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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 everyone. Welcome back. I have to apologize again because my voice is scratchy yet again. My family is just passing colds around this month. I feel like one or the other of us has been sick since New Year. But it's okay. We're all doing well. But my voice is a little funny. I have a kind of head cold, so you're going to probably hear my M sounding a little bit like B's. But as usual you don't have to worry about that in the chapters. Those were recorded before when I was not sick. And all you have to do is bear with me through this introduction and then you won't have to listen to this anymore. So I apologize for that. By the way, if I ever do lose my voice completely, which does happen to me from time to time, and I once did teach a class of 32 fourth graders with absolutely no voice at all. So kind of proud of that. But anyway, sometimes I do lose my voice and if that happens, I have pre recorded a message that lets you know that that is what's happened. And I'm going to put that before the chapter. So you'll still get the chapters even if I'm not able to talk to you at the beginning. But hopefully that is not what is going to happen now. Hopefully I will get better instead of worse and you will hear from me without this kind of funny sounding voice on Thursday. But today this is what you got. So hopefully you can bear with me. And I appreciate that. So welcome back. I'm so glad to be here with you and we actually have a lot to talk about today. I got some great questions and I think there's a lot of stuff that we need to clarify a little bit and to talk about. So we have a lot to talk about and then we're going to move on to the chapter. So I won't say too much here, just all, all the usual things. Please subscribe. Please tell your friends. Please tap the five stars and leave a positive review. Do what you can to spread the word about this show because the more people reading these classic books and talking about them together, the better the world is going to be. And you can be a part of that. You are a part of that because you are listening here now, and you're reading these books with me and with each other. But you can also help out by getting more people involved. So I hope that you will. I hope that you'll share this with your friends and your colleagues and your family. And. And also, don't forget, you can always just scroll into the show notes and check out the links that are there. You might find something of interest to you. I won't go through them all now, but there are several links in there that might be interesting. So please do just scroll down and check that out. And of course, that's also where you can find the link to contact me, which I really hope that you will do. You're never bothering me. I always love to hear from you, and I love to hear your thoughts and reactions to these chapters. So please do get in touch via. Via that link. And while you're there, check out the other links that are in the show notes. Okay, so last time we read chapter seven, which means today we're reading chapter eight. First, let's remind ourselves what happened in chapter seven. And then I'm going to read some comments, and we'll talk for a little while, and then we'll get to chapter eight. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, Davey is kind of settling in at Salem House. Steerforth asks Davey to tell him stories in the evening and in the morning. And Davey does this, and that sort of solidifies a place for. For him within the group of boys. The school is basically sort of Lord of the Flies, and Davey's just trying to survive. So one day, when Mr. Creakle is ill, Mr. Mel is trying to teach, but the boys are all out of control, and Mr. Mel and Steerforth get into a standoff in which Steerforth reveals that Mr. Mel's mother lives in an almshouse, which is something that he Learned from Davey. Mr. Creakle fires Mr. Mel, and Davey feels terrible, even though he still feels his allegiance is to steal Steerforth. Later, Davey gets a visit from Mr. Peggy and Ham, who tell him that everyone's doing well and they give him a bunch of shellfish. Steerforth meets them as well and is kind to them, and they all get on well. And Davey shares this shellfish with the boys, but it makes Traddles sick. Eventually, it's time for the next vacation, and Davey learns that he will be allowed to go home for a visit. So we left him traveling home from school. Okay, I'm gonna read three comments or questions today. The first one comes from Pam Shroud. So Pam says, what a horrible school. What a semester for David. Okay. And then Katie M. Is the next one. And she says, no matter how pleasant Steerforth is after this, we know he is not the true friend of any of those boys. He obviously has some kind of power over Mr. Creakle, which he never uses to protect any of them from the abuse. Davy or Traddles would have used the