A (0:00)

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. Thanks for being here. I'm always so happy to be here with you. You know, I've recently taken up embroidery and I'm not very good at it at all. But I'm trying this one that's like a burger bird on a branch and the branch is covered with beautiful, or at least they are supposed to be beautiful. Probably they won't be beautiful when I'm done with them, but beautiful blossoms, pink cherry blossoms. And the other day I saw the first robin redbreast, which is the first sign of spring, I'm told. So spring is in the air, or at least in my imagination because it's actually quite cloudy and rainy out there still and quite cold. But I, I'm really, really ready. I keep saying this. I'm very ready for spring. And I'm. I keep looking at my weather app and it promises that some warmer weather is coming. And then it keeps kind of changing its mind. So we'll see. I'm sure eventually it will be spring. But I hope that you are warm and cozy wherever you are. Either because you have your lovely cup of tea, tea and you're under your blanket, or because it's actually warm where you are, or maybe just because you're imagining your lovely cup of tea in your mind, whatever it is, whatever you're doing. I'm so glad that you're here. Thank you for joining me for story time. We're going to be reading chapter 18 today. Last time we read chapter 17. Chapter 18 is a bit shorter, so we've got a short one this time. But we have quite a bit to talk about first. I got some great comments and questions, some lovely letters. I'm always so happy to see your letters in my inbox. I love them. So I'm going to read you some and we're going to talk. But first, just the usual reminders. Please make sure that you're subscribed to the show. Please tap the five stars. If you haven't done that already and you're enjoying listening. Please leave a positive review if you can. If you're enjoying the show, just Type a review into your podcast player. All of those things help people to find the show. I don't understand how it works, but I don't need to. That's above my pay grade, but it does. And so if you could do that, that would be a wonderful way that you could help out to spread the word. And also, of course, tell people. That's the best way to spread the word about show. Tell your friends, your family, your co workers, people in the line waiting to pick up your kid from school, whatever it is, tell people about the show and send them a link to the show. You can text it, you can email it, you can attach it to the foot of a carrier pigeon. Whatever it is, just send out those links. Tell people about the show. Because the more the merrier, really. I believe that the more people who sit around listening to these great books and talking about these great books, the better the world will be. Because who doesn't want to live in a world where we're all talking about these wonderful stories together? So please do spread the word about this show. And if you're looking for other ways to support the show, you can scroll into the show notes. We have a merch store so you can pick up some story Time for Grown Ups Merch. That's a way you can support the show, both because it supports the show financially, but also you can wear your story Time for grownups stuff or carry your mug around or whatever it is, and maybe someone will ask you what it is and you can tell them about it. You can also join our online community, which is called the Drawing Room. There's also a link to our tip jar, which is a page called Buy me a coffee, but of course, you would be buying me a tea. And all of that is in the show notes, which is the description of this episode. So scroll on in there and check out those links. And of course, you can also find the link to contact me there, which I would love it if you would do. I love to hear from you. Okay, but let's get into this episode now. First, let's just remind ourselves what happened in chapter 17, and then we'll talk about it. Here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, David tells us that he has been writing to Peggy all this time, who was very affected by the fact that he ran away and by the fact that it turns out that Ms. Trotwood is actually nice. She tells David that if he's ever going to run away again, he should run away to her. Mr. Dick comes every other week to visit David at school and he becomes a great favorite with everyone there, especially Dr. Strong who likes to read Mr. Dick his dictionary. Mr. Dick tells David that a man has been coming at night to ask Ms. Trotwood for money. But David isn't sure if this is true or if it's something that Mr. Dick made up. Uriah Heap reminds David that he said he would come to his house for tea and so he goes there and he meets Mrs. Heap, Uriah's mother. She also is always going on about how humble they are, but they both question him so much and so expertly that he ends up telling them his whole story. While he's sitting there, Mr. Micawber happens by and he comes in and is introduced to the Heaps. It turns out he's back from Plymouth and staying at Hotel with Mrs. Micawber. David goes there to see her and learns that they were not welcomed by her family at Plymouth. So they went back to London. But now they are here to see whether Mr. Micawber can get into the coal trade. But it seems that he can't. So