm getting letters from people saying, you know, oh, I'm the co worker of this person who wrote to you before. I'm the husband of this one and it's great. So please do keep connecting people in all of those ways because it's wonderful to know you're all out there and connecting with each other. So tell a friend, leave a review, do all of those things. Scroll into the show notes and check out the links that are there. And thank you as always for all the ways that you support the show and thank you for listening. Okay, so let's get into this. Let's remind ourselves of what we read last time. Then I've got some questions and we'll talk for a bit and then we'll read this quite long chapter. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off. David is now living happily with his aunt and Mr. Dick, and he and Mr. Dick have become fast friends. But soon Ms. Betsy realizes that David should probably go to school. And David agrees because he's worried that he's going to lose all the knowledge that he had before. Mr. Dick is very sad to see him go, but Ms. Betsy says he can come home on weekends and that Mr. Dick can go and visit him. So Ms. Betsy and David set off for the town of Canterbury where they go to the house of a lawyer named Mr. Whitfield. He lives in this beautiful house and he has a servant or a clerk, we're not exactly sure at this point. Somebody called Uriah Heep, who is a strange young man who kind of gives David the creeps. Mr. Whitfield explains that there is a good school nearby, but they don't have room for David to board there. So they look around for a good place for him to live, but they can't find anything. So Mr. Whitfield suggests that David can live with him, which seems agreeable to everyone. So Miss Betsy, he says goodbye. She's clearly very sad to leave him. And David is left at Mr. Whitfield's house. Mr. Whitfield has a daughter named Agnes who is around David's age. And Mr. Whitfield is incredibly devoted to her. She is a kind of little housekeeper. She keeps the home running and she keeps her father entertained. So that is where we left David, starting a new chapter of his Life. Living with Mr. Whitfield, Agnes and Uriah Heap and getting ready to go to a new school. Okay, I'm gonna read three comments today. The first one comes from Carolyn McNulty. She says, I was struck by David's happiness at being sent away to school and his bravery in doing so. He's had such a rough time since his mother's death that I would have thought he'd want to cling to his new family. His happiness shows me that he wants very much to be an educated, independent adult. And that boarding school was the only choice for a middle class boy in his time and place. I'm wondering how much this episode in David's life mirrors author's experience. The second comes from Pam Shroud. She says, I had to grin when I heard the name Uriah Heap. I have not read David Copperfield before, but from somewhere in my lifetime of listening, reading and watching, I have heard that name maybe multiple times. And it sticks in my mind. So, okay, this is where it comes from. And the last one comes from John. He says, I'm intrigued by these new characters, Mr. Wickfield and his daughter Agnes. Mr. Wickfield seems kind, but is he also a drunk? And Agnes seems like a little fairy or an angel or something. Okay, so yes, things are looking up for Davey now, but perhaps not exactly the way we'd imagined. I think it's hard for us as modern readers to feel happy about him sort of immediately leaving his adopted family after all this work and hardship to get there and feeling happy about leaving. We want him to stay at home and get lots of hugs and kisses and play with toys and make little friends. Friends and be a kid and everything. That's what we'd hope if he was a modern little boy who'd had a terrible childhood and then been finally adopted, I think. But as Carolyn points out, that's not actually what Davey wants. And it wouldn't have been what was expected of a boy his age, of his social status. What would be expected of him would be to go to school. And school was often boarding school because, and I think we talked about this a bit when we read A Little Princess, but there wasn't a school within easy walking distance of everybody. The schools, or the good schools at least, were usually in larger towns or cities. So if you didn't happen to live in the town where the good school was, you would have to board at the school or find a place to board nearby. Ms. Betsy lives in Dover, but the nearest large town is Canterbury, and that's where the good schools are, apparently. So that's where Davey has to go if he wants a good education. And we know, because he's told us many times, that he's absolutely desperate to have a good education because he feels that this is the way to become the sort of man and have the sort of life that he wants. So instead of feeling what a modern kid might feel, which is like, wait, I just got here now you want to ship me off to somewhere else instead of that. He's elated at the idea of going to school again, even though it means leaving Ms. Betsy and Mr. Dick to do it. But I think Dickens does a great job of first showing us that the bond between Davey and Miss Betsy and between Davey and Mr. Dick really is there and really is strong. And that Davy isn't just being dumped off at Canterbury, never to be seen again by them. He's being sent away to school, as any respectable middle class boy would be. But he has a loving home to come back to which he'll do on weekends and school holidays. And he'll have visits from Mr. Dick each week and presumably from Ms. Betsy sometimes too. So if he had just grown up with a mother and a father in a middle class home, this would have been a very normal and very acceptable thing to have happen to him right now. So he's thrilled, right? He now has everything he's been wanting all this time. Parent figures who love him and the prospect of a good education. And he has a new name too, which I think is really sweet and lovely because it kind of sets in stone the fact that his old life of hardship and deprivation is over and a new life is beginning. A new life in which he belongs to the loving, if eccentric, Ms. Betsy Trotwood. And I think the fact that Ms. Betsy has decided to call Davey Trotwood instead of David or Davey is her way of saying that she approves of him and also that he is now family, that she's adopted him really and truly. Here's what we're told. It says she took so kindly to me that in the course of a few weeks she shortened my adopted name of Trotwood into Trot and even encouraged me to hope that that if I went on as I had begun, I might take equal rank in her affections with my sister Betsy Trotwood, which is very Miss Betsy, but also really wonderful for Davie, I think, because he really does now have an adopted mother. So to Carolyn's question about how much of this comes from Dickens's own experience, I wanted to just mention, since we talked several episodes ago about the ways in which Davy's hardships mirror Dickens's hardships growing up with his father going to debtors prison and Dickens having to work at a factory. And all of this, I wanted to sort of conclude that episode of Dickens's life for you by telling you that eventually Dickens's father received an inheritance of a small amount of money which allowed him to pay off his debts and come out of prison and which allowed Dickens to not have to work at the factory anymore. Interestingly, Dickens's mother wanted him to keep working, working at the factory, presumably to keep making money since the father was not really to be relied on in that department and since the inheritance wasn't enough to live on indefinitely, but she wanted him to keep working there. And it was Dickens's father who said that no, he should come home and go back to school. And Dickens seems not to have really ever forgiven his mother for wanting him to keep working at the place that he hated so much. But he did go to school. But it seems like Salem House. Right? The original school that Davey goes to in the book where Mr. Murdstone sends him and where Mr. Creakle was headmaster. It seems like the school that he went to after leaving the factory was actually modeled after that school. So it wasn't a great experience, but he did get the education that he wanted. But hopefully the school that Mr. Wickfield and Ms. Betsy have found for Davey and Canterbury is not a school like