power to protect others, not steerforth. So Mr. Mel ended up being a much more stronger and intuitive character than we knew. A great loss. And Traddles is less under Steerforth's way than the other boys. I wish Davey could see through it, but he is so hungry for family, he can't see how fake Steerforth is. Okay, and this last one comes from Rose Haddon. She says, I didn't understand why Mr. Mel was fired. Was it because his mother was in an almshouse? Why should that be a firing offense? I hope other people also ask this question, and it's not just me. Okay, so no, Rose, it is not just you at all. I got a lot of questions about what exactly was going on with Mr. Mel and why his mother's situation was a fireable offense. And I think there are actually several kind of historical context things that I think it would be helpful to go over so that we can more fully understand this chapter and all of the sort of social dynamics that are going on here. Because. Because as Katie says in her letter, we get a pretty negative impression of Steerforth at the beginning of this chapter. But actually later on, when Mr. Peggy and Ham come to visit, we get a more positive picture of him. And I think it's worth looking at that as well and what it all might mean about Steerforth as a character. But before I do that, I want to just acknowledge Pam's comment that, yes, this is a horrible school. It is run by an actual sadist. Like, this is not a person like Mr. Murdstone. Mr. Murdstone thinks that corporal punishment is the way to raise up stand and obedient children. Right. But Mr. Creakle seems to actually just like beating the boys, which is another level of awful. Here is what we're told. It says, I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at the boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am confident that he couldn't resist a chubby boy, especially that there was a fascination in such a subject which made him restless in his mind until he had scrupled, gored, and marked him for the day. I was chubby myself and ought to know, okay, And I know this can be sort of hard to listen to, right, that our dear Davey is being tortured in this way and treated so badly by an adult that is supposed to care for him. But remember that if you are feeling that way, if you are sad or incensed for him, then Dickens has done his job. He has roped you into this world and made you fall in love with a person who doesn't really exist. And that's what great literature does. If you're feeling something, if you have seen sympathy or empathy for David now, then you are invested in this book and in this story, and that is a good thing. And I think the feelings that we feel when we see David and the other boys being attacked in this way by this brutal man who enjoys attacking them, I think those feelings are exactly the ones that Dickens wants us to be feeling. Because remember, in addition to this being a really gripping story filled with characters that we love and some that we hate, this is. Is Dickens talking to us about his beliefs about children and how they should be treated. I mean, we get adult David in this chapter, who, by the way, for those of you who are really, truly worried about David to the point where you feel like maybe you can't read on, remember that we know for a fact that David comes out of this alive and well enough to be writing all this down, right? Adult David is our narrator, so he makes it okay. So you can remember that and hang on to that if you're worried about him. But anyway, in this chapter, adult David, who I think we can equate at times like this with Dickens himself, Adult David tells us that this situation with Mr. Creakle still makes him angry, even now, even now that he's well out of it. And Dickens gives us, through adult David, his views on the type of discipline that Mr. Creakle employs. Here is what he I am sure when I think of the fellow now, my blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation I should feel if I could have known all about him without having ever been in his power. But it rises hotly, because I know him to have been an incapable brute who had no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held than to be lord high admiral or commander in chief. In either of which capacities it is probable that he would have done intensely. Less mischief. Okay, so he's saying that this man was entrusted with something very important, which was the care and education of these children. And he took home horrible advantage of it. And that's wrong. So Dickens is saying that children deserve to be treated with love and respect and dignity and not to be tortured and abused simply because the adults around them have all the power and can treat them badly. Right. Just because they can, they shouldn't. So the feelings that we're feeling for Davey and the other boys in the face of Mr. Creakle's treatment are Dickens way of getting us to understand how wrong this is. Again, the best novels