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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. Hello. Welcome back. This is a very long chapter and I think I have kind of a lot to say about the last chapter. So I'm going to try to make it very short here, here at the very top of the show. And just remind you that tomorrow, if you're listening in real time, tomorrow is tea time. So March 24, it's Tuesday, it's tomorrow if this is Monday for you. And we will be meeting in the drawing room, which is our online community, at 8pm Eastern, and I hope that you will join us there. If you would like to sign up, there's still time. You can scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. Sign, sign up for the drawing room or switch your membership to Landed Gentry if you're not yet a Landed Gentry member. And I hope that you will join us at 8pm tomorrow, Tuesday, March 24, for tea time. Okay, let's just get right into this episode. Last time we read chapter 21, today we're going to be reading chapter 22 and I got some great comments. You guys are pretty united, I think, in your thoughts and at this point in the story. So I'm really excited to read you some letters and talk for a bit and then to get into the next chapter. So first let's just remind ourselves what happened last time. Here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, David spends the week with Steerforth and his mother. Steerforth has a servant who makes David feel very inferior simply by being very respectable and correct. So when David and Steerforth leave to visit the Peggoties, David is glad that they leave that servant behind. They arrive in Yarmouth and David passes Mr. Omer's shop where he was fitted for the funeral clothes for his mother's funeral. So he goes in and he sees that the daughter has married the coffin maker. And Mr. Omer is very glad to see David. David also learns that little Emily is apprenticed there and is doing well, even though she's had a hard time in the town because people think she puts on airs and she wants to rise above her station. David goes to visit Peggy who is overjoyed to see him and they both are very emotional to be back with each other again. Mr. Barkis is ill in bed, but is also happy to see David and he even gets a coin out of his box under the bed so that they can have a nice dinner. St. Steerforth comes over for that dinner and charms Peggy and Mr. Barkis. Then steerforth and David go to the Peggy's house where it turns out that little Emily has just agreed to marry Ham. They all spend a happy evening together and Steerforth is very kind and personable to everyone. But when they are leaving, David implies that he sees how much Steerforth loves everyone and Steerforth seemed to be saying that it's all just a kind of joke to him. But David doesn't catch this or he won't believe it. All right, I'm going to read three comments today. The first one comes from our online community the Drawing Room and this person goes by the handle oni. She says. I find myself oscillating back and forth between thinking Steerforth is a decent guy and completely dreading what damage he is going to cause. It's like I am one of the characters in the book being taken in by his charisma, even though I know he is not really what he seems. We've clearly been shown his dark side when he got the schoolteacher fired. And plus there's been lots of other little moments that have suggested his character character isn't wholly trustworthy. Why do I keep falling for his charm and thinking maybe he isn't that bad? Dickens certainly has created a very convincing duplicity in his character. This next one comes from Jennifer McDonald. She says, recalling David's foreshadowing about the future of little Emily earlier in the book. I don't like the idea of her being introduced to Steerforth here, even as she's just unexpectedly become engaged to Ham and is officially off the market. I still still have a bad feeling that Steerforth might do something to sabotage the engagement. And the last one also comes from the drawing room and this person goes by the handle rachelc. She says, I really don't like how adept Steerforth is at manipulation and getting his way in all things, especially when it resorts to violence and to also be so charming and charismatic. Scary individual. Wow. Okay, so I feel like the general consensus out there in story time for grown ups land is that something Steerforth is not a good guy. Remember when we were reading Frankenstein and I kept joking that we should get T shirts that said like Team Monster and Team Victor well, now I feel like we might need team Steerforth and Team Not Steerforth shirts or something, because like Bonnie says, and I love what Bonnie wrote, I feel like it really sums Steerforth up so beautifully. But like Bonnie says, Steerforth is one really charming. If you met him, I think you might like him. You might really like him. He seems to have this ability to put everyone at ease and to always know what to say and how to behave. He's got what I was calling before, the common touch, right? This thing that monarchs sometimes have where even though they're so high and mighty, they can speak with the populace as if they really, truly care what's going on with them, and they can make them feel comfortable and listened to and all of this. And. And Steerforth has this. He's a huge hit with the Peggety family, right? They love him, and they feel like he is a wonderful young gentleman, and they're more than happy to welcome him into their family circle. And like Bonnie says, there's something really appealing in that. I mean, why would he do that if he didn't actually care about these people in some way? But then others of you, Lots and lots of others of you, I would say that we'd sell way more TeamNot steerforth shirts than TeamSteerforth shirts, by the way, judging from your letters. So others of you feel like Steerforth is actually quite sinister. There's this sense of dread that I'm sensing from your letters, a feeling of waiting for something terrible to happen. And that feeling seems to center, judging by what you guys are writing into me. It seems to center around Steerforth and little Emily. So I'd say you guys are kind of running the gamut on Steerforth. Everything from maybe he's not so bad to, well, he's kind of a narcissist, but he's probably harmless. Two. Oh, my gosh. Get out. Now. This guy is the villain of the whole piece. So obviously I'm not going to reveal anything. And I purposely didn't read the letters where you guys wrote in with really specific predictions about what you think is going to happen, although I really enjoyed reading those. But I'm not going to share them here, because I don't want to put anything into anyone's head that wasn't there already. But I do think we can just take a look at what we do know already and try to kind of paint a picture of where we stand and what Dickens might want us to be thinking and feeling at this point. So, as Jennifer says, we did get this very dramatic foreshadowing. Many chapters ago, back when David was visiting the Pegby family as a child, we got this foreshadowing that something really awful was going to happen to little Emily. David told us that it was going to be so awful, in fact, that he wasn't sure if it might not have been better if she had died as a child rather than have this thing happen to her later. So, I mean, that would be a really bad thing, right? The death of a child is terrible. So what could it be that would be so awful that dying so young might be better? We don't know. But we do know that something bad is going to happen to Emily. That's pretty much a fact. David has told us that already. So we know that. We also know that this chapter that we just read, chapter 21, is called Little Emily, even though much of the chapter doesn't actually involve Emily very much at all. So that tells us that something about what we learn about Emily in this chapter is important to the story in some way. And I think it kind of primes us to perk up our ears a little whenever her name is mentioned in the chapter. And the first time that it is mentioned is in the scene with Mr. Omer, the undertaker. So one thing to just note or remember here is that David hasn't been back to Yarmouth or seen Peggy or Mr. Peggy or Ham or Emily or any one of those people since he left to work for Murdstone and Grinby. It's been seven years, we were told in this chapter, since he last saw any of them. He has written to Peggy lots and lots in this time, and she's written to him, but he hasn't seen her. So this chapter is a kind of homecoming for David in a way, which is why I think it's so lovely that Dickens has him stop first at Mr. Omer's shop. Because remember how when David's mother died, we had that wonderful, poor, poignant