they're waiting for some money to be sent to them from London so that they can pay for the hotel and go home. David sees Mr. Micawber hanging out with Uriah Heep and he's kind of weirded out by this. David goes over to the hotel for dinner with the Micawbers and they have a wonderful time. But after he leaves he gets a note from Mr. Macawer saying that the money from London isn't coming. They paid the hotel with a loan, they're going back to London. But now all is lost and this is the last letter that he's ever gonna send to David. David is very upset, but as he's rushing out to find them he sees the Macabre's on a carriage looking very happy and at ease. So he lets them go without saying anything to them and and he actually feels pretty glad that they're gone. Okay, I'm going to read 4 comments today. The first one comes from Bonnie Barnes. Bonnie says, I just love the character of Mr. Dick and the way his presence in the novel seems to alert us to those who are truly good and pure of heart. I instantly love all who love him and feel that if they accept with kindness and befriend Mr. Dick for who he is, I, I can trust them and feel they are wholesome characters. As Mr. Dick and the doctor are described strolling through the school grounds together, Mr. Dick taking off his hat out of respect and awe of the Doctor's great wisdom, and the Doctor enjoying the company of a friend who enjoys hearing about the dictionary which she is so passionately working on. I can't help but smile and feel that both these characters have found a perfect friend in each other, which makes me very happy. The next one comes from Deli. She says, Uriah Heap is quite the character. It seems that David, of all people and us as his readers, should know that the world has room for a great many good eccentric people. Aunt Betsy and Mr. Dick are both such odd but benign characters and not just harmless, but actually a force for good. So we have every reason to be open minded about Uriah, but he just feels unsavory. He and his mother could have been making polite conversation or even nos an innocent, curious way, but I get the feeling they're trying to gather intel to blackmail David or something. The third one comes from our online community, which is called the Drawing Room, and this person goes by the handle IL V. He says, the Heaps, they couldn't wait to get young Master Copperfield in their lair and worm tidbits of information out of him. My mouth turned sour when Micawber, not known for keeping his own counsel, was seen arm in arm with Uriah Heap. If Davy's somewhat checkered past is used against him by the Umble Heaps. Ugh. And this last one comes from John. He says, what on earth is going on with the man who is visiting Miss Betsy at night? Are we supposed to think this really happened? Or is this evidence that Mr. Dick is even crazier than we thought? Also, I liked Mr. Macawer a lot less this time around. When he was Davey's landlord, he seemed like a sort of harmless eccentric, but this time around, he made me cringe. Okay, so I think if I were to try to say what the theme of this chapter is, for some reason I would say that it is the juxtaposition of Davies old life with his new one. So if anyone out there listening is also studying David Copperfield in school or something, there is an essay topic for you. You're welcome. And I'll even go so far as to lay out the points of this essay, because I think this actually is what's going on in this chapter. And it's also what's going on for Davey at this point in the story. I think two chapters ago. So in chapter 16, we were talking about how Davey was struggling at first to integrate himself into the school community because he was so aware of the fact that he'd lived this very different life than the other boys. This life which actually seemed sort of shameful to him because it was a lower class life in which he associated with lower class people and was homeless and worked in a factory and everything. So it took him a while to feel that These boys at Dr. Strong's academy were going to accept him as one of them. Not because of anything that they were doing that made him feel ostracized, but because he worried that they would somehow find out about his old life and then treat him differently because of it. But over time, he was able to fit in and to realize that there wasn't any sort of like taint on him or anything. No one could see the fact of his homelessness or his factory work or anything on him. And he relaxed and now he's fully ensconced in this new middle class life and he's very happy. But the arrival of Mr. Macabre is essentially like the skeleton coming out of the closet. In a way, Mr. Macabre represents Davey's old life in a very real way because he was there when it was happening, but also because he comes from and lives a much more lower class life. Even though he acts like a more genteel, more upper class person, he's really not. And I think that's why John, in his letter is getting the feeling that he's getting about Mr. Macawer. It's why his feelings and a lot of our feelings, I think, have changed about Mr. Macawer. So I want to get to all of that, but I want to back up a bit first and kind of come at this issue via the other events that happen in chapter 17. Because I think this issue of Davey's old life and his new life are kind of all over this chapter. So