don't preach at you when they want to tell you something. They don't hit you over the head with stuff. They craft a story that makes you feel the truth of whatever it is they believe and feel. And I think we do feel that truth, and we feel for David. And that's a good thing. It means that we're invested in this story. But. Okay, so then we get to this incident with Mr. Mel and Steerforth. So let me just set up a couple of things historically for us here, because I think that will help us to understand Ste. Steerforth better as a character and to understand what exactly happened. So Steerforth is wealthy. We're told that he is a parlor boarder, which we talked about in our Christmas special this year when we read A Little Princess. But if you missed that or if you forgot very quickly, it just means that his family pays for him to have special privileges at the school. Usually those privileges have to do with being more included in the family life of the person who runs the school. School. So, for example, instead of eating whatever food is cooked in the cafeteria for the whole school, a parlor boarder might eat the nicer, fancier food that is served to the headmaster and his family. He might join the family in their private apartments for meals and other entertainments. We know that Steerforth walks Ms. Creakle to church. So he has a more intimate relationship with the Creakle family than the other boys. And that was kind of the idea was that you would have more of a family experience than a sort of boy adrift in a big boarding school experience. So the family would pay for him to have a more of a kind of intimate family experience while he was still away at school. And because of this wealth that he has, he has more leeway because his family pays the school more than the other boys families do. And that means that Mr. Creakle wants to keep him There, Right. Both for the money and also for the prestige. If he can say that this wealthy family has chosen to send their child to his school, then that's good publicity for him. Maybe other wealthy families will want to come there, too. But only if the Steerforth family speaks well of the school, which means that Mr. Creakle has an interest in keeping Steerforth happy. So Steerforth doesn't get beaten like the other boys. He has a level of authority that the other boys don't have. He has a level of acquaintance with the Creakle family that the other boys don't have. So Steerforth, because of his wealth and his social standing, he actually has a lot of power within the social hierarchy of the Square school. And clearly he knows that. Right? He kind of runs the school in a way. Whatever he asks for seems to go both with Mr. Creakle, but also with the boys. I mean, this thing where he asks Davey to tell him stories because he can't sleep at night. On the one hand, it's flattering to Davey that this much older, more popular boy should want him to do this for him. But it's also kind of annoying because it's keeping Davey up past his bedtime. And Steerforth isn't asking him to do it, really. He's telling him. And he feels entitled to tell him because he's Steerforth. He gets what he wants. Right? But he's also very appreciative. I mean, this is the thing about Steerforth, and I'll say more about this in a minute, but the thing about Steerforth is that he's both incredibly selfish, but also incredibly charismatic. And part of his charisma is that he does pay attention to people. He gives credit where credit is due, and he praises people for the things that they do for him. He believes he's entitled to whatever he asks for for, but he also really appreciates and acknowledges the people who give him those things. So he endears himself to people and Davey who, remember, Davey, has never had a male role model before. There has never been any older male who has taken any kind of positive notice of him. So Davey can't see anything other than Steerforth's wonderfulness. He tells us that he told those stories to Steerforth not because he was afraid, afraid of what would happen if he didn't, but because he loved Steerforth truly. Here is what it let me do myself justice. However, I was moved by no interested or selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admired and loved him, and his approval was return Enough. It was so precious to me that I look back on these trifles now with an aching heart. Okay, so Steerforth inspires love in people, not fear. Which means that he's not just ordering people around and then accepting what they do for him as his duty do. He's telling people what to do and then being incredibly appreciative of it, which is still not okay. He's not the boss of all of these people, even though he acts like it. But you can see how it makes people like him, right? You can see how someone like Davey would fall hard for this guy and want to do anything for him. So he's not like an evil tyrant or something. He's more of, like, a charismatic leader who makes people do