scene with the Omers? They were all chatting and laughing. They were full of life. And that was juxtaposed with David's grief and the sound of the hammer hammering the coffin. And we talked back then about the way that that chapter felt almost like a little short story about life going on even in the face of death and grief and all of this. And now we have a kind of echo of that. David's life has gone on. So much has happened to him since he was here last. He's in much better shape than he was then. And so I think it's really fitting that the first people he encounters are the people who symbolized life going on, the Omers. And Minnie omer has married Mr. Joram and Joram has become partners with Mr. Omer in the business. And they have lots of children. Whenever they show up, the Omers are this beautiful reminder of life in the face of death. They make coffins and funeral clothes and prepare dead bodies for burial. But they marry and they have children and they love each other and they live to the fullest. And I think it's wonderful that Dickens has this be the full first thing he encounters when he arrives back at Yarmouth. The memory of his dead mother is there in that scene, but so is the fact that life goes on. But anyway, it turns out that little Emily has been working for Mr. Omer and she's actually there now, although David feels too bashful to do anything but kind of peep in the window at her. And what we learn from Mr. Omer about Emily is that some of the other women in the town think that Emily kind of holds herself apart from from them or holds herself above them. That she has aspirations to be a lady. That's how Mr. Omer puts it. Here's what he says. She hasn't taken much to any companions here. She hasn't taken kindly to any particular acquaintances and friends, not to mention sweethearts. In consequence an ill natured story got about that Emily wanted to be a lady. Now my opinion is that it came into circulation principally on account of her sometimes saying at the school that if she was a lady she would like to do so and so for her uncle, don't you see, and buy him such and such fine things. And actually Emily said something very similar to David. If you remember when they were children. She told him that she would like to be a lady because if she could be a lady she would buy a kind of funny suit of clothes for Mr. Peggotty and all of these fancy things. So we know that this is true about her. She does wish that she wasn't a lower class person. And she does talk about wanting to be a lady and everything that she would do if she was one. And we're also told in chapter 21 that she has a kind of fancy way of dressing herself and carrying herself that makes her seem more fashionable than the other girls and maybe even more upper class. So she's resented by the other women for her beauty, but also because they think she's putting on airs and saying that she's better than them and she's too good for the kind of life and the kind of work that suits a lower class woman. So that's one thing that we learn about Emily in this chapter. Another thing we learn is that she's engaged to Ham. Peggy. Right when David and Steerforth show up at the Little Boathouse, they interrupt the scene of ham revealing to Mr. Peggotty that Emily has accepted his offer of marriage. And this is the best news ever to Mr. Peggotty. Mr. Peggotty loves Emily so deeply and he feels so protective of her. And he trusts Ham so implicitly that he feels like this is the perfect match. Because he now knows that Emily will be taken care of in the way that he feels that she ought to be taken care of. Here's what he. There's a man ashore there iron true to my little Emily, God bless her. And no wrong can touch my Emily while so be as that man lives. Okay, so he feels he can rest easy knowing that Emily will always be in good hands once Mr. Peggotty isn't the one looking out for her anymore because she's married or even after he dies. And Ham clearly adores Emily. Here's what David says about this. He says, I thought it affecting to see such a sturdy fellow as Ham was now trembling in the strength of what he felt for the pretty little creature who had won his heart. Okay, so clearly Mr. Peggotty is right in the sense that Ham will care for Emily just as lovingly and carefully as Mr. Peggotty would. But there also seems to be something not quite right about Emily's feelings in all of this. David notices that she doesn't really seem like a woman in love. Like happily accepting the proposal of the man that she wants and excitedly starting out on her new life and everything. David says, I could not satisfy myself. Whether it was in her own little tormenting way or in a maidenly reserve before us that she kept quite close to the wall and away from him. But. But I observed that she did so all the evening. Okay, so that doesn't really sound like someone who is deeply in love with her fiance and can't wait to marry him or whatever. So that's another thing that we learn about Emily in this chapter. Okay, so that's Emily. We learn that she seems to wish she was a lady, that the other women think she holds herself apart and is kind of snobby, that she's engaged to Ham, who loves her dearly, but that she doesn't seem to love him as much as he loves her. So if we're looking for what this horrible event might be that causes David to think it might be better that she died. I don't know that we have a ton to go on in that department, but we do have several places where things could go wrong. I think the fact that she seems discontented with her lot in life, the fact that she's unpopular with the other women, and the fact that she doesn't seem to necessarily love the man that she has agreed to marry. So that's her. What about Steerforth? Okay, the general consensus among you guys seems to be that Steerforth is going to somehow be the cause of the horrible event, or at least that that's the fear at this point in the story. One of the things that is concerning us at this point, according to all of your letters, is that David seems sort of oblivious to the potentially negative aspects of Steerforth's character and even views as positive things which we, the reader, and even potentially which adult David, the narrator, view as negative. For example, the way that Steerforth treats David like a sort of toy. Here's what David tells us. A dashing way he had of treating me like a plaything was more agreeable to me than any behavior he could have adopted. Okay. And then later he says, as he had treated me at school differently from all the rest, I joyfully believed that he treated me in life unlike any other friend he had. I believed that I was nearer to his heart than any other friend, and my own heart warmed with attachment to him. Okay. Now, anyone who has ever been suddenly adopted by the popular kid at school can relate to this. I think I certainly can. I can name at least one Steerforth from my own life, although I won't call that person out on a podcast. But I do remember that person's name and the feelings that I felt while I was friends with this person. They're very similar to the feelings that David is expressing here. The feelings? Fact that this person treats you differently than everyone else, even if the difference is that they see you as a sort of plaything, the fact is incredibly rewarding. It's hard to see it for what it is, which is a kind of narcissistic enjoyment of that person's total infatuation with you, rather than a real, true friendship between equals. So David actually likes the way that Steerforth treats him, even though we feel pretty worried about it, and we worry about David being. Being so enthralled to this guy. So we can see that the David who is living out the events of chapter 21 is completely oblivious to any of Steerforth's negative qualities and is therefore not necessarily a good judge of him. He can't see any faults in him, which is bad, since everyone has faults. And the minute you start thinking that someone can do no wrong ever, you open yourself up to being manipulated or abused in some way, I think. But we also learn that the David who's telling the story, right, so adult David, we learn that he actually sees things differently. Here's what he says. If anyone had told me then that all this was a brilliant game played for the excitement of the moment, for the employment of high spirits in the thoughtless love of superiority, in a mere wasteful, careless course of winning what was worthless to him and next minute thrown away. I say, if anyone had told me such a lie that night, I wonder in what manner of receiving it, my indignation would have found a venture. So, whoa, right. That is a totally different view of Steerforth than the younger version of David has. And it tells us that something must