that. Hopefully that school is in the past. And he just sort of put it out of the timeline and put that school first instead of second. Right? We'll find out. But we assume that Miss Betsy wouldn't allow him to go to a school school like that and would pull him out if it turned out that he was unhappy or mistreated or something. And of course, Miss Betsy's way of going about finding Davy's school is so incredibly Ms. Betsy, she asks if he wants to go to school. He says yes. And she packs him off right then and there, but doesn't actually know where the school is or anything about it. But she knows who to consult. And she says, here's a quote. I have brought him here to put to a school where he may be thoroughly well taught and well treated. Now tell me where that school is and what it is and all about it, which is very funny and very Miss Betsy, both in the abruptness of it, but also in the fact that she's clearly not going to settle for anything but the best. And it's the same with the lodging. I don't know about you, but I really didn't like the idea of Davey living in some sort of rented lodgings. It felt too reminiscent of the Macawber situation. And I'm so glad that Mr. Wickfield agreed to take him in. So now Davey is living in Canterbury with Mr. Wickfield and his daughter Agnes and Mr. Wickfield's clerk, Uriah Heap. So I think we should just take a quick look at these new characters before we move on to the chapter. So apparently, Uriah Heep is the name of a rock band from the 70s. I'd never heard of them, but apparently it's true. And as Pam points out, the name is kind of everywhere. And I think there are other things named after Uriah Heap, which is interesting. And we'll have to see if anything about this character lends itself to his name being used all over the place. But so far, I don't know about you, but I get kind of an icky vibe from him. That scene where Davey is waiting for Mr. Wickfield and Ms. Betsy to come back from touring the school and the various lodgings and Uriah keeps staring at him from behind the papers. It's kind of weird. And Davey even says it made him uncomfortable. Here's that quote, and it says, it made me uncomfortable to observe that every now and then his sleepless eyes would come below the writing like two red suns and stealthily stare at me for, I dare say, a whole minute at a time during which his pen went or pretended to go as cleverly as ever. Okay? And then later, when Davey is sort of wandering around in a good mood because he's so happy at his good fortune he encounters Uriah again. And he says, feeling friendly towards everybody who went in and spoke to him and at parting gave him my hand. But, oh, what a clammy hand his was, as ghostly to the touch as to the sight. I rubbed mine afterwards to warm it and to rub his off which sort of implies that Uriah is, like, diseased in some way or he's a zombie or a corpse or something. And he does call him cadaverous a couple times in the chapter as well. And then finally, as he's going to bed, Davy says, here's a quote. Leaning out of the window and seeing one of the faces on the beam ends looking at me sideways. I fancied it was Uriah Heep got up there somehow and shut him out in a hurry. So there's a sort of supernatural weirdness to all of these descriptions of Uriah Heep, I think. And we don't really know what sort of a person he'll actually turn out to be. But Davey, at least for the moment, seems to feel a kind of strange dread of him. Like a kind of shiver up the spine or something. So we'll have to see if anything comes of that or not. And then, as John says in his letter, we also have Mr. Wickfield and his daughter Agnes as new characters this time. So generally, I think we like Mr. Wickfield. He seems to be a friendly, generous sort of person. It was kind of him to let Davie stay with him at least while there's no other suitable place to live. And he seems very sensible and hearty. It's such a lovely change from Mr. Murdstone. I mean, if this guy, Mr. Wickfield, is going to be another caregiver figure for Davey, which it seems like he is since Davey's now living in his house. So if he's going to be a kind of caregiver, I think it makes sense to compare him to the last male caregiver that Davey had, which was Mr. Murdstone. And so it's such a favorable comparison, isn't it? I mean, Mr. Wickfield seems like a jovial, kind, practical sort of person who isn't going to mistreat Davey or neglect him or anything like that. He's a father and he seems to really dote on his daughter. He says that she's the one object of his life. So he's a good and kind father to Agnes. And he's already incorporating Davey into the family circle by eating dinner with him and taking him into the drawing room in the evening. So he really seems like a very fatherly sort of person, which is a sort of person that Davey has never had in his life and has sorely needed. So that bodes well. The only slightly concerning thing about Mr. Wakefield is, as John points out, that he seems to drink too much. Right. When Davy is first describing him to us, he says that certain of his features seem to indicate that he drank a lot of port wine. And then later, when they're all in the drawing room, we're told that he drank a large quantity of wine and seemed to become sort of morose when he did it. Here's what we're told. He was, for the most part gay and cheerful with us. But sometimes his eyes rested on her, her being Agnes. And. And he fell into a brooding state and was silent. She always observed this quickly, I thought, and always roused him with a question or caress. Then he came out of his meditation and drank more wine. Okay, so he drinks too much and he seems to brood about something having to do with Agnes. But otherwise he seems like a good person for Davy to have in his life and a good person to be caring for Davey while he's away at school. And so that leaves Agnes. John says in his letter that she seems like a fairy or an angel, and I think that's actually really apt. Dickens clearly wants to evoke a kind of angelic quality about her because Davy equates her to the feeling he feels when he looks on a stained glass window. He says, I cannot call to mind where or when in my childhood I had seen a stained glass window in a church, nor do I recollect its subject. But I know that when I saw her turn round in the grave light of the old staircase and wait for us above, I thought of that window and I associated something of its tranquil brightness with Agnes Wickfield ever afterwards. Okay, so Dickens is very purposely referencing, if not angels, then religiosity and tranquility and brightness. But I think it actually is angels specifically that Dickens is referencing because I think he means for us to think here of the Victorian idea of the angel in the house. We've talked about this before, I think most notably during the Woman in White. But there was this idea in Victorian England that the perfect woman would be like an angel in the house, meaning she would be virtuous, submissive, domestic, self sacrificing, she'd be a caring mother, she'd be totally on top of all the household tasks and chores, she would be kind to the poor, etc. Etc. The phrase itself comes from a narrative poem which was published in 1854, which is actually after the publication of David Copperfield. But the idea was around, and this ideal of the perfect woman and its computer comparison to angels would have been very much known to Dickens at the time and based on characters in his other books. This angel in the house ideal was something that Dickens really approved of, I think. So I think we're getting a sense of that in connection to agnes in chapter 15. And we get it again in the description of Agnes as Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper, right? This sense that she's so domestic and has everything about the running of the house well in hand, even though she's actually still a child. We're told she's around Davies and age, right? And Davy tells us. Here's a quote. Although her face was quite bright and happy, there was a tranquility about it and about her. A quiet, good, calm spirit that I never have forgotten, that I shall never forget. This was his little housekeeper, his daughter Agnes. Okay, so these are the people that Davy now finds himself living with. And with the exception of Uriah Heap, who seems very weird, it seems like a very nice place. Place for Davey to be, I think. And in the morning he's gonna find out about his new school, which we're told is the best one in Canterbury. So that bodes well. So things really are looking up. And I think it's really lovely that Dickens reminds us by having Davey. Think of it how far Davey has really come. Here's what he says. But in the course of the evening, I had rambled down to the door and a little way along the street that I might have another peep at the old houses and the gray cathedral and might think of my coming through that old city on my journey and of my passing the very house I lived in without knowing it. Okay, so everything he yearned for has now come to pass. Or is about to come to pass. The little homeless boy who walked through the street of Canterbury hoping against hope that his aunt would take him in, is now a young scholar ready to resume his education with people around him who love him and are friends, friendly to him. It's a wonderful thing, and it's more wonderful because of the hardships he's gone through than it would be if he just took it for granted. So let's go now and see about this school. Let's see what this new life is actually going to be like. Let's keep reading. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faith k.moore.com. click on contact or scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. I would love to hear your thoughts. I love getting your letters. I never bothered by them at all. So please do write in. All right, let's get started with chapter 16 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 16. I am a new boy in more sense than one. Next morning after breakfast, I entered on school life again. I went, accompanied by Mr. Wickfield, to the scene of my future studies, a grave building in a courtyard with a learned air about it that seemed very well suited to the stray rooks and jackdaws who came down from the cathedral towers to walk with a clerkly bearing on the grass plot and was introduced to my new master, Dr. Strong. Dr. Strong looked almost as rusty to my thinking as the tall iron rails and gates outside the house, and almost as stiff and heavy as the great stone urns that flanked them and were set up on the top of the red brick wall at regular distances all round the court like sublimated skittles, for time to play at skittles are like bowling pins. He was in his Library, I mean, Dr. Strong was, with his clothes not particularly well brushed and his hair not particularly well combed, his knee smalls unbraced. Knee smalls are trousers that reach just to the the knee and are tied closed there. His long black gaiters unbuttoned and his shoes yawning like two caverns on the hearthrug, turning upon me a lustreless eye that reminded me of a long forgotten blind old horse who once used to crop the grass and tumble over the graves in Blunderstone churchyard. He said he was glad to see me, and then he gave me his hand, which I didn't know what to do with, as it did nothing for itself but sitting at work. Not far from Dr. Strong was a very pretty young lady whom he called Annie, and who was his daughter, I supposed, who got me out of my difficulties by kneeling down to put Dr. Strong's shoes on and button his gaiters, which she did with great cheerfulness and quickness. When she had finished and we were going out to the schoolroom, I was much surprised to hear Mr. Wickfield, in bidding her good morning, address her as Mrs. Strong, and I was wondering, could she be Dr. Strong's son's wife, or could she be Mrs. Dr. Strong, when Dr. Strong himself unconsciously enlightened me. By the by, Wickfield, he said, stopping in a passage with his hand on my shoulder, you have not found any suitable provision for my wife's cousin yet? No, said Mr. Wickfield. No, not yet. I could wish it done as soon as it can be done. Wakefield, said Dr. Strong, for Jack Malden is needy and idle, and of those too bad things, worse things sometimes come. What does Dr. Watts say? He added, looking at me and moving his head to the time of his quotation. Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. Egad, doctor, returned Mr. Wickfield. If Dr. Watts knew mankind, he might have written with as much truth. Satan finds some mischief still for busy ands to do the busy people achieve their full share of mischief in the world? You may rely upon it. What have the people been about who have been the busiest in getting money and in getting power this century or two? No mischief. Jack Malden will never be very busy in getting either, I expect, said Dr. Strong, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps not, said Mr. Wickfield, and you bring me back to the question with an apology for digressing. No, I have not been able to dispose of Mr. Jack Malden yet I believe he said this with some hesitation. I penetrate your motive, and it makes the thing more difficult. My motive, returned Dr. Strong, is to make some suitable provision for a cousin and an old playfellow of Annie's. Yes, I know, said Mr. Wickfield. At home or abroad? Ay, replied the doctor, apparently wondering why he emphasized those words so much. At home or abroad? Your own expression, you know, said Mr. Wickfield. Or abroad, surely, the doctor answered. Surely one or the other. One or the other. Have you no choice? Asked Mr. Wickfield. No, returned the doctor. No with astonishment. Not the least. No motive, said Mr. Wickfield, for meaning abroad and not at home? No, returned the doctor. I am Bound to believe you. And of course I do believe you, said Mr. Wickfield. It might have simplified my office very much if I had known it before. But I confess I entertained another impression. Dr. Strong regarded him with a puzzled and doubting look, which almost immediately subsided into a smile that gave me great encouragement, for it was full of amiability and sweetness, and there was a simplicity in it, and indeed in his whole manner, when the studious pondering frost upon it was got through. Very attractive and hopeful to a young scholar like me, repeating no and not the least and other short assurances to the same purport. Dr. Strong jogged on before us at a queer, uneven pace, and we followed Mr. Wickfield. Looking grave, I observed, and shaking his head to himself without knowing that I saw him. Okay, so what's being implied here is that Mr. Wickfield thought that Dr. Strong wanted to get rid of this cousin of his wife's, because the cousin seemed romantically interested in the wife. But now Dr. Strong is saying that that's not it at all. He just wanted to help the cousin to get a job, because he's kind of idle. The schoolroom was a pretty large hall on the quietest side of the house, confronted by the stately stare of some half dozen of the great urns and commanding a peep of an old secluded garden belonging to the doctor, where the peaches were ripening on the sunny south wall. There were two great aloes in tubs on the turf outside the windows. The broad hard leaves of which plant, looking as if they were made of painted tin, have ever since by association been symbolical to me of silence and retirement. About five and 20 boys were studiously engaged at their books when we went in. But they rose to give the doctor good morning and remained standing when they saw Mr. Wickfield and me. A new boy. Young gentleman, said the doctor. Trotwood Copperfield. One Adams, who was the head boy then, stepped out of his place and welcomed me. He looked like a young clergyman in his white cravat, but he was very affable and good humoured, and he showed me my place and presented me to the masters in a gentlemanly way that would have put me at my ease if anything could. It seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among such boys or among any companions of my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt as strange as ever I have done in my life. I was so conscious of having passed through scenes of which they could have no knowledge, and of having acquired experiences foreign to my age, appearance and condition as one of them. That I half believed it was an imposture to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy I had become in the Murdstone and Grinby time, however short or long it may have been. So unused to the sports and games of boys that I knew I was awkward and inexperienced in the commonest things belonging to them. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me in the sordid cares of my life from day to day. That now, when I was examined about what I knew I knew nothing, and was put into the lowest form of the school. But troubled as I was by my want of boyish skill and of book learning too, I was made infinitely more uncomfortable by the consideration that in what I did know I was much farther removed from my companions than in what I did not. My mind ran upon what they would think if they knew of my familiar acquaintance with the King's Bench Prison. Was there anything about me which would reveal my proceedings in connection with the Micawber family? All those pawnings and sellings and suppers in spite of myself. Suppose some of the boys had seen me coming through Canterbury wayworn and ragged, and should find me out. What would they say, who made so light of money. If they could know how I had scraped my halfpence together for the purchase of my daily saveloy and beer or my slices of pudding? How would it affect them, who were so innocent of London life and London streets, to discover how knowing I was and was ashamed to be in some of the meanest phases of both? All this ran in my head so much on that first day at Dr. Strong's. That I felt distrustful of my slightest look and gesture, shrunk within myself whensoever I was approached by one of my new schoolfellows. And hurried off the minute school was over, Afraid of committing myself in my response to any friendly notice or advance. But there was such an influence in Mr. Wickfield's old house. That when I knocked at it with my new school books under my arm, I began to feel my uneasiness softening away. As I went up to my airy old room. The grave shadow of the staircase seemed to fall upon my doubts and fears. And to make the past more indistinct, I sat there sturdily conning my books, Meaning diligently studying until dinner time. We were out of school for good at three and went down hopeful of becoming a passable sort of boy. Yet Agnes was in the drawing room waiting for her father, who was detained by someone in his office. She met me with her pleasant smile and asked me how I liked the school. I told her I should like it very much, I hoped, but I was a little strange to it at first. You have never been to school, I said. Have you? Oh, yes, every day. Ah, but you mean here at your own home? Papa couldn't spare me to go anywhere else, she answered, smiling and shaking her head. His housekeeper must be in his house, you know. He is very fond of you, I am sure, I said. She nodded yes, and went to the door to listen for his coming up, that she might meet him on the stairs. But as he was not there, she came back again. Mama has been dead ever since I was born, she said in her quiet way. I only know her picture downstairs. I saw you looking at it yesterday. Did you think whose it was? I told her yes, because it was so like herself. Papa says so too, said Agnes, pleased. Hark, that's Papa now. Her bright, calm face lighted up with pleasure as she went to meet him. And as they came in hand in hand, he greeted me cordially and told me I should certainly be happy under Dr. Strong, who was one of the gentlest of men. There may be some, perhaps I don't know that there are, who abuse his kindness, said Mr. Wickfield. Never be one of those Trotwood in anything. He is the least suspicious of mankind, and whether that's a merit or whether it's a blemish, it deserves consideration in all dealings with the doctor, great or small. He spoke, I thought, as if he were weary or dissatisfied with something. But I did not pursue the question in my mind, for dinner was just then announced, and we went down and took the same seats as before. We had scarcely done so when Uriah Heep put his red head and his lank hand at the door and said, here's Mr. Malden begs the favour of a word, sir. So Mr. Malden is the cousin of Dr. Strong's wife that they were talking about before? I am but this moment quit of Mr. Malden, said the master. Meaning he just left Mr. Malden? Yes, sir, returned Uriah. But Mr. Malden has come back, and he begs the favor of a word. As he held the door open with his hand, Uriah looked at me and looked at Agnes, and looked at the dishes, and looked at the plates, and looked at every object in the room, I thought, yet seemed to look at nothing. He made such an appearance all the while of keeping his red eyes dutifully on his master. I beg your pardon. It's only to stay on reflection, observed a voice behind Uriah, as Uriah's head was pushed away and the speakers substituted. Pray excuse me for this intrusion, that as it seems I have no choice in the matter, the sooner I go abroad the better. My cousin Annie did say when we talked of it, that she liked to have her friends within reach, rather than to have them banished. And the old doctor, Dr. Strong, was that? Mr. Wickfield interposed gravely. Dr. Strong, of course, returned the other. I call him the old doctor. It's all the same, you know. I don't know, returned Mr. Wickfield. Well, Dr. Strong, said the other Dr. Strong was of the same mind, I believed. But as it appears from the course you take with me, that he has changed his mind, why, there's no more to be said, except that the sooner I am off the better. Therefore I thought I'd come back and say that the sooner I am off the better. When a plunge is to be made into the water, it's of no use lingering on the bank. There shall be as little lingering as possible in your case, Mr. Maldin. You may depend upon it, said Mr. Wickfield. Thank', EE, said the other. Much obliged. I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, which is not a gracious thing to do. Otherwise I dare say my cousin Annie could easily arrange it in her own way. I suppose Annie would only have to say to the old doctor, meaning that Mrs. Strong would only have to say to her husband. Do I follow you? Said Mr. Wickfield. Quite so, returned the other. Would only have to say that she wanted such and such a thing to be so and so. And it would be so and so, as a matter of course. And why as a matter of course, Mr. Malden? Asked Mr. Wickfield, sedately eating his dinner. Why? Because Annie's a charming young girl, and the old doctor, Dr. Strong, I mean, is not quite a charming young boy, said Mr. Malden, laughing. No offence to anybody, Mr. Wickfield. I only mean that I suppose some compensation is fair and reasonable in that sort of marriage. Compensation to the lady, sir? Asked Mr. Wickfield gravely. To the lady, sir, Mr. Jack Malden answered, laughing, but appearing to remark that Mr. Wickfield went on with his dinner in the same sedate, immovable manner, and that there was no hope of making him relax a muscle of his and feet space, he added, however, I have said what I came to say, and with another apology for this intrusion I may take myself off. Of course I shall observe your Directions in considering the matter as one to be arranged between you and me solely, and not to be referred to up at the doctor's. Have you dined? Asked Mr. Wickfield with a motion of his hand towards the table. Thank ye. I am going to dine, said Mr. Malden, with my cousin Annie. Good bye. Mr. Wickfield, without rising, looked after him thoughtfully as he went out. He was rather a shallow sort of young gentleman, I thought, with a handsome face, a rapid utterance, and a confident, bold air. And this was the first I ever saw of Mr. Jack Malden, whom I had not expected to see so soon when I heard the doctor speak of him. That morning when we had dined, we went upstairs again, where everything went on exactly as on the previous day. Agnes set the glasses and decanters in the same corner and Mr. Wickfield sat down to drink and drank a good deal. Agnes played the piano to him, sat by him and worked and talked and played some games at dominoes with me. In good time she made tea, and afterwards, when I brought down my books, looked into them and showed me what she knew of them, which was no slight matter, though she said it was, and what was the best way to learn and understand them. I see her with her modest, orderly, placid manner, and I hear her beautiful, calm voice as I write these words. The influence for all good which she came to exercise over me at a later time, begins already to descend upon my breast. I love little Emily. And I don't love Agnes, no, not at all in that way. But I feel that there are goodness, peace and truth wherever Agnes is, and that the soft light of the coloured window in the church, seen long ago, falls on her always and on me when I am near her, and on everything around the time having come for her withdrawal for the night, and she having left us, I gave Mr. Wickfield my hand preparatory to going away myself. But he checked me and said, should you like to stay with us, Trotwood, or to go elsewhere? To stay, I answered quickly. You are sure? If you please, if I may. Why, it's but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I'm afraid, he said. Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir. Not dull at all than Agnes, he repeated, walking slowly to the great chimney piece and leaning against it. Than Agnes. He had drank wine that evening, or I fancied it until his eyes were bloodshot. Not that I could see them now, for they were cast down and shaded by his hand, but I had noticed them a little while before. Now I Wonder, he muttered, whether my Agnes tires of me, when should I ever tire of her? But that's differentthat's quite different. He was musing, not speaking to me, so I remained quiet. A dull old house, he said, and a monotonous life. But I must have her near me. I must keep her near me. If the thought that I may die and leave my darling, or that my darling may die and leave me comes like a spectre to distress my happiest hours, and is only to be drowned in. He did not supply the word. He was clearly going to say, it can only be drowned in drink. But he didn't finish the sentence, but pacing slowly to the place where he had sat, and mechanically going through the action of pouring wine from the empty decanter, set it down, and paced back again. If it is miserable to bear when she is here, he said, what would it be? And she away. No, no, no, I cannot try that. He leaned against the chimney piece, brooding so long that I could not decide whether to run the risk of disturbing him by going, or to remain quietly where I was until he should come out of his reveries. At length he aroused himself and looked about the room until his eyes encountered mine. Stay with us, Trotwood, eh? He said in his usual manner, and as if he were answering something I had just said. I am glad of it. You are company to us both. It is wholesome to have you here. Wholesome for me, wholesome for Agnes, wholesome perhaps for all of us. I am sure it is for me, sir, I said. I am so glad to be here. That's a fine fellow, said Mr. Wickfield. As long as you are glad to be here, you shall stay here. He shook hands with me upon it, and clapped me on the back and told me that when I had anything to do at night after Agnes had left us, or when I wished to read for my own pleasure, I was free to come down to his room, if he were there, and if I desired it for company's sake, and to sit with him, I thanked him for his consideration, and as he went down soon afterwards, and I was not tired, we went down too, with a book in my hand, to avail myself for half an hour of his permission. But seeing a light in the little round office, and immediately feeling myself attracted towards Uriah Heep, who had a sort of fascination for me, I went in there instead. I found Uriah reading a great fat book with such demonstrative attention that his lank forefinger followed up every line as he read and made clammy tracks along the page. Or so I fully believed, like a snail. You are working late tonight, Uriah, says I. Yes, Master Copperfield, says Uriah. As I was getting on the stool opposite to talk to him more conveniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as a smile about him, and that he could only widen his mouth and make two hard creases down his cheeks, one on each side to stand for one. I am not doing office work, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. What work, then? I asked. I'm improving my legal knowledge, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. I am going through Tid's practice. Okay, so this was a book by a lawyer named William Tidd. The book was formally titled Practice of the Court of King's Bench, and it was an instruction manual on how to be a lawyer. Oh, what a writer Mr. Tidd is, Master Copperfield. My stool was such a tower of observation that as I watched him reading on again after this rapturous exclamation and following up the lines with his forefinger, I observed that his nostrils, which were thin and pointed with sharp dints in them, had a singular and most uncomfortable way of expanding and contracting themselves, that they seemed to twinkle instead of his eyes, which hardly ever twinkled at all. I suppose you are quite a great lawyer, I said after looking at him for some time. Me, Master Copperfield? Said Uriah. Oh, no, I'm a very humble person. Meaning he's humble. He's a humble person, a low down sort of person. It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed, for he frequently ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry and warm, besides often wiping them in a stealthy way on his pocket handkerchief. I am well aware that I am the umblest person going, said Uriah Heep modestly. Let the other be where he may. My mother is likewise a very umble person. We live in a umble abode, Master Copperfield, but we have much to be thankful for. My father's former calling was umble. He was a sexton. So sexton is a kind of church custodian. What is he now? I asked. He is a partaker of glory at present, Mr. Copperfield, said Uriah Heep, meaning he's dead. But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield? I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long. I have been with him going on four year, Master Copperfield, said Uriah, shutting up his book after carefully marking the place where he had left off since a year after my father's death. How much have I to be thankful for in that? How much have I to be thankful for in Mr. Wickfield's kind intention to give me my articles, meaning he took him on as a clerk without requiring any money from his family which would otherwise not lay within the umble means of mother and self. Then when your articled time is over, you'll be a regular lawyer, I suppose, said I. With the blessing of Providence, Master Copperfield, returned Uriah. Perhaps you'll be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business one of these days, I said, to make myself agreeable. And it will be Wickfield and Heep, or heap late Wickfield. Oh no, Master Copperfield, returned Uriah, shaking his head. I am much too umble for that. He certainly did look uncommonly like the carved face on the beam outside my window as he sat in his humility, eyeing me sideways with his mouth widened and the creases in his cheeks. Mr. Wickfield is a most excellent man, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. If you have known him long, you know it, I am sure, much better than I can inform you. I replied that I was certain he was, but that I had not known him long myself, though he was a friend of my aunt's. Oh indeed, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. Your aunt is a very sweet lady, Master Copperfield. He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express enthusiasm, which was very ugly, and which diverted my attention from the compliment he had paid my relation to the snaky twistings of his throat and body. A sweet lady, Master Copperfield, said Uriah Heep. She has a great admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield. I believe. I said yes boldly. Not that I knew anything about it. Heaven forgive me. I hope you have too, Master Copperfield, said Uriah. But I am sure you must have. Everybody must have, I returned. Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield, said Uriah Heep, for that remark. It is so true. Humble as I am, I know it is so true. Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield. He writhed himself quite off his stool in the excitement of his feelings, and being off, began to make arrangements for going home. Mother will be expecting me, he said, referring to a pale, inexpressive faced watch in his pocket and getting uneasy. For though we are very umble, Master Copperfield, we are much attached to one another. If you would come and see us any afternoon and take a cup of tea at our lowly dwelling, mother would be as Proud of your company as I should be be, I said I should be glad to come. Thank you, Master Copperfield returned Uriah, putting his book away upon the shelf. I suppose you stop here some time, Master Copperfield, I said I was going to be brought up there, I believed, as long as I remained at school. Oh, indeed, Exclaimed Uriah. I should think you would come into the business at last, Master Copperfield, meaning maybe Mr. Wickfield would make him a partner in the law firm. I protested that I had no views of that sort and that no such scheme was entertained in my behalf by anybody. But Uriah insisted on blandly replying to all my assurances. Oh, yes, Master Copperfield, I should think you would indeed. And, oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, I should think you would. Certainly. Over and over again, being at last ready to leave the office for the night, he asked me if it would suit my convenience to have the light put out, and on my answering yes, instantly extinguished it. After shaking hands with mehis hand felt like a fish in the dark. He opened the door into the street a very little and crept out and shut it, leaving me to grope my way back into the house, which cost me some trouble and a fall over his stool. This was the proximate cause, I suppose, of my dreaming about him for what appeared to me to be half the night, and dreaming, among other things, that he had launched Mr. Peggotty's house on a piratical expedition with a black flag at the masthead bearing the inscription Tid's practice, under which diabolical ensign he was carrying me and little Emily to the Spanish Main to be drowned. I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school next day, and a good deal the better next day, and so shook it off by degrees that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home and happy among my new companions. I was awkward enough in their games and backward enough in their studies, but custom would improve me in the first respect, I hoped, and hard work in the second. Accordingly, I went to work very hard, both in play and in earnest, and gained great commendation and in a very little while the Murdstone and Grinby life became so strange to me that I hardly believed in it, while my present life grew so familiar that I seemed to have been leading it a long time. Dr. Strong's was an excellent school, as different from Mr. Creakle's as good is from evil. It was very gravely and decorously ordered and on a sound system with an appeal in everything to the honour and good faith of the boys, and an avowed intention to rely on their possession of those qualities unless they proved themselves unworthy of it, which worked wonders. We all felt that we had a part in the management of the place and in sustaining its character and dignity. Hence we soon became warmly attached to it. I am sure I did, for one and I never knew in all my time of any other boy being otherwise, and learnt with a good will, desiring to do it credit. We had noble games out of ours and plenty of liberty. But even then, as I remember, we were well spoken of in the town, and rarely did any disgrace by our appearance or manner to the reputation of Dr. Strong as. And Dr. Strong's boys. Some of the higher scholars boarded in the doctor's house, and through them I learned at second hand some particulars of the doctor's history, as how he had not yet been married 12 months to the beautiful young lady I had seen in the study, whom he married for love, for she had not a sixpence and had a world of poor relations. So our fellows said, ready to swarm the doctor out of house and home. Also how the doctor's cogitating manner was attributable to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek roots, which in my innocence and ignorance I suppose to be a botanical furor on the doctor's part, especially as he always looked at the ground when he walked about, until I understood that they were roots of words. With a view to a new dictionary which he had in contemplation. Adams, our head boy who had a turn for mathematics, had made a calculation. I was informed of the time time this dictionary would take in completing on the doctor's plan, and at the doctor's rate of going, he considered that it might be done in 1649 years, counting from the doctor's last or 62nd birthday. But the doctor himself was the idol of the whole school, and it must have been a badly composed school if he had been anything else. For he was the kindest of men with a simple faith in him that might have touched the stone hearts of the very urns upon the wall as he walked up and down that part of the courtyard which was at the side of the house, with the stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their heads cocked slyly, as if they knew how much more knowing they were in worldly affairs than heif any sort of vagabond could only get near enough to his creaking shoes to attract his attention to one sentence of a tale of distress. That vagabond was made for the next two days, meaning he gives money away very generously. It was so notorious in the house that the masters and head boys took pains to cut these marauders off at angles and to get out of windows and turn them out of the courtyard before they could make the doctor aware of their presence, which was sometimes happily effected within a few yards of him, without his knowing anything of the matter, as he jogged to and fro outside his own domain and unprotected. He was a very sheep for the shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his legs to give away. In fact, there was a story current among us I have no idea and never had on what authority, but I have believed it for so many years that I feel quite certain. It is true that on a frosty day one winter time, he actually did bestow his gaiters on a beggar woman. Who occasioned some scandal in the neighborhood by exhibiting a fine infant from door to door, wrapped in those garments which were universally recognized, being as well known in the vicinity as the cathedral. The legend added that the only person who did not identify them was the doctor himself, who, when they were shortly afterwards displayed at the door of a little second hand shop of no very good repute, where such things were taken in exchange for gin, was more than once observed to handle them approvingly, as if admiring some curious novelty in the pattern. And considering them an important improvement on his own. It was very pleasant to see the doctor with his pretty young wife. He had a fatherly, benignant way of showing his fondness for her, which seemed in itself to express a good man. I often saw them walking in the garden where the peaches were. And I sometimes had a nearer observation of them in the study or the parlor. She appeared to me to take great care of the doctor and to like him very much, though I never thought her vitally interested in the dictionary. Some cumbrous fragments of which work the doctor always carried in his pockets and in the lining of his hat, and generally seemed to be expounding to her as they walked about. I saw a good deal of Mrs. Strong, both because she had taken a liking for me on the morning of my introduction to the doctor. And was always afterwards kind to me and interested in me. And because she was very fond of Agnes and was often backwards and forwards at our house. There was a curious constraint between her and Mr. Wickfield, I thought, of whom she seemed to be afraid. That never wore off when she came there of an evening she always shrunk from accepting his escort home and ran away with me instead. And sometimes, as we were running gaily across the cathedral yard together, expecting to meet nobody, we would meet Mr. Jack Malden, who was always surprised to see us. Mrs. Strong's mamma was a lady I took great delight in. Her name was Mrs. Markleham, but our boys used to call her the old soldier on account of her generalship and the skill with which she marshalled great forces of relations against the doctor. She was a little sharp eyed woman who used to wear, when she was dressed, one changeable cap ornamented with some artificial flowers and two artificial butterflies supposed to be hovering above the flowers. There was a superstition among us that this cap had come from France and could only originate in the workmanship of that ingenious nation. But all I certainly know about it is that it always made its appearance of an evening wheresoever Mrs. Markleham made her appearance. That it was carried about to friendly meetings in a Hindu basket. That the butterflies had the gift of trembling constantly, and that they improved the shining hours at Dr. Strong's expense like busy bees. I observed the old soldier not to adopt the name disrespectfully to pretty good advantage on a night which is made memorable to me by something else I shall relate. It was the night