his bidding through sheer force of personality. And he's so catered to all the time that he just expands, expects to get what he wants all the time. Which is why he is so upset by Mr. Mel saying that he's anything other than a super upstanding guy. I mean, Mr. Mel basically calls Steerforth on everything I was just saying about him, okay? This is what he says. He says, if you think, Steerforth, that I am not acquainted with the power you can establish over any mind here, or that I have not observed you within a few minutes urging your juniors on to every sort of outrage against me, you are mistaken. Okay? And then he goes on to say, and when you make use of your position of favoritism here, sir, to insult a gentleman, right? And then Steerforth interrupts him. So, as Katie points out in her letter, Mr. Mel turns out to actually be a very strong character. And we, from our, like, adult, outside perspective, we wish that Davey could have latched onto him as a male role model in some ways, rather than to Steerforth, because, and this will go To Rose's question, Mr. Mel is very poor. He's far, far lower on the social hierarchy than Steerforth. He's not only poor, but his mother is an actual beggar. She's living in an almshouse, which means that she's had to accept charity. She can't make enough money to live on, and she's on welfare, essentially. But Mr. Mel works hard. He visits his mother. It wasn't clear at the time that that's who that was when Davey came with Mr. Mel to the old woman's house. But it was his mother, right? So he visits her. He clearly loves her, and he doesn't blame her for her poverty. Mr. Mel is a really upstanding guy, it turns out, and we Learned last time. He's been kind of watching out for and taking care of Davey and trying to be the male role model that he needs in his own sort of quiet way. But when he calls out Steerforth, Steerforth can't abide that. He can't abide his good guy Persona being challenged. And he hits Mr. Mel in exactly the place where he knows it'll hurt most, which is that his mother lives in an almshouse. Why? Why is that so bad? Well, it's for the same reason that it's good for the school to have a wealthy parlor boarder like Steerforth. If parents found out that the school was being taught by beggars and people very low on the social hierarchy, then wealthy parents wouldn't want to send their children there. It looks bad for the school that Mr. Mel is associated with charity cases, people who can't or don't earn their own money. So if that were to be made known publicly, the school's reputation would suffer. So there's a social dynamic going on here that's kind of hard for us as modern readers to understand. But basically, Steerforth is retaliating against Mr. Mel by doing exactly what Mr. Mel accused him of, which is using his influence and power to affect the people around him. In this case, using the information he got from Davey to out Mr. Mel's social situation and get him fired. And again, Mr. Mel is clearly the better role model here because he's sort of tacitly forgives Davy for being the one to out him, and he takes his punishment without complaint. And he basically tells Steerforth that he hopes one day he'll see what a bad thing he's done. And then he leaves, essentially with his head held high. And Davey, to his credit, feels terrible for his part in this, but he is so in Steerforth's thrall that all he can do is try to hide the fact that he feels bad so as not to anger Steerforth. Right. Here's what he says. For myself, I felt so much self reproach and contrition for my part in what had happened that nothing would have enabled me to keep back my tears. But the fear that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I saw, might think it unfriendly, or I should rather say, considering our relative ages and the feeling with which I regarded him undutiful, if I showed the emotion which distressed me. He was very angry with Traddles and said he was glad he had caught it. Okay, so this comparison that Dickens gives us between the poor but upstanding Mr. Mel and the wealthy but callous Steerforth. It's really striking. And I think Dickens is sort of making a quiet statement here about character over class. Right. Your social standing doesn't necessarily say anything about your actual inner character. And sometimes it's the poorest among us who are the best men. But I want to just end by talking for a moment about this interaction between stats, Steerforth and Mr. Pagetty and Ham, because even though Steerforth showed total disdain for Mr. Mel's poverty when introduced to these humble fishermen, Steerforth is incredibly gracious and kind and interested. Of course, Mr. Peggotty and Ham are giving Steerforth exactly the kind of deferential attention that he feels he deserves. But it's worth noting that Steerforth isn't condescending even to these very poor men. He takes the time to talk to them and give them real attention because they're friends of Davies and. And