happen eventually between David and Steerforth that changes David's mind. Now, it might just be that David eventually grows up and he sees that the dynamic between them is not a true friendship. That can totally happen. It happened to me. It's probably happened to you at some point, but it potentially implies something more dramatic, a kind of rift of some kind between them. But it does kind of point to the idea that Steerforth's common touch this way, that he has to set everyone at ease. I mean, it's so charming to the Peggotty's and he seems so interested and so excited to get to know them. And he's so kind to Mr. Barkis, who is ill and suffering. But if adult David is to be believed, this is all, quote, a game to him. It's not a genuine interest or a genuine respect for these people. It's just a sort of novelty to him, like, oh, something new to experience, like a new food to try or a new story, sport to pick up or whatever. And I think Steerforth himself confirms this in a variety of ways. One is the way he has of talking about the Peggoties as if they were a different kind of people altogether. He says, let us see the natives in their aboriginal condition, which is super condescending, right? And then later he says, well, it's a quaint place and they are quaint company and it's quite a new sensation to mix with them. Which again implies a kind of interest in novelty, but not a true human connection. But of course, to David, these people are his friends, they are his Real, true friends. And in the case of Peggy, she's like his second mother. I mean, the scene where he sees Peggy again after seven years apart, it's so moving, I think. Here's a quote. David says, she cried, my darling boy. And we both burst into tears and were locked in one another's arms. What extravagances she committed, what laughing and crying over me, what pride she showed, what joy, what sorrow, that she, whose pride and joy I might have been, could never hold me in a fond embrace. I have not the heart to tell. I mean, that's real, true emotion and love. And it's miles apart from what Steerforth feels or potentially could ever feel for people like this. And the last thing that we learned about Steerforth, because I've been talking for a long time now, and we should get to this chapter, because it's long. But the last indication that Steerforth really doesn't care about these friends of David's is that Steerforth actually tells us so himself. David says to him, when I see how perfectly you understand them, how exquisitely you can enter into happiness like this plain fisherman's or humor, a love like my old nurses. I know that there is not a joy or sorrow, not an emotion of such people that can be indifferent to you. And I admire and love you for it. Steerforth 20 times the more. Okay, so David believes that Steerforth is totally in earnest and that he cares deeply for the Pagadies. But Steer, Steerforth replies, daisy, I believe you are in earnest and are good. I wish we all were. Okay, which implies, I think, that he doesn't feel at all the way that David characterized him as feeling. So there's lots of foreboding here. There's some foreshadowing, but will anything come of it? I mean, nothing bad has actually happened. So is something going to happen or not? Well, there is only one way to find out, which, of course, is to keep reading. So we're going to do that. And now. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmore.com click on contact or scroll into the Show Notes and click the link that's there. Please do send me all your questions and thoughts. I love to hear them. You guys have such amazing things to say, so don't hold out on me. Please do write in. And if you can or are interested, please do join us tomorrow for tea time at 8pm Eastern. All right, let's get started with chapter 22 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 22. Some old scenes and some new people. Steerforth and I stayed for more than a fortnight in that part of the country. We were very much together, I need not say, but occasionally we were asunder for some hours at a time. He was a good sailor, and I was but an indifferent one. And when he went out boating with Mr. Peggotty, which was a favourite amusement of his, I generally remained ashore. My occupation of Peggotty's spare room put a constraint upon me from which he was free, for knowing how assiduously she attended on Mr. Barkis all day. I did not like to remain out late at night, whereas Steerforth, lying at the inn, had nothing to consult but his own humour. Thus it came about that I heard of his making little treats for the fishermen at Mr. Peggotty's House of call, the willing mind, after I was in bed, and of his being afloat, wrapped in fisherman's clothes, whole moonlight nights, and coming back when the morning tide was at flood. By this time, however, I knew that his restless nature and bold spirits delighted to find a vent in rough toil and hard weather. As in any other means of excitement that presented itself freshly to him, so none of his proceedings surprised me. Another cause of our being sometimes apart was that I had naturally an interest in going over to Blunderstone and revisiting the old familiar scenes of my childhood, while Steerforth, after being there once, had naturally no great interest in going there again. Hence, on three or four days that I can at once recall, we went our several ways after an early breakfast and met again at a late dinner. I had no idea how he employed his time in the interval beyond a general knowledge that he was very popular in the place and had 20 means of actively diverting himself where another man might not have found one. For my own part, my occupation in my solitary pilgrimages was to recall every yard of the old road as I went along it, and to haunt the old spots of which I never tired. I haunted them, as my memory had often done, and lingered among them as my younger thoughts had lingered when I was far away. The grave beneath the tree where both my parents lay, on which I had looked out when it was my father's, only with such curious feelings of compassion and and by which I had stood so desolate when it was opened to receive my pretty mother and her baby. The grave which Peggotty's own faithful care had ever since kept neat and made a garden of, I walked near by the hour. It lay a little off the churchyard path in a quiet Corner not so far removed. But I could read the names upon the stone as I walked to and fro, startled by the sound of the church bell when it struck the hour, for it was like a departed voice to me. My reflections at these times were always associated with the figure I was to make in life and the distinguished things I was to do. My echoing footsteps went to no other tune, but were as constant to that as if I had come home to build my castles in the air at a living mother's side. So he's saying that as he walks around next to his mother's grave, he's thinking about what he wants to be and what he wants to become. Almost as if he was telling his alive mother about his aspirations. There were great changes in my old home. The ragged nests, so long deserted by the rooks, were gone, and the trees were lopped and topped out of their remembered shapes. The garden had run wild and half the windows of the house were shut up. It was occupied, but only by a poor lunatic gentleman and the people who took care of him. He was always sitting at my little window looking out into the churchyard, and I wondered whether his rambling thoughts ever went upon any of the fancies that used to occupy mine on the rosy mornings when I peeped out of that same little window in my night clothes and saw the sheep quietly feeding in the light of the rising sun. Our old neighbors, Mr. And Mrs. Graper, were gone to South America, and the rain had made its way through the roof of their empty house and stained the outer walls. Mr. Chillip was married again to a tall, raw boned, high nosed wife, and they had a weazen little baby. Weazen means thin and sort of shrivelled up, with a heavy head that it couldn't hold up and two weak staring eyes with which it seemed to be always wondering why it had ever been born. It was with a singular jumble of sadness and pleasure that I used to linger about my native place until the reddening winter sun admonished me that it was time to start on my returning walk. But when the place was left behind, and especially when Steerforth and I were happily seated over our dinner by a blazing fire, it was delicious to think of having been there. So it was, though, in a softened degree when I went to my neat room at night and turning over the leaves of the crocodile book, which was always there upon a little table, remembered with a grateful heart how blessed I was in having such a friend as