of a little party at the doctor's, which was given on the occasion of Mr. Jack Malden's departure for India, whither he was going as a cadet, or something of that kind. Mr. Wickfield having at length arranged the business. It happened to be the doctor's birthday too. We had had a holiday, had made presents to him in the morning, had made a speech to him through the head boy and had cheered him until we were hoarse and until he had shed tears. And now in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes and I went to have tea with him in his private capacity. Mr. Jack Malden was there before us. Mrs. Strong, dressed in white with cherry colored ribbons, was playing the piano when we went in, and he was leaning over her to turn the leaves. The clear red and white of her complexion was not so blooming and flower like as usual, I thought when she turned round. But she looked very pretty, or wonderfully pretty. I have forgotten, Dr. Strong, said Mrs. Strong's mamma, when we were seated to pay you the compliments of the day. Though they are, as you may suppose, very far from being mere compliments in my case. Allow me to wish you many happy returns. I thank you, ma'. Am. Replied the doctor. Many, many, many happy returns, said the old soldier. Not only for your own sake, but for Annie's and John Malden's, and many other people's, it seems. But yesterday to me, John, when you were a little creature, a head shorter than Master Copperfield, making baby love to Annie behind the gooseberry bushes in the back garden. My dear mamma, said Mrs. Strong. Never mind that now, Annie, don't be absurd, Returned her mother. If you are to blush to hear of such things now you are an old married woman, when are you not to blush to hear of them? Old? Exclaimed Mr. Jack Malden. Annie, come. Yes, John, returned the soldier, virtually an old married woman, although not old by years. For when did you ever hear me say, or who has ever heard me say, that a girl of 20 was old by years? Your cousin is the wife of the doctor, and as such what I have described her. It is well for you, John, that your cousin is the wife of the doctor. You have found in him an influential and kind friend who will be kinder. Yet I venture to predict if you deserve it. I have no false pride. I never hesitate to admit frankly that there are some members of our family who want a friend. You were one yourself before your cousin's influence raised up one for you. The doctor, in the goodness of his heart, waved his hand as if to make light of it and save Mr. Jack Malden from any further reminder. But Mrs. Markleham changed her chair for one next the doctor's, and putting her fan on his coat sleeve, said no. Really, my dear doctor, you must excuse me if I appear to dwell on this rather because I feel so very strongly. I call it my monomania. It is such a subject of mine. You are a blessing to us. You really are. A boon, you know. Nonsense, nonsense, said the doctor. No, no, I beg your pardon, retorted the old soldier, with nobody present but our dear and confidential friend Mr. Wickfield. I cannot consent to be put down. I shall begin to assert the privileges of a mother in law if you go on like that. And scold you. I am perfectly honest and outspoken. Well, what I am saying is what I said when you first overpowered me with surprise. You remember how surprised I was by proposing for Annie? Not that there was anything so very much out of the way in the mere fact of the proposal. It would be ridiculous to say that. But because you having known her poor father, and having known her from a baby six months old, I hadn't thought of you in such a light at all, or indeed as a marrying man. In any way? Simply that you know. Ay, ay, returned the doctor good humouredly. Never mind. But I do mind, said the old soldier, laying her fan upon his lips. I mind very much. I recall these things that I may be contradicted if I am wrong. Well then I spoke to Annie and I told her what had happened. I said, my dear, here's Dr. Strong has positively been and made you the subject of a handsome declaration and an offer. Did I press it in the least? No, I said. Now, Annie, tell me the truth this moment. Is your heart free? Mama, she said, crying, I am extremely young, which was perfectly true, and I hardly know if I have a heart at all. Then, my dear, I said, you may rely upon it. It's free. At all events, my love, said I, Dr. Strong is in an agitated state of mind and must be answered. He cannot be kept in his present state of suspense. Mama, said Annie, still crying, would he be unhappy without me if he would? I honor and respect him so much that I think I will have him. So it was settled. And then, and not till then, I said to Annie, Annie, Dr. Strong will not only be your husband, but he will represent your late father. He will represent the head of our family. He will represent the wisdom and station, and I may say, the means of our family, and will be, in short, a boon to it. I used the word at the time and I have used it again today. If I have any merit, it is consistency. The daughter had sat quite silent and still during this speech, with her eyes fixed on the ground, her cousin standing near her and looking on the ground too. She now said very softly, in a trembling voice, mom, have you finished? No, my dear Annie, returned the old soldier, I have not quite finished. Since you ask me, my love, I reply that I have not. I complain that you really are a little unnatural toward your own family. And as it is of no use complaining to you, I mean to complain to your husband. Now, my dear doctor, do look at that silly wife of yours. As the doctor turned his kind face with its smile of simplicity and gentleness towards her, she drooped her head more. I noticed that Mr. Wickfield looked at her steadily. When I happened to say to that naughty thing the other day, pursued her mother, shaking her head and her fan at her playfully, that there was a family circumstance she might mention to you, indeed I think was bound to mention. She said that to mention it was to ask a friend favor, and that as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was always to have, she wouldn't. Annie My dear, said the doctor. That was wrong. It robbed me of a pleasure almost the very words I said to her. Exclaimed her mother. Now, really. Another time when I know what she would tell you. But for this reason, and won't I have a great mind, my dear doctor, to tell you myself, I shall be glad if you will returned the doctor. Shall I? Certainly. Well, then I will, said the old soldier. That's a bargain. And having, I suppose, carried her point, she tapped the doctor's hand several times with her fan, which she kissed first, and returned triumphantly to her former station. Okay, so Mrs. Strong's mother is always trying to get Dr. Strong to help the members of her family financially. And Dr. Strong is always happy to to oblige because he is generous to a fault. Some more company coming in, among whom were the two masters and Adams. The talk became general, and it naturally turned on Mr. Jack Malden and his voyage and the country he was going to, and his various plans and prospects. He was to leave that night after supper in a post chaise for Gravesend, where the ship in which he was to make the voyage lay and was to be gone unless he came home on leave or for his health. I don't know how many years I recollect it was settled by general consent that India was quite a misrepresented country and had nothing objectionable in it but a tiger or two and a little heat in the warm part of the day. For my own part, I looked on Mr. Jack Malden as a modern Sinbad, and pictured him the bosom friend of all the rajahs in the east, sitting under canopies, smoking curly golden pipes a mile long, if they could be straightened out. Mrs. Strong was a very pretty singer, as I knew, who often heard her singing by herself. But whether she was afraid of singing before people or was out of voice that evening, it was certain that she couldn't sing at all. She tried a duet once with her cousin Malden, but could not so much as begin. And afterwards, when she tried to sing by herself, although she began sweetly, her voice died away on a sudden and left her quite distressed, with her head hanging down over the keys. The good doctor said she was nervous, and to relieve her proposed a round game at cards, of which he knew as much as of the art of playing the trombone. But I remarked that