this is what I mean by Steerforth's charisma. As long as you're not on his bad side, like Mr. Mel, he is incredibly charismatic. You know, there's something called the common touch. It's usually used when talking about royalty. Some royals throughout history have been said to have the common touch. And what they mean is, even though they are the highest of the high in terms of social hierarchy, they have the ability to make each person they talk to, regardless of their social status, and they have the ability to make each person they talk to feel like they really are being seen and heard and liked. Right. Not all royals. I'm not saying that. I'm saying certain ones have this. And even though the king or queen or whoever might forget that person five seconds after they've stopped talking to them for the time that they were talking to them, they were engaged, they were interested, they were paying attention, and they seem to really, truly care. And I think Steerforth has the common touch. I think he has the power to make the people around him feel that he really, truly cares about them and he's interested in them. And I think actually that for whatever time he is talking to them, he is interested. I don't think it's completely calculated, but I think that he then moves on and doesn't really think much about those people again or what he might owe them in return for their devotion to him or anything like that. Here's how Dickens puts it. He says there was an ease in his manner, a gay and light manner it was, but not swaggering, which I still believe to have borne a kind of enchantment with it. I still believe him in virtue of this carriage, his animal spirits, his delightful voice, his handsome face and figure, and for aught I know of some inborn power of attraction, besides which I think a few people possess to have carried a spell with him to which it was a natural weakness to yield and which not many persons could withstand. Okay, so I think I'll stop there. I've been talking for kind of a while this time, but we had a lot to cover and there were a few historical things that I thought it sense to clarify. But I think we got there and now actually Davey is on his way home, right? He's going back home for a vacation. And what will he find there? What will it be like for him to be on vacation back at home with his mother and Mr. Murdstone and Ms. Murdstone? So we have to keep reading and find out about that. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmoore.com or you can scroll into the show notes and click that link that we were talking about earlier. Please do get in touch. I really love to hear from you. I would love to hear your thoughts, thoughts and reactions to the chapter and we'll talk about it next time. All right, let's get started with chapter eight of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time, Chapter 8. My holidays, especially one happy afternoon when we arrived before day at the inn where the mail stopped, which was not the inn where my friend the waiter lived. I was shown up to a nice little bedroom with dolphin painted on the door. Very cold I was, I know, notwithstanding the hot tea they had given me before a large fire downstairs, and very glad I was to turn into the dolphin's bed, put the dolphin's blankets round my head, and go to sleep. Mr. Barkis, the carrier, was to call for me in the morning at nine o'. Clock. I got up at eight, a little giddy from the shortness of my night's rest, and was ready for him before the appointed time. He received me exactly as if not five minutes had elapsed since we were last together, and I had only been into the hotel to get changed for sixpence or something of that sort. As soon as I and my box were in the cart and the carrier seated, the lazy horse walked away with us all at his accustomed pace. You look very well, Mr. Barkis, I said, thinking he would like to know it. Mr. Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff and then looked at his cuff as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon it, but made no other acknowledgment of the compliment. I gave your message, Mr. Barkis, I said. I wrote to Peggotty, so remember Davy wrote to Peggy to say that Mr. Barkis is willing, meaning willing to marry Peggy. But David didn't know that, although he did write to tell her what Mr. Barkis said. Ah, said Mr. Barkis. Mr. Barkis seemed gruff and answered dryly. Wasn't it right, Mr. Barkis? I asked after a little hesitation. Why no, said Mr. Barkis. Not the message. The message was right enough. P', raps, said Mr. Barkis, but it come to an end there. Not understanding what he meant, I repeated inquisitively, came to an end, Mr. Barkis? Nothin come of it, he explained, looking at me sideways. No answer. There was an answer expected, was there, Mr. Barkis? Said I, opening my eyes, for this was a new light to me. When a man says he's willin', said Mr. Barkis, turning his glance slowly on me again, it's as much to say that man's a