Steerforth, such a friend as Peggotty, and such A substitute for what I had lost as my excellent and generous aunt. My nearest way to Yarmouth in coming back from these long walks was by a ferry. It landed me on the flat between the town and the sea, which I could make straight across, and so save myself a considerable circuit by the High Road. Mr. Peggotty's house being on that waste place and not a hundred yards out of my track, I always looked in as I went by. Steerforth was pretty sure to be there expecting me, and we went on together through the frosty air and gathering fog towards the twinkling lights of the town. One dark evening, when I was later than usual, for I had that day been making my parting visit to Blunderstone. As we were now about to return home, I found him alone in Mr. Peggotty's house, sitting thoughtfully before the fire. He was so intent upon his own reflections that he was quite unconscious of my approach. This indeed he might easily have been if he had been less absorbed, for footsteps fell noiselessly on the sandy ground outside. But even my entrance failed to rouse him. I was standing close to him, looking at him, and still with a heavy brow. He was lost in his meditations. He gave such a start when I put my hand upon his shoulder that he made me start too. You come upon me, he said almost angrily, like a reproachful ghost. I was obliged to announce myself somehow, I replied. Have I called you down from the stars? No, he answered. No up from anywhere, then, said I, taking my seat near him, I was looking at the pictures in the fire. He returned. But you are spoiling them for me, said I, as he stirred it quickly with a piece of burning wood, striking out of it a train of red hot sparks that went careering up the little chimney and roaring out into the air. You would not have seen them, he returned. I detest this mongrel time, neither day nor night. How late you are. Where have you been? I have been taking leave of my usual walk, said I. And I have been sitting here, said Steerforth, glancing round the room, thinking that all the people we found so glad on the night of our coming down might, to judge from the present wasted air of the place, be dispersed or dead, or come to I don't know what harm. David. I wish to God I had had a judicious father these last 20 years. My dear Steerforth, what is the matter? I wish with all my soul I had been better guided. He exclaimed. I wish with all my soul I could guide myself better. There was a passionate dejection in his manner that Quite amazed me. He was more unlike himself than I could have supposed possible. It would have been better to be this poor Peggotty, or his lout of a nephew, he said, getting up and leaning moodily against the chimney piece with his face towards the fire, than to be myself 20 times richer and 20 times wiser, and be the torment to myself that I have been in this devil's body bark of a boat within the last half hour. I was so confounded by the alteration in him that at first I could only observe him in silence as he stood leaning his head upon his hand and looking gloomily down at the fire. At length I begged him with all the earnestness I felt to tell me what had occurred to cross him so unusually and to let me sympathize with him, if I could not hope to advise him before I had well concluded. He began to laugh fretfully at first, but soon with returning gaiety. Tut, it's nothing, Daisy, nothing, he replied. I told you at the inn in London I am having company for myself sometimes. I have been a nightmare to myself just now. Must have had one, I think. At odd, dull times, nursery tales come up into the memory unrecognized for what they are. I believe I have been confounding myself with the bad boy who didn't care and became food for lions. A grander kind of going to the dogs, I suppose. What old women call the horrors have been creeping over me from head to foot. I have been afraid of myself. You are afraid of nothing else, I think, said I. Perhaps not yet. May have enough to be afraid of, too, he answered. Well, so it goes by. I am not about to be hipped again, David. But I tell you, my good fellow, once more, that it would have been well for me, and for more than me, if I had had a steadfast and judicious father. His face was always full of expression, but I never saw it express such a dark kind of earnestness as when he said these words with his glance bent on the fire. So much for that, he said, making as if he tossed something light into the air with his hand. Why, begone. I am a man again, like Macbeth. And now for dinner, if I have not Macbeth like, broken up the feast with most admired disorder. Daisy. But where are they all, I wonder, said I. God knows, said Steerforth, after strolling to the ferry looking for you. I strolled in here and found the place deserted. That set me thinking. And you found me thinking. The advent of Mrs. Gummidge with a basket explained how the house had happened to be empty. She had hurried out to buy something that was needed against Mr. Peggotty's return with the tide, and had left the door open in the meanwhile, lest Ham and little Em', Ly, with whom it was an early night, should come home. While she was gone, Steerforth, after very much improving Mrs. Gummidge's spirits by a cheerful salutation and a jocose embrace, took my arm and hurried me away. He had improved his own spirits no less than Mrs. Gummidge's, for they were again at their usual flow, and he was full of vivacious conversation as we went along. And so he said gaily, we abandon this buccaneer life tomorrow, do we? So we agreed. I return, and our places by the coach are taken, you know. Ay, there's no help for it, I suppose, said Steerforth. I have almost forgotten that there is anything to do in the world but to go out tossing on the sea here. I wish there was. Not as long as the novelty should last, said I, laughing like enough, he returned, though there's a sarcastic meaning in that observation for an amiable piece of innocence like my young friend. Well, I dare say I am a capricious fellow, David, I know I am. But while the iron is hot I can strike it vigorously too. I could pass a reasonably good examination already as a pilot in these waters. I think Mr. Peggotty says you're a wonder, I returned. A nautical phenomenon, eh? Laughed Steerforth. Indeed he does, and you know how truly I know how ardent you are in any pursuit you follow, and how easily you can master it. And that amazes me most in you, Steerforth, that you should be contented with such fitful uses of your powers. Contented? He answered merrily. I am never contented except with your freshness, my gentle Daisy. As to fitfulness, I have never learnt the art of binding myself to any of the wheels on which the ixions of these days are turning round and round. Ixion is a character from Greek mythology who was punished by spinning eternally on a fiery wheel. I missed it somehow in a bad apprenticeship, and now don't care about it. You know. I have bought a boat down here. What an extraordinary fellow you are, Steerforth, I exclaimed, stopping for this was the first I had heard of it when you may never care to come near the place again. I don't know that he returned. I have taken a fancy to the place at all events, walking me briskly on. I have bought a boat that was for sale, a clipper, Mr. Peggotty. Says, and so she is, and Mr. Peggotty will be master of her in my absence. Now I understand you, Steerforth, said I exultingly. You pretend to have bought it for yourself, but you have really done so to confer a benefit on him. I might have known as much at first. Knowing you, my dear, kind Steerforth, how can I tell you what I think of your generosity? Tush, he answered, turning red. The less said the better. Didn't I know? Cried I. Didn't I say there was not a joy or sorrow or any emotion of such honest hearts that was indifferent to you? Ay, ay, he answered. You told me all that. There, let it rest. We've said enough. Afraid of offending him by pursuing the subject when he made so light of it, I only pursued it in my thoughts as we went on at even a quicker pace than before. She must be newly rigged, said Steerforth, and I shall leave Littimer behind to see it done, that I may know she is quite complete. Did I tell you Lidimer had come down? No. Oh yes. Came down this morning with a letter from my mother. As our looks met, I observed that he was pale even to his lips, though he looked very steadily at me. I feared that some difference between him and his mother might have led to his being in the frame of mind in which I had found him at the solitary fireside. I hinted so. Oh no, he said, shaking his head and giving a slight laugh. Nothing of the sort. Yes, he has come down, that man of mine. The same as ever, said I. The same as ever, said