the chapter begins with Davey telling us that he's been in communication with Peggy and that one of the things that she's told him is that the house where DAV Davey lived with his mother has now been emptied of all its furniture. All the furniture has been sold and the house is shut up in preparation for either being sold or maybe being rented out. A lot of you, by the way, have been asking about the specifics of who owns what in terms of the house and the income that Davey's mother had. Many of you are wondering why the house doesn't now belong to Davey and why Davey didn't inherit that income. So we actually got the answer to those questions in chapter 14 when Ms. Betsy was talking to Mr. Murdstone. What we learned is that the income that Davies mother was getting from Mr. Copperfield's like life insurance policy essentially that died with her. So it was only something that she could receive during her lifetime and it stopped once she died. So Davy can't have that and the house was left to her, to Mrs. Copperfield Murdstone unconditionally, meaning that she could choose to do what she wanted with it. And Mr. Murdstone implies that he had her leave it to, to him or that maybe in not having a will it kind of automatically went to him because he's her husband. So Mr. Murdstone owns the house and he seems to have decided to leave it behind and to either sell it or rent it out to someone. So Davey has no claim over any of that. Which means that this chapter begins with the door being sort of definitively closed on that part of Davey's life. We've talked a lot already about all of these goodbyes that Davey has had to say, all of these trips, chapters of his life that keep ending and these new ones that keep beginning. And chapter 17 begins with this information about the house. I think because it's Dickens's way of saying that that life is well and truly over. And this life that he's now fully ensconced himself in, this new middle class life is his life. Now here's what Davey says. I thought afresh of the grave in the churchyard underneath the tree. And it seemed as if the house were dead too now. And all connected with my father and mother were faded away. And we might also add all connected with that period of Davies life is dead and faded away as well. So we begin with that reminder and it's almost like now that Davy has found a new home and a new mother figure and a new father figure in Mr. Wakefield. It's like he can shut the door on that other mother figure and that other father figure who lie in the grave outside his old house. Even though he will always remember them and think of them and love them. But right after that we get this very strange incident that Mr. Dick tells Davey about which John mentioned in his letter. And John's question, which is whether we're supposed to believe Mr. Dick here or whether it's just his madness that kind of is the question about this. I mean, all of a sudden it feels like we're in a ghost story or maybe an Agatha Christie novel or something. Here's what Mr. Dick says about this strange man. Well, he wasn't there at all until he came up behind her and whispered. Then she turned around and fainted. And I stood still and looked at him, and he walked away. But that he should have been hiding ever since in the ground or somewhere is the most extraordinary thing. So if that really happened, that's very alarming, right? And it's more alarming when Mr. Dick reveals that this has now happened several times. Here's what Davey says about what Mr. Dick saw from his window. He had afterwards and late at night, seen my aunt give this person money outside the garden rails in the moonlight, who then slunk away into the ground again, as he thought probable, and was seen no more, while my aunt came hurriedly and secretly back into the house and had even that morning been quite different from her usual self. So at this point, I think we don't really know whether this is real or not. I mean, there are obviously parts of it that aren't real. People don't live in the ground or come out of the ground. Right? But perhaps there is a person who is bothering Miss Betsy. Davey's not sure either. His best guess is that if it is real, it's someone from Mr. Dick's family that wants to lock him up in the madhouse and Miss Betsy is paying him to stay away. But if it is real, and again, I don't think we're meant to know one way or the other at this point. But if it is, then it speaks to Miss Betsy having a secret of some kind and of her caring about keeping it secret so much that she's willing to pay off this shady person rather than running him off her property with the, like, buckets of water and things that she reserves for the donkey. I mean, it's unlike Miss Betsy to behave in this furtive way, I think, which maybe implies that it's not really happening at all. But if it is happening, I think it lends to the sense we're getting in this chapter of the past coming back to haunt you. Something that is still secret, that just won't go away. I think it's interesting that Dickens chooses to place this event in this chapter because to me, at least, it heightens this idea of things from the past somehow clashing with things in the present. But while we're on the topic of Mr. Dick, I want to say that I think Bonnie is absolutely right in her letter. Mr. Dick is this sort of benevolent presence. And