waitin for an answer. Well, Mr. Barkis, well, said Mr. Barkis, carrying his eyes back to his horse's ears, that man's been a waitin for a answer ever since. Have you told her so, Mr. Barkis? No, no, growled Mr. Barkis, reflecting about it. I ain't got no call to go and tell her so. I never said six words to her myself. I ain't agoin to tell her so. Would you like me to do it, Mr. Barkis? Said I doubtfully. You might tell her if you would, said Mr. Barkis with another slow look at me. That Barkis was a waitin for a answer. Says you? What name is it? Her name? Ah, said Mr. Barkis with a nod of his head. Peggy. Christen. Name or natural name? Said Mr. Barkis. Oh, it's not her Christian name. Her Christian name is Clara. Is it, though? Said Mr. Barkis. He seemed to find an immense fund of reflection in this circumstance, and sat pondering and inward whistling for some time. Well, he resumed at length, says you, Peggotty, Barkis is waitin for a answer, says she? Perhaps. Answer to what? Says you to what? I told you. What is that? Says she. Barkis is willin', says you. This extremely artful suggestion, Mr. Barkis accompanied with a nudge of his elbow that gave me quite a stitch in my side. After that he slouched over his horse in his usual manner and made no other reference to the subject except half an hour afterwards, taking a Piece of chalk from his pocket and writing up inside the tilt of the cart. Clara Paggotty, apparently as a private memorandum. Ah, what a strange feeling it was to be going home when it was not home and to find that every object I looked at reminded me of the happy old home, which was like a dream I could never dream again. The days when my mother and I and Peggotty were all in all to one another and there was no one to come between us rose up before me so sorrowfully on the road that I am not sure I was glad to be there, not sure but that I would rather have remained away and forgotten it in Steerforth's company. But there I was, and soon I was at our house where the bare old elm trees wrung their many hands in the bleak wintry air and shreds of the old rooks nest drifted away upon the wind. The carrier put my box down at the garden gate and left me. I walked along the path towards the house, glancing at the windows and fearing at every step to see Mr. Murdstone or Ms. Murdstone lowering out of one of them. No face appeared, however, and being come to the house and knowing how to open the door before dark without knocking, I went in with a quiet, timid step. God knows how infantine the memory may have been that was awakened within me by the sound of my mother's voice in the old parlor. When I set foot in the hall she was singing in a low tone. I think I must have lain in her arms and heard her singing so to me when I was but a baby. The strain was new to me and yet it was so old that it filled my heart brimfull, like a friend come back from a long absence. I believed from the solitary and thoughtful way in which my mother murmured her song that she was alone. And I went softly into the room. She was sitting by the fire, suckling an infant whose tiny hand she held against her neck. Her eyes were looking down upon its face and she sat singing to it. I was so far right that she had no other companion. I spoke to her and she started and cried out. But seeing me, she called me her dear Davy, her own boy, and coming half across the room to meet me, kneeled down upon the ground and kissed me and laid my head down on her bosom near the little creature that was nestling there and put its hand to my lips. I wish I had died. I wish I had died. Then with that feeling in my heart I should have been more fit for heaven than I ever have been since, meaning he was so happy and felt so much love at that point. He is your brother, said my mother, fondling me. Davy, my pretty boy. My poor child. Then she kissed me more and more and clasped me round the neck. This she was doing when Peggotty came running in and bounced down on the ground beside us and went mad about us both for a quarter of an hour. It seemed that I had not been expected so soon, the carrier being much before his usual time. It seemed, too, that Mr. And Ms. Murdstone had gone out upon a visit in the neighbourhood and would not return before night. I had never hoped for this. I had never thought it possible that we three could be together undisturbed once more, and I felt for the time as if the old days were come back. We dined together by the fireside. Peggotty was in attendance to wait upon us, but my mother wouldn't let her do it and made her dine with us. I had my own old plate with a brown view of a man of war in sale upon it, which Peggotty had hoarded somewhere all the time I had been away and would not have had broken, she said, for a hundred pounds I had my own old mug with David on it, and my own old little knife and fork that wouldn't cut While we were at table. I thought it a favorable occasion to tell Peggotty about Mr. Barkis, who, before