Steerforth. As distant and quiet as the North Pole, he shall say to the boat being fresh named, she is the Stormy Petrel. Now what does Mr. Peggotty care for stormy petrels? I'll have her christened again. By what name? I asked the little Emily. As he had continued to look steadily at me. I took it as a reminder that he objected to being extolled for his consideration. I could not help showing in my face how much it pleased me, but I said little, and he resumed his usual smile and seemed relieved. But see here, he said, looking before us, where the original little Em' ly comes. And that fellow with her, eh? Upon my soul, he's a true knight. He never leaves her. Ham was a boat builder in these days, having improved a natural ingenuity in that handicraft until he had become a skilled workman. He was in his working dress and looked rugged enough, but manly withal, and a very fit protector for the blooming little creature at his side. Indeed there was a frankness in his face, an honesty, and an undisguised show of his pride in her and his love for her, which were to me the best of good looks. I thought as they came towards us, that they were well matched even in that particular she withdrew her hand timidly from his arm as we stopped to speak to them, and blushed as she gave it to Steerforth and to me when they passed on after we had exchanged a few words, she did not like to replace that hand, but still appearing timid and constrained, walked by herself. I thought all this very pretty and engaging, and Steerforth seemed to think so too, as we looked after them, fading away in the light of a young moon. Suddenly there passed us, evidently following them a young woman whose approach we had not observed, but whose face I saw as she went by and thought I had a faint remembrance of. She was lightly dressed, looked bold and haggard and flaunting and poor, but seemed for the time to have given all that to the wind which was blowing, and to have nothing in her mind but going after them as the dark distant level, absorbing their figures into itself, left but itself visible between us and the sea and clouds. Her figure disappeared in like manner, still no nearer to them than before. That is a black shadow to be following the girl, said Steerforth, standing still. What does it mean? He spoke in a low voice that sounded almost strange to me. She must have it in her mind to beg of them, I think, said I. A beggar would be no novelty, said Steerforth, but it is a strange thing that the beggar should take that shape to night. Why? I asked, for no better reason truly, than because I was thinking, he said after a pause of something like it when it came by where the devil did it come from, I wonder? From the shadow of this wall, I think, said I, as we emerged upon a road on which a wall abutted. It's gone, he returned, looking over his shoulder and all Ill go with it now for our dinner. But he looked again over his shoulder towards the sea line, glimmering afar off and yet again, and he wondered about it in some broken expressions several times in the short remainder of our walk, and only seemed to forget it when the light of fire and candles shone upon us, seated warm and merry at table. Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. When I said to him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Ms. Dardall were well, he answered respectfully and of course respectably, that they were tolerably well. He thanked me and had sent their compliments. This was all. And yet he seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say, you are very young, sir. You are exceedingly young. We had almost finished dinner when taking a step or two towards the table from the corner where he kept watch upon us, or rather upon me, as I felt he said to his master, I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Moucher is down here. Who? Cried Steerforth, much astonished. Miss Moucher, sir. Why, what on earth does she do here? Said Steerforth. It appears to be her native part of the country, sir. She informs me that she makes one of her professional visits here every year, sir. I met her in the street this afternoon, and she wished to know if she might have the honour of waiting on you after dinner, sir. Do you know the giantess in question, Daisy? Inquired Steerforth. I was obliged to confess I felt ashamed even of being at this disadvantage before Littimer, that Miss Mowcher and I were wholly unacquainted. Then you shall know her, said Steerforth, for she is one of the Seven wonders of the world. When Miss Mowcher comes, show her in. I felt some curiosity and excitement about this lady, especially as Steerforth burst into a fit of laughing when I referred to her, and positively refused to answer any questions of which I made her the subject. I remained, therefore, in a state of considerable expectation until the cloth had been removed some half an hour, and we were sitting over our decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened and Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, announced Miss Moucher. I looked at the doorway and saw nothing. I was still looking at the doorway, thinking that Miss Moucher was a long while making her appearance, when, to my infinite astonishment, there came waddling round a sofa which stood between me and it a Percy dwarf. Percy here means fat, of about 40 or 45, with a very large head and face, a pair of roguish grey eyes, and such extremely little arms that to enable herself to lay a finger archly against the snub nose as she ogled Steerforth, she was obliged to meet the finger halfway and lay her nose against it. Her chin, which was what is called a double chin, was so fat that it entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonnet, bow, and all throat. She had none waist, she had none legs, she had none worth mentioning, for though she was more than full size down to where her waist would have been if she had had any, and though she terminated, as human beings generally do, in a pair of feet, she was so short that she stood at a common sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat. This lady dressed in an offhand easy style, bringing her nose and her forefinger together with the difficulty I have described, standing with her head necessarily on one side and with one of her sharp eyes shut up, making an uncommonly knowing face, after ogling Steerforth for a few moments, broke into a torrent of words. What, my flower? She pleasantly began shaking her large head at him. You're there, are you? Oh, you naughty boy. Fie, for shame. What do you do so far away from home? Up to mischief, I'll be bound. Oh, you're a downy fellow, Steerforth. So you are. And I'm another, ain't it? Ha ha ha. You'd have bet a hundred pound to five now that you wouldn't have seen me here, wouldn't you? Bless you. Man alive, I'm everywhere. I'm here and there. And we're not like the conjurer's half crown in the lady's handkerchief. Talking of ankerchers and talking of ladies, what a comfort you are to your blessed mother, ain't you, my dear boy? Over one of my shoulders, and I don't say which. Miss Mowcher untied her bonnet at this passage of her discourse, threw back the strings and sat down panting on a footstool in front of the fire, making a kind of arbour of the dining table, which spread its mahogany shelter above her head. Oh, my stars and what's their names? She went on, clapping a hand on each of her little knees and glancing shrewdly at me. I'm of too full a habit, that's the fact, Steerforth. After a flight of stairs it gives me as much trouble to draw every breath I want as if it was a bucket of water. If you saw me looking out of an upper window, you'd think I was a fine woman, wouldn't you? I should think that wherever I saw you, replied Steerforth. Go along, you dog do. Cried the little creature, making a whisk at him with the handkerchief with which she was wiping her face. And don't you be impudent, but I give you my word and honour, I was at Lady Mithers's last week. There's a woman, how she wears. And Mithers himself came into the room where I was waiting for her. There's a man, how he wears, and his wig too, for he's had it these 10 years. And he went on at that rate in the complimentary line that I Began to think I should be obliged to ring the bell. He's a pleasant wretch, but he wants principal. What were you doing for Lady Mithers? Asked Steerforth. That's tellin, my blessed infant, he retorted, tapping her nose again, screwing up her face and twinkling her eyes like an imp of supernatural intelligence. Never you mind. You'd like to know whether I stop her hair from falling off or dye it, or touch up her complexion or improve her eyebrows, wouldn't you? And so you shall, my darling, when I tell you. Do you know what my great grandfather's