the old soldier took him into custody directly for her partner and instructed him, as the first preliminary of initiation, to give her all the silver he had in his pocket. We had a merry game, not made the less merry by the doctor's mistakes, of which he committed an innumerable quantity, in spite of the watchfulness of the butterflies, and to their great aggravation, Mrs. Strong had declined to play on the ground of not feeling very well, and her cousin Malden had excused himself because he had some packing to do. When he had done it, however, he returned, and they sat together talking on the sofa. From time to time she came and looked over the doctor's hand and told him what to play. She was very pale as she bent over him, and I thought her finger trembled as she pointed out the cards. But the doctor was quite happy in her attention and took no notice of this. If it were so, at supper we were hardly so gay. Everyone appeared to feel that a parting of that sort was an awkward thing, and that the nearer it approached, the more awkward it was. Mr. Jack Malden tried to be very talkative, but was not at his ease and made matters worse. And they were not improved, as it appeared to me, by the old soldier who continually recalled passages of Mr. Jack Malden's youth. The doctor, however, who felt, I am sure, that he was making everybody happy, was well pleased, and had no suspicion but that we were all at the utmost height of enjoyment. Annie, my dear, said he, looking at his watch and filling his glass, it is past your cousin Jack's time, and we must not detain him, since time and tide both concerned in this case, wait for no man. Mr. Jack Malden, you have a long voyage and a strange country before you, but many men have had both, and many men will have both to the end of time. The winds you are going to tempt have wafted thousands upon thousands to fortune and brought thousands upon thousands happily back. It's an affecting thing, said Mrs. Markleham. However it's viewed, it's affecting to see a fine young man one has known from an infant going away to the other end of the world, leaving all he knows behind and not knowing what's before him. A young man really well deserves constant support and patronage, looking at the doctor who makes such sacrifices. Time will go fast with you, Mr. Jack Malden, pursued the doctor, and fast with all of us. Some of us can hardly expect, perhaps in the natural course of things, that to greet you on your return, the next best thing is to hope to do it, and that's my case. I shall not weary you with good advice. You have long had a good model before you in your cousin Annie. Imitate her virtues as nearly as you can. Mrs. Markleham fanned herself and shook her head Farewell, Mr. Jack, said the doctor, standing up, on which we all stood up. A prosperous voyage out, a thriving career abroad and a happy return home. We all drank the toast and all shook hands with Mr. Jack Malden, after which he hastily took leave of the ladies who were there and hurried to the door, where he was received as he got into the chaise with a tremendous broadside of cheers, discharged by our boys who had assembled on the lawn for the purpose, running in among them to swell the ranks. I was very near the chaise when it rolled away, and I had a lively impression made upon me in the midst of the noise and dust, of having seen Mr. Jack Malden rattle past with an agitated face and something cherry coloured in his hand. After another broadside for the doctor and another for the doctor's wife, the boys dispersed and I went back into the house, where I found the guests all standing in a group about the doctor, discussing how Mr. Jack Malden had gone away and how he had borne it, and how he had felt it and all the rest of it. In the midst of these remarks, Mrs. Markleham cried, Where's Annie? No, Annie was there, and when they called to her, no, Annie replied. But all pressing out of the room in a crowd to see what was the matter, we found her lying on the hall floor. There was great alarm at first, until it was found that she was in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding to the usual means of recovery. When the doctor was who had lifted her head upon his knee, put her curls aside with his hand and said, looking round, poor Annie, she's so faithful and tender hearted. It's the parting from her old playfellow and friend, her favorite cousin, that has done this. Ah, it's a pity. I am very sorry. When she opened her eyes and saw where she was, and that we were all standing about her, she arose with assistance, turning her head as she did so, to lay it on the doctor's shoulder, or to hide it, I don't know which. We went into the drawing room to leave her with the doctor and her mother. But she said it seemed that she was better than she had been since morning, and that she would rather be brought among us. So they brought her in, looking very white and weak, I thought, and sat her on the sofa. Annie, my dear, said her mother, doing something to her dress, See here you have lost a bow. Will anybody be so good as to find a ribbon? A cherry coloured ribbon. It was the one she had worn at her bosom. We all looked for it. I myself Looked everywhere, I am certain, but nobody could find it. Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie? Said her mother. I wondered how I could have thought she looked white or anything but burning red. When she answered that she had had it safe a little while ago, she thought, but it was not worth looking for. Nevertheless, it was looked for again and still not found. She entreated that there might be no more searching, but it was still sought for in a desultory way. Until she was quite well and the company took their departure. We walked very slowly home, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes and I. Agnes and I admiring the moonlight and Mr. Wickfield scarcely raising his eyes from the ground. When we at last reached our own door, Agnes discovered that she had left her little reticule behind. Delighted to be of any service to her, I ran back to fetch it. I went into the supper room where it had been left, which was deserted and dark, but a door of communication between that and the doctor's study, where there was a light being open. I passed on there to say what I wanted and to get a candle. The doctor was sitting in his easy chair by the fireside, and his young wife was on a stool at his feet. The doctor, with a complacent smile, was reading aloud some manuscript, explanation or statement of a theory out of that interminable dictionary. And she was looking up at him, but with such a face as I never saw. It was so beautiful in its form. It was so ashy pale. It was so fixed in its abstraction. It was so full of a wild, sleep walking, dreamy horror of I don't know what. The eyes were wide open, and her brown hair fell in two rich clusters on her shoulders and on her white dress, disordered by the want of the lost ribbon. Distinctly as I recollect her look, I cannot say of what it was expressive. I cannot even say of what it is expressive to me now, rising again before my older judgment. Penitence, humiliation, shame, pride, love and trustfulness. I see them all, and in them all I see that horror of I don't know what. My entrance and my saying what I wanted roused her. It disturbed the doctor too. For when I went back to replace the candle I had taken from the table, he was patting her head in his fatherly way and saying he was a merciless drone to let her tempt him into reading on and he would have her go to bed. But she asked him in a rapid, urgent manner to let her stay, to let her feel assured. I heard her murmur some broken words to this effect that she was in his confidence that night, and as she turned again towards him after glancing at me as I left the room and went out the door, I saw her cross her hands upon his knee and look up at him with the same face. Something quieted as he resumed his reading. It made a great impression on me, and I remembered it a long time afterwards, as I shall have occasion to narrate when the time comes. 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, faithkmoore.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 favor. 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. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the Show Notes to make a donation. I would really, really appreciate it. Alright everyone, story time is over to be continue. Sa.