those who like him and are liked by him are clearly people that we, the reader, who should also like. He's childlike in the sense that he's not altogether there mentally, but he's also wise in the sense that all his kind of social artifice has been stripped away. And as Bonnie says, he seems to know who to trust and who not to. And the fact that all the boys at Dr. Strong's Academy come to love him immediately speaks both to the fact that Mr. Dick is very likable, but also to the fact that these are good boys. That these are kind, loving, open, caring boys who don't look down on someone like Mr. Dick just because a little simple. And also the fact that Mr. Dick and Dr. Strong become fast friends is really very sweet. And I think it's so lovely that really they actually have a lot in common. They're both older, sort of absent minded people, both working on a long writing project that seems like it will never be finished. They're both a bit gullible, perhaps, and the friendship seems to be mutual. Dr. Strong isn't just humoring Mr. Dick, just as the boys at the school aren't just humoring him either. They really like him. And that tells us that Dr. Strong, for all of his sort of obliviousness, in a lot of ways, he too is a kind, good person. And Davey says he's talking here about the fact that Dr. Strong and Mr. Dick like to go walking together in the garden. He says, I think of it as one of the pleasantest things in a quiet way that I have ever seen. I feel as if they might go walking to and fro forever and the world might somehow be the better for it. As if a thousand things it makes a noise about were not one half so good for it or me. Okay, so Mr. Dick, in a way, is indicative of Davey's new life, this life that allows him to be a child again, where he can run and play and fly kites and make things out of string, and where the people around him are loving and kind and take in a man like Mr. Dick instead of locking him away. And it's all a far cry from the abuse that Davey received from Mr. Murdstone and Mr. Creakle and the neglect of that he endured at the factory. But then we go from that to this encounter, first with the Heaps and then with Mr. Macawer. So, as Dele says, there is something sort of sinister about this scene with the Heaps. On the one hand, it's true that we don't want to cast aspersions on people simply for being different. We just finished talking about how wonderful it is that everyone accepts Mr. Dick and how it shows us that these are, are good, kind people. Because they don't ridicule or ostracize this man who's simple minded. So are we going to turn around and say that we don't like Uriah Heep simply because he doesn't really seem to have any social skills and he writhes when he talks and he smiles funny? I mean, I don't know about you, but my answer to that is kind of yes, I am going to turn around and ostracize him and not like him. Because Dickens is so good at giving us the feels. He's so good at vibes. Mr. Dick gives off a good vibe and Uriah gives off a bad one. He just does. And even Davey says he doesn't know whether he likes him or hates him. And I think we're sort of there too at this point. Nothing actually bad has happened. But this scene where Davey comes to tea with Uriah and his mother, there's something off about it. And like Deli says, it really does feel like the Heaps are trying to get something out of Devi and that they're hoping to maybe use it against him somehow in the future or something like that? Here's what we're told presently, they began to talk about aunts, and then I told them about mine and about fathers and mothers, and then I told them about mine, and then Mrs. He began to talk about fathers in law, and then I began to tell her about mine but stopped because my aunt had advised me to observe a silence on that subject. Okay, so yes, maybe they're just being nosy, but there's a way in which it feels like they're interrogating him or something. And later Davey says, I I found myself perpetually letting out something or other that I had no business to let out and seeing the effect of it in the twinkling of Uriah's dinted nostrils. So they're manipulating him into telling them things that he didn't want to tell them. And Uriah at least seems to be kind of triumphantly receiving all of this information as what he was trying to find out for some reason. And again, the thing that might be bad for them to know about if, as Phil points out, they are planning to use something against him for some reason is the fact that he used to be lower class. The details of his sort of sordid by association existence could potentially be used against him in some way, though we're not sure what. And we're definitely not sure why Uriah would want to undermine him or even if he actually does. But there is a kind of sinister sense to the way in which Uriah and his mother manipulate Davey into thinking telling them his whole life story. And then right at this moment when the Heaps have learned all this about Davey and we're starting to worry that maybe it's not something we want them to know, right at this moment, the personification of that old life just randomly sort of walks into the room and Davey is acutely aware of this. He says, I cannot say, I really cannot say that I was glad to see Mr. McCawver there, but I was glad to see him too. And shook hands with