name was? No, said Steerforth. It was Walker, my sweet pet, replied Miss Mowcher, and he came of a long line of walkers that I inherit all the Hookey estates from. I never beheld anything approaching to Ms. Mowcher's wink, except Miss Moucher's self possession. She had a wonderful way, too, when listening to what was said to her, or when waiting for an answer to what she had said herself, of pausing with her head cunningly on one side, and one eye turned up like a magpie. Altogether I was lost in amazement, and sat staring at her, quite oblivious. I am afraid of the laws of politeness. She had by this time drawn the chair to her side, and was busily engaged in producing from the bag, plunging in her short arm to the shoulder at every dive, a number of small bottles, sponges, combs, brushes, bits of flannel, little pairs of curling irons, and other instruments which she tumbled in a heap upon the chair. From this employment she suddenly desisted and said to Steerforth, much to my confusion. Who's your friend, Mr. Copperfield? Said Steerforth. He wants to know you. Well then he shall. I thought he looked as if he did returned Miss Moucher, waddling up to me, bag in hand, and laughing on me as she came, face like a peach, standing on tiptoe to pinch my cheek as I sat. Quite tempting. I'm very fond of peaches. Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Copperfield. I'm sure I said that I congratulated myself on having the honor to make hers, and that the happiness was mutual. Oh my goodness, how polite we are. Exclaimed Ms. Moucher, making a preposterous attempt to cover her large face with her morsel of a hand. What a world of gammon and spinach it is though, ain't it? This was addressed confidentially to both of us, as the morsel of a hand came away from the face and buried itself, arm and all, in the bag again. What do you mean, Miss Moucher? Said Steerforth. What a refreshing set of humbugs we are, to be sure, ain't we, my sweet child? Replied that morsel of a woman, feeling in the bag with her head on one side and her eye in the air. Look here, taking something out. Scraps of the Russian prince's nails. Prince Alphabet turned topsy turvy, I call him, for his name's got all the letters in it. Ickledee piggledy. The Russian prince is a client of yours, is he? Said Steerforth. I believe you, my pet, replied Miss Moucher. I keep his nails in order for him twice a week, fingers and toes. He pays well, I suppose, said Steerforth. Pays as he speaks, my dear child. Through the nose, replied Miss Moucher. None of your clothes shavers the prince ain't you'd say so if you saw his mustachios. Red by nature, black by art. By your art, of course, said Steerforth. Miss Moucher winked assent. Meaning she dyes the prince's hair. And Miss Moucher is clearly a hairdresser forced to send for me. Couldn't help it. The climate affected his dye. It did very well in Russia, but it was no go here. You never saw such a rusty prince in all your born days as he was like old iron. Is that why you called him a humbug just now? Inquired Steerforth. Oh, you're a broth of a boy, ain't you? Returned Miss Mowcher, shaking her head violently. I said, what a set of humbugs we were in general. And I showed you the scraps of the prince's nails to prove it. The prince's nails do more for me in private families of the genteel sort than all my talents put together. I always carry em about. They're the best introduction. If Miss Mowcher cuts the prince's nails, she must be all right. I give him away to the young ladies. They put him in albums, I believe. Upon my life. The old social system, as the men call it when they make speeches in parliament. It's a system of prince's nails, said this least, of women trying to fold her short arms and nodding her large head. Steerforth laughed heartily, and I laughed too, Miss Mowcher continuing all the time to shake her head, which was very much on one side, and to look into the air with one eye and to wink with the other. Well, well, well, she said, smiting her small knees and rising. This is not business. Come, Steerforth, let's explore the polar regions and have it over. She then selected two or three of the little instruments and a little bottle, and asked, to my surprise, if the table would bear on Steerforth's, Replying in the affirmative, she pushed a chair against it, and, begging the assistance of my hand, mounted up pretty nimbly to the top as if it were a stage. If either of you saw my ankles, she said when she was safely elevated, say so and I'll go home and destroy myself. I did not, said Steerforth. I did not, said I. Well then, cried Miss Mowcher, I'll consent to live. Now, ducky, ducky, ducky. Come to Mrs. Bond and be killed. This was an invitation to Steerforth to place himself under her hands, who accordingly sat himself down with his back to the table and his laughing face towards me, and submitted his head to her inspection, evidently for no other purpose than our entertainment. To see Miss Mowcher standing over him, looking at his rich profusion of brown hair through a large, round magnifying glass, which she took out of her pocket, was a most amazing spectacle. You're a pretty fellow, said Miss Mowcher after a brief inspection. You'd be as bald as a friar on the top of your head in 12 months. But for me, just half a minute, my young friend, and we'll give you a polishin that shall keep your curls on for the next 10 years. With this, she tilted some of the contents of the little bottle on to one of the little bits of flannel, and again, imparting some of the virtues of that preparation to one of the little brushes, began rubbing and scraping away with both on the crown of Steerforth's head in the busiest manner I ever witnessed. Talking all the time. There's Charley Pygrave, the Duke's son, she said. You know Charlie, peeping round into his face a little, said Steerforth. What a man he is. There's a whisker as to Charlie's legs. If they were only a pair, which they ain't, they'd defy competition. Would you believe he tried to do without me in the lifeguards? Too mad, said Steerforth. It looks like it. However mad or sane he tried, returned Miss Mowcher, what does he do but lo and behold you. He goes into a perfumer's shop and wants to buy a bottle of the Madagascar Liquid. Charlie does, said Steerforth. Charlie does. But they haven't got any of the Madagascar Liquid. What is it? Something to drink? Asked Steerforth. To drink, returned Miss Moucher, stopping to slap his cheek to doctor his own mustachios with. You know, there was a woman in the shop elderly female, quite a griffin who had never heard of it by name. Begging pardon, sir, said the gryphon to Charlie, it's not. Not rouge, is it? Rouge? Said Charlie to the griffin. What the unmentionable to ears polite do you think I want with rouge? No offence, sir, said the Gryphon. We have it asked for by so many names. I thought it might be. Now that my child, continued Ms. Mowcher, rubbing all the time as busily as ever, is another instance of the refreshing humbug I was speaking of. I do something in that way myself, perhaps a good deal P' raps a little. Sharp's the word, my dear boy. Never mind. In what way do you mean in the rouge way, said Steerforth. Put this and that together, my tender pupil, returned the wary Mowcher, touching her nose. Work it by the rule of secrets in all trades, and the product will give you the desired result. I say I do a little in that way myself. One dowager, she calls it lip salve, another she calls it gloves. Another she calls it tuck a reggin. Another she calls it a fan. I call it whatever they call it, I supply it for em. But we keep up to tricks so to one another, and make believe with such a face that they'd as soon think of laying it on before a whole drawing room as before me. And when I wait upon them, they'll say to me sometimes, whiff it on thick and no mistake. How am I looking, Moucher? Am I pale? Isn't that refreshing, my young friend? Okay, so she's saying that people want makeup and things to look better, but they pretend they're not wearing it, and Ms. Moucher goes along with it. I never did in my days behold anything like Miss Moucher as she stood upon the table, intensely enjoying this refreshment, rubbing busily at Steerforth's head and winking at me over it. Ah, she said. Such things air not much in demand ere abouts. That sets me off again. I haven't seen a pretty woman since I've been here. Demi no, said Steerforth, not the ghost of one, replied Miss Mowcher. We could show her the substance of one, I think, said Steerforth, addressing his eyes to mine. Eh, Daisy? Yes, indeed, said I. Aha. Cried the little creature, glancing sharply at my face and then peeping round at Steerforth's. Umph. The first exclamation sounded like a question put to both of us, and