I had finished what I had to tell her, began to laugh and throw her apron over her face. Peggotty, said my mother. What's the matter? Peggotty only laughed the more and held her apron tight over her face when my mother tried to pull it away and sat as if her head were in a bag. What are you doing, you stupid creature? Said my mother, laughing. Oh, drat the man, said Peggotty. He wants to marry me. It would be a very good match for you, wouldn't it? Said my mother. Oh, I dunno, said Peggotty. Don't ask me. I wouldn't have him if he was made of gold, nor would I have anybody. Then why don't you tell him so, you ridiculous thing? Said my mother. Tell him so, Retorted Peggotty, looking out of her apron. He has never said a word to me about it. He knows better. If he was to make so bold as to say a word to me, I should slap his face. Her own was as red as ever I saw it, or any other face, I think. But she only covered it again for a few moments at a time. When she was taken With a violent fit of laughter and after two or three of those attacks, went on with her dinner. I remarked that my mother, though she smiled when Peggotty looked at her became more serious and thoughtful. I had seen at first that she was changed. Her face was very pretty still, but it looked careworn and too delicate and her hand was so thin and white that it seemed to me to be almost transparent. But the change to which I now refer was superadded to this. It was in her manner which became anxious and fluttered. At last, she said, putting out her hand and laying it affectionately on the hand of her old servant. Peggotty, dear, are you not going to be married? Me, ma', am, returned Peggotty, staring. Lord bless you. No, not just yet, said my mother tenderly. Never. Cried Peggotty. My mother took her hand and said, don't leave me, Peggotty. Stay with me. It will not be for long, perhaps. What should I ever do without you? Me lave you, my precious. Cried Peggotty. Not for all the world and his wife. Why, what's put that in your silly little head? For Peggy had been used of old to talk to my mother sometimes like a child. But my mother made no answer except to thank her and Peggotty went running on in her own fashion. Me leave you? I think I seen myself. Peggotty go away from you. I should like to catch her at it. No, no, no, said Peggotty, shaking her head and folding her arms. Not she, my dear. Isn't that There ain't some cats that will be well enough pleased if she did. But they shan't be pleased. They shall be aggravated. I'll stay with you till I'm a cross cranky old woman and when I'm too deaf and too lame and too blind and too mumbly for want o teeth to be any use at all, even to be found fault with, then I shall go to my Davy and ask him to take me in. And paggody, says I, I shall be glad to see you. And I'll make you as welcome as a queen. Bless your dear heart, cried Peggotty. I know you will. And she kissed me beforehand in grateful acknowledgment of my hospitality. After that she covered her head up with her apron again and had another laugh about Mr. Barkis. After that she took the baby out of its cradle and nursed it. After that she cleared the dinner table. After that she came in with another cap on and her work box and the yard measure and the bit of wax candle and all just the same as ever. We sat round the fire and talked delightfully. I told them what a hard master Mr. Creakle was, and they pitied me very much. I told them what a fine fellow Steerforth was, and what a patron of mine, and Peggotty said she would walk a score of miles to see him. I took the little baby in my arms when it was awake, and nursed it lovingly when it was asleep again. I crept close to my mother's side, according to my old custom, broken now a long time, and sat with my arms embracing her waist and my little red cheek on her shoulder, and once more felt her beautiful hair drooping over me like an angel's wing, as I used to think, I recollect, and was very happy indeed. While I sat thus looking at the fire and seeing pictures in the red hot coals, I almost believed that I had never been away, that Mr. And Ms. Murdstone were such pictures and would vanish when the fire got low, and that there was nothing real in all that I remembered save my mother, Peggotty, and I. Peggotty darned away at a stocking as long as she could see, and then sat with it drawn on her left hand like a glove, and her needle in her right, ready to take another stitch whenever there was a blaze. I cannot conceive whose stockings they can have been that Peggotty was always darning, or where such an unfailing supply of stockings and want of darning can have come from. From my earliest infancy. She seems to have been always employed in that class of needlework, and never by any chance in any other. I wonder, said Peggotty, who was sometimes seized with a fit of wondering on some most unexpected topic. What's become of Davy's great aunt? Said the great aunt, as Betsey Trot would write from the