him heartily inquiring how Mrs. Macawer was. So he likes Mr. Macawer. In many ways he's indebted to him, right, for his friendship when he had no other friends and his care of him and all of this. But he's also so clearly from that other life and the fact that Mr. Macawer is making such a big deal of their friendship and their connection, it feels really awkward and uncomfortable to Davy in the presence of the Heaps because to the Heaps, as the Heaps keep going on and on about Davey is this middle class boy and they are these lower class people, but here comes this more lower class person claiming an intimate connection to Davy and it's embarrassing. And Dickens does such a wonderful job of showing us how Mr. Macawer seems to Davey now when there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him before, his showiness and his overly complicated way of talking and his openness about his financial troubles, all of this now feels sort of of gauche and tacky and wrong when before Davey didn't see any problem with it because he was living that life right alongside him. So it's kind of like when you're a kid and you finally get noticed by the popular crowd and you start hanging out with them and then one of your old nerdy friends comes up and tries to talk to you. You're mortified, right? And you see all the horribly embarrassing things about that friend that never bothered you before, but now they feel completely unbearable. That's what is happening with Davey now about Mr. Macawer. But I will point out that just like with the nerdy friend, you are actually being unkind to shun that person once you've made it into the popular crowd, just like it would be unkind to shun Mr. Dick. And I think Davey feels the conflict of that because there isn't anything particularly sinister. I don't think about Mr. Macawer. He's just Lower class and not genteel, even though he pretends to to be. It's simply that he represents Davey's old life. And here he is in his new life. And it's really a clash. And it brings home for us. Though I don't think Davey really puts it all together in this way. But it brings home for us how changed Davey's life is, how much things have changed. And we feel Davey's embarrassment too. Like John, I cringe when Mr. Macabre gets going in the scene with the Heaps of. In a way, I didn't really cringe when he got going in the same sort of way in other scenes before. It's that juxtaposition of the old life with the new. And we get this additional reminder of that later when Davey actually sees Mr. Macawer hanging out with Uriah Heap without Davey, he says, as I was looking out of window that same evening. It surprised me and made me rather uneasy to see Mr. Macawer and Uriah Heap walk past arm in army. It makes him uneasy, right? Because Uriah seems weirdly interested in Davy's old life. And Mr. Macawer kind of is his old life. And it makes us uneasy too, I think. But we don't really know why. So this chapter is just full of these references to things in the past coming back to this idea that you can move on, that you can change and start again. But that the things that happened to you before and the past people you were before, they don't just totally disappear. They're still there. The grave in the churchyard is still there. Mr. Macawer is still there. Whoever this weird man is that is hounding Miss Betsy, if he even exists, is there. The past doesn't leave us. And it has a tendency to show up or as Mr. McCabe might say, to turn up. But Davy tells us that ultimately, while he likes Mr. Macawer, he's glad that he's gone. Here's that quote I turned into a by street that was the nearest way to school. And felt upon the whole relieved that they were gone. Though I still liked them very much. Nevertheless. So it's really a lovely, compact little chapter. There's so much in it. And it leaves us with this idea that Davey is continuing on in this new, unarguably better life. But that the things that have happened to him aren't totally erased. And that's what this story is, right? It's not like a rollicking adventure or a tightly packed thriller. It's the story of this person's life and the way in which all of the things that happen and all of the people he meets along the way interact and intersect to form the drama of the narrative. So that's what's happening. So what's next for Davey? Well, let's keep reading and find out. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmore.com and click on Contact. Or you can scroll into the show notes and the link is there. Check out the other links while you're there. And please do get in touch. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments and questions after this chapter. All right, let's get started with chapter 18 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 18 a retrospect my school days. The silent gliding on of my existence, the unseen unfelt progress of my life from childhood up to youth. Let me think as I look back upon that flowing water now a dry channel overgrown with leaves, whether there are any marks along its course by which I can remember how it ran. A moment and I occupy my place in the cathedral where we all went together every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for that purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the world being shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black and white arched galleries and aisles are wings that take me back and hold me hovering above those days in a half sleeping and half waking dream. I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months over several heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty creature dwelling afar off, whose giddy height is unattainable. Agnes says no, but I say yes and tell her that she little thinks what stores of knowledge have been mastered by the wonderful being at whose place she thinks I, even I weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my private friend and public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverential respect. I chiefly wonder what he'll be when he leaves Dr. Strong's, and what mankind will do to maintain any place against him. But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss shepherd, whom I love. Miss shepherd is a boarder at the Mrs. Nettingalls establishment. I adore Ms. Shepherd. She is a little girl in a Spencer. A Spencer is a short, tight fitting coat with a round face and curly flaxen hair. The Mrs. Nettingle's young ladies come to the cathedral too. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look upon Miss Shepherd. When the choristers CHANT I hear Miss shepherd in the service. I mentally insert Miss Shepherd's name. I put her in among the royal family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out, oh, Miss Shepherd. In a transport of love. For some time I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, but at length, fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing school. I have Miss Shepard for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd's glove and feel a thrill go up the right arm of my jacket and come out at my hair. I say nothing to Miss shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss shepherd and myself live but to be united. Why do I secretly give Ms. Shepherd 12 Brazil nuts for a present, I wonder? They are not expressive of affection. They are difficult to pack into a parcel of any regular shape. They are hard to crack even in room doors, and they are oily when cracked. Yet I feel that they are appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits also I bestow upon Miss shepherd, and oranges innumerable. Once I kiss Miss shepherd in the cloak room. Ecstasy. What are my agony and indignation next day when I hear a flying rumour that the Mrs. Nettingall have stood Miss shepherd in the stocks for turning her toes? Miss shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, how do I ever come to break with her? I can't conceive. And yet a coolness grows between Miss shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of Miss shepherd having said she wished I wouldn't stare so, and having avowed a preference for Master Jones, for Jones, a boy of no merit whatever, the gulf between me and Miss shepherd widens. At last one day I meet the Mrs. Nettingles establishment out walking. Miss shepherd makes a face as she goes by and laughs to her companion. All is over the devotion of a life it seems, a life it is, all the same is at an end. Miss shepherd comes out of the morning service and the royal family know her no more. I am higher in the school and no one breaks my peace. I am not at all polite now to the Mrs. Nettingles young ladies, and shouldn't dote on any of them if they were twice as many and 20 times as beautiful. I think the dancing school a tiresome affair and wonder why the girls can't dance by themselves and leave us alone. I am growing great in Latin verses and neglect the laces of my boots. Dr. Strong refers to me in public as a promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wild with joy and my aunt remits me a guinea by the next post, the shade of A young butcher rises like the apparition of an armed head in Macbeth. Who is this young busher? He is the terror of the youth of Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad that the beef suet with which he anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength and that he is a match for a man. He is a broad faced, bull necked young butcher with rough red cheeks, an ill conditioned mind and an injur curious tongue. His main use of this tongue is to disparage Dr. Strong's young gentleman. He says publicly that if they want anything, he'll give it them. He names individuals among them, myself included, whom he could undertake to settle with one hand and the other tied behind him. He waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads and calls challenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient reasons, I resolve to fight the Butcher. It is a summer evening. Down in a green hollow at the corner of a wall I meet the Butcher by appointment. I am attended by a select body of our boys, the Butcher by two other butchers, a young publican and a Sweep. The preliminaries are adjusted and the Butcher and myself stand face to face. In a moment the butcher lights 10,000 candles out of my left eyebrow. In another moment I don't know where the wall is or where I am, or where anybody is. I hardly know which is myself and which the Butcher. We are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about upon the trodden grass. Sometimes I see the Butcher bloody but confident. Sometimes I see nothing and sit gasping on my second's knee. Sometimes I go in at the Butcher madly