the second like a question put to Steerforth, only she seemed to have found no answer to either. But continued to rub with her head on one side, and her eye turned up as if she were looking for an answer in the air, and were confident of its appearing presently. A sister of yours, Mr. Copperfield. She cried after a pause, and still keeping the same lookout. I. I no. Said Steerforth before I could reply. Nothing of that sort. On the contrary, Mr. Copperfield, usedor I am much mistaken to have a great admiration for her. Why hasn't he now returned, Ms. Mowcher? Is he fickle? Oh, for shame. Did he sip every flower and change every hour until Polly, his passion requited? Is her name Polly? The elfin suddenness with which she pounced upon me with this question and a searching look quite disconcerted me for a moment. No, Ms. Moucher, I replied. Her name is Emily. Aha. She cried, exactly as before. Umph. What a row I am, Mr. Copperfield. Ain't I volatile? Her tone and look implied something that was not agreeable to me in connection with the subject. So I said in a graver manner than any of us had yet assumed, she is as virtuous as she is pretty. She is engaged to be married to a most worthy and deserving man in her own station of life. I esteem her for her good sense as much as I admire her for her good looks. Well said. Cried Steerforth. Hear, hear, hear. Now I'll quench the curiosity of this little Fatima, my dear Daisy, by leaving her nothing to guess at. She is at present apprenticed, Miss Moucher, or articled, or whatever it may be, to Omar and Joram, haberdashers, milliners, and so forth. In this town. Do you observe Omuranjoram. The promise of which my friend has spoken is made and entered into with her cousin, Christian name Ham, surname Peggotty, boat builder, also of this town. She lives with a relative, Christian name unknown, surname Peggotty, seafaring, also of this town. She is the prettiest and most engaging little fairy in the world. I admire her as my friend does exceedingly. If it were not that I might appear to disparage her intended, which I know my friend would not like, I would add that to me she seems to be throwing herself away, that I am sure she might do better, and that I swear she was born to be a lady. Miss Mowisher listened to these words, which were very slowly and distinctly spoken, with her head on one side and her eye in the air, as if she were still looking for that answer. When he ceased, she became brisk again in an instant and rattled away with surprising volubility oh, and that's all about it, is it? She exclaimed, trimming his whiskers with a little restless pair of scissors that went glancing round his head in all directions. Very well, very well. Quite a long story ought to end, and they lived happily ever afterwards, oughtn't it? Ah, what's that game at forfeits? I love my love with an E because she's enticing. I hate her with an E because she's engaged. I took her to the sign of the exquisite and treated her with an elopement. Her name's Emily and she lives in the east. Mr. Copperfield, ain't I volatile? Merely looking at me with extravagant slyness and not waiting for any reply, she continued without drawing breath. There. If ever any scapegrace was trimmed and touched up to perfection, you are Steerforth. If I understand any noddle in the world, I understand yours. Do you hear me when I tell you that, my darlin'? I understand yours. Peeping down into his face. Now you may mizzle Jemmy, as we say at court, and if Mr. Copperfield will take the chair, I'll operate on him. What do you say, Daisy? Inquired Steerforth, laughing and resigning his seat. Will you be improved? Thank you, Miss Moucher. Not this evening. Don't say so, returned the little woman, looking at me with the aspect of a connoisseur. A little bit more eyebrow. Thank you, I returned some other time. Have it carried half a quarter of an inch towards the temple, said Miss Moucher. We can do it in a fortnight. No, I thank you not at present. Go in for a tip, she urged. No. Let's get the scaffolding up then, for a pair o whiskers. Come. I could not help blushing as they declined, for I felt we were on my weak point now. Meaning he doesn't have any whiskers yet. But Miss Mowcher, finding that I was not at present disposed for any decoration within the range of her art, and that I was, for the time being, proof against the blandishments of the small bottle which she held up before one eye to inflict, enforce her persuasions, said we would make a beginning on an early day, and requested the aid of my hand to descend from her elevated station. Thus assisted, she skipped down with much agility and began to tie her double chin into her bonnet. The fee, said Steerforth, is five bob, replied Ms. Moucher, and dirt cheap my chicken. Ain't I volatile, Mr. Copperfield? I replied politely, not at all. But I thought she was rather so when she tossed up his two half crowns like a goblin pieman caught them, dropped them in her pocket, and gave it a loud slap. That's the till, observed Miss Moucher, standing at the chair again and replacing in her bag a miscellaneous collection of little objects she had emptied out of it. Have I got all my traps? It seems so. It won't do to be like long Ned Beadwood when they took him to church to marry him to somebody, as he says, and left the bride behind. Ha ha. A wicked rascal, Ned, but droll. Now, I know I'm going to break your hearts, but I am forced to leave you. You must call up all your fortitude and try to bear it. Goodbye, Mr. Copperfield. Take care of yourself, Jockey of Norfolk. How I have been rattling on. It's all the fault of you two wretches. I forgive you. Bob swore, as the Englishman said for good night when he first learnt French and thought I'd so like English. Bob swore, my ducks, the French for good evening is bon soir. So she sang it in a very English accent as Bob swore. With the bag slung over her arm and rattling as she waddled away, she waddled to the door, where she stopped to inquire if he should leave us a lock of her hair. Ain't I volatile, she added as a commentary on this offer, and with her finger on her nose departed. Steerforth laughed to that degree that it was impossible for me to help laughing too, though I am not sure I should have done so. But. But for this inducement, when we had had our laugh quite out, which was after some time, he told me that Miss Moucher had quite an extensive connection and made herself useful to a variety of people in a variety of ways. Some people trifled with her as a mere oddity, he said, but she was as shrewdly and sharply observant as anyone he knew, and as long headed as she was short armed, he told me that what she had said of being here and there and everywhere was true enough, for she made little darts into the provinces and seemed to pick up customers everywhere and to know everybody. I asked him what her disposition was, whether it was at all mischievous, or if her sympathies were generally on the right side of things, but not succeeding in attracting his attention to these questions. After two or three attempts I forbore or forgot to repeat them. He told me instead, with much rapidity a good deal about her skill and her profits, and about her being a scientific cupper if I should ever have occasion for her service in that capacity. She was the principal theme of our conversation during the evening. And when we parted for the night, Steerforth called after me over the banisters. Bob swore as I went downstairs. I was surprised when I came to Mr. Barkis's house to find Ham walking up and down in front of it and still more surprised to learn from him that little Em' ly was inside. I naturally inquired why he was not there too, instead of pacing the streets by himself. Why, you see, Master Davy, he rejoined in a hesitating manner, Em', ly, she's talkin to some one in here. I should have thought, said I, smiling, that that was a reason for your being in here too. Ham. Well, Master Davy, in a general way, so twould be he returned. But lookee here, Master Davy, lowering his voice and speaking very gravely. It's a young woman, sir, A young woman that Em' ly knowed once and don't ought to know no more. Meaning she shouldn't know her now. When I heard these words, a light began to fall upon the figure I had seen following them some hours ago. It's a poor worm, Mas' R Davy, said Ham. Meaning it's a poor woman as is trod under foot by all the town, up street and down street. The mould of the churchyard don't hold any that the folks shrink away from moor. Okay, so this woman is some kind of pariah, possibly a prostitute. Did I see her tonight, Ham, on the sand after we met you keeping us in sight, said Ham. It's like you did, Master Davy. Not that I knowed then she was there, sir, but along of her creepin soon