and cut my knuckles open against his face without appearing to discompose him at all. At last I awake, very queer about the head as from a giddy sleep and see the Butcher walking off, congratulated by the two other butchers and the sweep and publican, and putting on his coat as he goes, from which I augur justly that the victory is his. The Butcher won the fight. I am taken home in a sad plight and I have beefsteaks put to my eyes and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy and find a great puffy place bursting out on my upper lips, which swells immoderately. For three or four days I remain at home a very ill looking subject with a green shade over my eyes and I should be very dull. But that Agnes is a sister to me and condoles with me and reads to me and makes the time light and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely. Always. I tell her all about the Butcher and the wrongs he has heaped upon me. She thinks I couldn't have done otherwise than fight the Butcher, while she shrinks and trembles at my having fought him. Time has stolen on unobserved. For Adams is not the head boy in the days that are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day. Adams has left the school so long that when he comes back on a visit to Dr. Strong, there are not many there besides myself who know him. Adams is going to be called to the bar almost directly and is to be an advocate and to wear a wig. So he's going to be a lawyer. I am surprised to find him a meeker man than I had thought, and less imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the world yet either, for it goes on as well as I can make out pretty much the same as if he had never joined it. A blank through which the warriors of poetry and history march on in stately hosts that seem to have no end. And what comes next? I am the head boy now. I look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part of me. I remember him as something left behind upon the road of life, as something I have passed rather than have actually been, and almost think of him as of someone else. And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is she? Gone also in her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture. A childlikeness. No more moves about the house. And Agnes, my sweet sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend, the better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good self denying influence, is quite a woman. What other changes have come upon me besides the changes in my growth and looks and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while I wear a gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little finger and a long tailed coat, and I use a great deal of bear's grease, which, taken in conjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again? I am. I worship the eldest Miss Larkins. The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark, black eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not a chicken, for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that. And the eldest must be three or four years older perhaps. The eldest Miss Larkins may be about 30. My passion for her is beyond all bounds. The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to bear. I see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the way to meet her. When her bonnetshe has a bright taste in bonnetsis seen coming down the pavement accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She laughs and talks and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare time in walking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to her once in the day, I know her to bow to, knowing Mr. Larkins, I am happier. I deserve a bow now and then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the race ball where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the military ought to have some compensation if there be even handed justice in the world. My passion takes away my appetite and makes me wear my newest silk neckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my best clothes and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I seem then to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs to her or is connected with her is precious to me. Mr. Larkins, a gruff old gentleman with a double chin and one of his eyes immovable in his head, is fraught with interest to me. When I can't meet his daughter, I go where I am likely to meet him, to say, how do you do, Mr. Larkins? Are the young ladies and all the family quite well? Seems so pointed that I blush. I think continually about my age. Say I am 17 and say that 17 is young for the eldest Miss Larkins. What of that? Besides, I shall be 1 and 20 in no time almost. I regularly take walks outside Mr. Larkins's house in the evening, though it cuts me to the heart to see the officers go in or to hear them up in the drawing room where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp sharp. I even walk on two or three occasions in a sickly spooney manner, round and round the house after the family are gone to bed, wondering which is the eldest Miss Larkins's chamber, and pitching, I dare say now on Mr. Larkins's instead, wishing that a fire would burst out, that the assembled crowd would stand appalled that I, dashing through them with a ladder, might rear it against her window, save her in my arms, go back for something she had left behind, and perish in the flames. For I am generally disinterested in my love and think I could be content to make a figure before Miss Larkins and expire generally. But not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before me. When I dress the occupation of two hours for a great ball given at the Larkins's, the anticipation of three weeks, I indulge my fancy with pleasing images. I picture myself taking courage to make a declaration to Miss Larkins. I picture Miss Larkins sinking her head upon my shoulder and saying, oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I believe my ears? I picture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning and saying, my dear Copperfield, my daughter has told me all youth is no objection. Here are £20,000. Be happy. I picture my aunt relenting and blessing us and Mr. Dick and Dr. Strong being present at the marriage ceremony. Me, I am a sensible fellow, I believe. I believe, on looking back, I mean and modest, I am sure. But all this goes on notwithstanding. I repair to the enchanted house where there are lights, chattering, music, flowers, officers I am sorry to see. And the eldest Miss Larkins ablaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue, with blue flowers in her hair. Forget me nots as if she had any need to wear Forget me not. It is the first really grown up party that I have ever been invited to and I am a little uncomfortable for I appear not to belong to anybody and nobody appears to have anything to say to me except Mr. Larkins, who asked me how my schoolfellows are, which he needn't do, as I have not come there to be insulted, meaning he doesn't want to be treated as a child. But after I have stood in the doorway for some time and feasted my eyes upon the goddess of my heart, she approaches me, she, the eldest Miss Larkins, and asked me pleasantly if I dance. I stammer with a bow with you, Miss Larkins, with no one else inquires Miss Larkins. I should have no pleasure in dancing with anyone else. Miss Larkins laughs and blushes, or I think she blushes and says, next time but one I shall be very glad the time arrives. It is a waltz, I think Miss Larkins doubtfully observes when I present myself. Do you waltz, if not Captain Bailey? But I do waltz pretty well too, as it happens. And I take Miss Larkins out, I take her sternly from the side of Captain Bailey. He is wretched, I have no doubt, but he is nothing to me. I have been wretched too. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins. I don't know where, among whom or how long. I only know that I swim about in space with a blue angel in a state of blissful delirium until I find myself alone with her in a little room resting on a sofa. She Admires a flower, Pink camellia japonica. Price half a crown in my buttonhole. I give it her and say I ask an estimable price for it. Miss Larkins indeed. What is that? Returns, Miss Larkins a flower of yours, that I may treasure it as a miser does gold. You're a bold boy, says Miss Larkins. There she gives it me, not displeased, and I put it to my lips and then into my breast. Miss Larkins, laughing, draws her hand through my arm and says, now take me back to Captain Bailey. I am lost in the recollection of this delicious interview and the waltz when she comes to me again with a plain elderly gentleman who has been playing whist all night upon her arm and says, oh, here is my bold friend. Mr. Chessel wants to know you, Mr. Copperfield. I feel at once that he is a friend of the family and am much gratified. I admire your taste, sir, says Mr. Chessel. It does you credit. I suppose you don't take much interest in hops, but I am a pretty large grower myself. And if you ever like to come over to our neighbourhood, neighbourhood of Ashford and take a run about our place, we shall be glad for you to stop as long as you like. I thank Mr. Chesel warmly and shake hands. I think I am in a happy dream. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins once again, she says. I waltz so well, I go home in a state of unspeakable bliss and waltz in imagination all night long with my arm round the blue waist of my dear divinity. For some days afterwards I am lost in rapturous reflections, but I neither see her in the street nor when I call. I am imperfectly consoled for this disappointment by the sacred pledge, the perished flower Trotwood. Says Agnes one day after dinner. Who do you think is going to be married to morrow? Someone you admire? Not you, I suppose. Agnes, not me. Raising her cheerful face from the music she is copying. Do you hear him, Papa? The eldest Miss Larkins. Toto Captain Bailey. I have just enough power to ask no to no captain. To Mr. Chessel, a hop grower, I am terribly dejected. For about a week or two I take off my ring, I wear my worst clothes, I use no bear's grease, and I frequently lament over the late Miss Larkins's faded flower. Being by that time rather tired of this kind of life, and having received new provocation from the butcher, I throw the flower away, go out with the butcher and gloriously defeat him. This and the resumption of my ring as well as of the bear's grease in moderation are the last marks I can discern now in my progress to 17. 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. All right, everyone, story time is over. To be continued.