afterwards under Em' ly's little winder when she see the light come and whisperin Em'. Ly. Em', Ly, for Christ's sake, have a woman's heart towards me. I was once like you. Those was solemn words, Mas' R Davy, fur to hear they were indeed Ham. What did Em' Ly do? Says Em'. Ly. Martha, Is that you? Ho? Martha cannot be you, for they had sat at work together many a day at Mr. Omer's. I recollect her now, cried I, recalling one of the two girls I had seen when I first went there. I recollect her quite well. Martha Endel, said Ham. Two or three year older than Emily, but was at the school with her. I never heard her name, said I. I didn't mean to interrupt you for the matter. O that, Master Davy, replied Ham. All's told a' most in them words. Emily. Em', Ly For Christ's sake, have a woman's heart toward me. I was once like you. She wanted to speak to Emily. Emily couldn't speak to her there, for her loving uncle was come home and he wouldn't. No, Master Davy, said Ham with great earnestness, he couldn't con natured, tender hearted as he is, see em two together side by side for all the treasures that's wrecked in the sea. I felt how true this was. I knew it on the instant quite as well as Ham. So Emily writes in pencil on a bit o paper he pursued, and gives it to her out o winder to bring here. Show that she says to my aunt, Mrs. Barkis, and she'll set you down by her fire for the love o me till uncle is gone out and I can come by and by. She tells me what I tell you, Master Deevie, and asks me to bring her. What can I do? She don't ought to know any such but I can't deny her when the tears is on her face. He put his hand into the breast of his shaggy jacket and took out with great care a pretty little purse. And if I could deny her when the tears was on her face, Master Davie, said Ham, tenderly adjusting it on the rough palm of his hand, how could I deny her when she gi me this to carry for her, knowin what she brought it for, such a toy as it is, said Ham thoughtfully, looking on it with such a little money in it. Em', ly, my dear. I shook him warmly by the hand when he had put it away again, for that was more satisfactory to me than saying anything, and we walked up and down for a minute or two in silence. The door opened then, and Peggotty appeared, beckoning to Ham to come in. I would have kept away, but she came after me, entreating me to come in too. Even then I would have avoided the room where they all were, but for its being the neat tiled kitchen I have mentioned more than once, the door opening immediately into it. I found myself among them before I considered whither I was going. The girl, the same I had seen upon the sands, was near the fire. She was sitting on the ground with her head and one arm lying on a chair. I fancied from the disposition of her figure that Emily had but newly risen from the chair, and that the forlorn head might perhaps have been lying on her lap. I saw but little of the girl's face, over which her hair fell loose and scattered, as if she had been disordering it with her own hands. But I saw that she was young and of a fair complexion. Peggotty had been crying. So had little Emily. Not a word was spoken when we first went in, and the Dutch clock by the dresser seemed in the silence to tick twice as loud as usual. Emily spoke first. Martha wants, she said to Ham, to go to London. Why to London? Returned Ham. He stood between them, looking on the prostrate girl with a mixture of compassion for her and of jealousy of her holding any companionship with her whom he loved so well, which I have always remembered distinctly. They both spoke as if she were ill, in a soft suppressed tone that was plainly heard, although it hardly rose above a whisper. Better there than here, said a third voice aloud. Martha's, though she did not move. No one knows me there. Everybody knows me here. What will she do there? Inquired Ham. She lifted up her head and looked darkly round at him for a moment, then laid it down again and curved her right arm about her neck as a woman in a fever or in an agony of pain, pain from a shot might twist herself. She will try to do well, said little Emily. You don't know what she has said to us. Does he? Do they? Aunt Peggotty shook her head compassionately. I'll try, said Martha, if you'll help me away. I never can do worse than I have done here. I made you better. Oh, with a dreadful shiver. Take me out of these streets where the whole town knows me from. A child. As Emily held out her hand to Ham, I saw him put in it a little canvas bag. She took it as if she thought it were her purse and made a step or two forward, but finding her mistake, came back to where he had retired near me and showed it to him. Is all your Nemli? I could hear him say. I haven't. Not in the world. That ain't your, my dear. It ain't of no delight to me except for you. So he's giving her way more money to give to Martha than she had in her little purse. He's giving her his own money. The tears rose freshly in her eyes, but she turned away and went to Martha. What she gave her, I don't know. I saw her stooping over her and putting money in her bosom. She whispered something as she asked, Was that enough? More than enough, the other said, and took her hand and kissed it. Then Martha arose and, gathering her shawl about her, covering her face with it and weeping aloud, went slowly to the door. She stopped a moment before going out, as if she would have uttered something or turned back, but no word passed her lips, making the same low, dreary, wretched moaning in her shawl. She went away as the door closed. Little Emily looked at us three in a hurried manner and then hid her face in her hands and fell to sobbing. Don't, Emily, said Ham, tapping her gently on the shoulder. Don't, my dear, you don't ought to cry so pretty. Oh, Ham. She exclaimed, still weeping pitifully. I am not so good a girl as I ought to be. I know I have not the thankful heart. Sometimes I ought to have. Yes, yes, you have, I'm sure, said Ham. No, no, no. Cried little Emily, sobbing and shaking her head. I am not as good a girl as I ought to be. Not near, not near. And still she cried as if her heart would break. I try your love too much, I know I do, she sobbed. I'm often cross to you and changeable with you, and I ought to be far different. You are never so to me. Why am I ever so to you, when I should think of nothing but how to be grateful and to make you happy? You always make me so, said Ham. My dear, I am happy in the sight of you. I am happy all day long in the thoughts of you. Oh, that's not enough, she cried. That is because you are good, not because I am. Oh, my dear, it might have been a better fortune for you if you had been fond of someone else, of someone steadier and much worthier than me, who was all bound up in you and never vain and changeable like me. Poor little tender art, said Ham in a low voice. Marfor has overset her altogether. Please, Aunt, sobbed Emily, come here and let me lay my head upon you. I am very miserable to night, Aunt. Oh, I am not as good a girl as I ought to be. I am not. I know. Peggotty had hastened to the chair before the fire. Emily, with her arms around her neck, kneeled by her, looking up most earnestly into her face. Oh, pray, Aunt, try to help me, Ham dear, try to help me. Mr. David, for the sake of old times, do please try to help me. I want to be a better girl than I am. I want to feel a hundred times more thankful than I do. I want to feel more. What a blessed thing it is to be the wife of a good man and to lead a peaceful life. O me, O me. O my heart, my heart. She dropped her face on my old nurse's breast and ceasing this supplication, which in its agony and grief was half a woman's half a child's, as all her manner was being in that more natural and better suited to her beauty, as I thought than any other manner could have been. Wept silently while my old nurse hushed her like an infant. She got calmer by degrees, and then we soothed her, now talking encouragingly and now jesting a little with her, until she began to raise her head and speak to us. So we got on until she was able to smile and then to laugh, and then to sit up half ashamed, while Peggotty recalled her stray ringlets, dried her eyes, and made her neat again, lest her uncle should wonder when she got home and why his darling had been crying. I saw her do that night what I had never seen her do before. I saw her innocently kiss her chosen husband on the cheek and creep close to his bluff form, as if it were her best support. When they went away together in the waning moonlight and I looked after them, comparing their departure in my mind with Martha's, I saw that she held his arm with both her hands and still kept close to him. 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. Sam.