first chapter. Lor Peggotty, observed my mother, rousing herself from a reverie. What nonsense you talk. Well, but I really do wonder, ma', am, said Peggotty, what can have put such a person in your head? Inquired my mother. Is there nobody else in the world to come there? I dunno how it is, said Peggotty, unless it's on account of being stupid. But my head never can pick and choose its people. They come and they go, and they don't come, and they don't go just as they like. I wonder what's become of her. How absurd you are, Peggotty, returned my mother. One would suppose you wanted a second visit from her. Lord forbid. Cried Peggotty. Well then, don't talk about such uncomfortable things. There's a good soul, said my mother. Miss Betsy is shut up in her cottage by the sea, no doubt, and will remain there at all events. She's not likely ever to trouble us again. No, mused Peggy, no, that ain't likely at all. I wonder, if she was to die, whether she'd leave Davy anything. Good gracious me, Peggotty, returned my mother. What a nonsensical woman you are, when you know that she took offence at the poor dear boy's ever being born at all. I suppose she wouldn't be inclined to forgive him now, hinted Peggotty. Why should she be inclined to forgive him now? Said my mother rather sharply. Now that he's got a brother, I mean, said Peggotty. My mother immediately began to cry and wondered how Peggotty dared to say such a thing. As if this poor little innocent in its cradle had ever done any harm to you or anybody else. You jealous thing, said she. You had much better go and marry Mr. Barkis the carrier. Why don't you? I should make Miss Murdstone appy if I was to, said Peggotty. What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty, returned my mother. You are as jealous of Miss Murdstone as it's possible for a ridiculous creature to be. You want to keep the keys yourself and give out all the things, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if you did, when you know that she only does it out of kindness and the best intentions. You know she does, Peggotty. You know it well. Peggotty muttered something to the effect of bother. The best intentions. And something else to the effect that there was a little too much of the best intentions going on. I know what you mean, you cross old thing, said my mother. I understand you, Peggotty, perfectly. You know I do. And I wonder you don't color up like fire. But one point at a time, Miss Murdstone is the point now, Peggotty, and you shan't escape from it. Haven't you heard her say over and over again that she thinks I'm too thin, thoughtless and too pretty? Suggested Peggotty. Well, returned my mother, half laughing. And if she is so silly as to say so, can I be blamed for it? No one says you can, said Peggotty. No, I should hope not indeed, returned my mother, haven't you heard her say over and over again that on this account she wished to spare me a great deal of trouble, which she thinks I am not suited for and which I really don't know myself that I am suited for? And isn't she up early and late and going to infer fro continually? And doesn't she do all sorts of things and grope into all sorts of places, coal holes and pantries and I don't know where that can't be very agreeable. And do you mean to insinuate that there is not a sort of devotion in that? I don't insinuate at all, said Peggotty. You do, Peggotty, returned my mother. You never do anything else except your work. You are always insinuating you revel in it. And when you talk of Mr. Murdstone's character, good intentions. I never talked of Em, said Peggotty. No, Peggotty, returned my mother. But you insinuated that's what I told you just now. That's the worst of you. You will insinuate I said at the moment that I understood you, and you see I did. When you talk of Mr. Murdstone's good intentions and pretend to slight them, for I don't believe you really do in your heart, Peggotty, you must be as well convinced as I am how good they are and how they actuate him in everything. If he seems to have been at all stern with a certain person, Peggotty, you understand, and so I am sure does Davy, that I am not alluding to anybody present. It is solely because he is satisfied that it is for a certain person's benefit. So the certain person here is actually Davey, even though she just said that it wasn't. He naturally loves a certain person on my account, and acts solely for a certain person's good. He is better able to judge of it than I am, for I very well know that I am a weak, light, girlish creature, and that he is a firm, grave, serious man, and he takes, said my mother with the tears which were engendered in her affectionate nature, stealing down her face, he takes great pains with me and I ought to be very thankful to him and very submissive to him even in my thoughts. And when I am not Peggy, I worry and condemn myself and feel doubtful of my own heart and don't know what to do. Peggotty sat with her chin on the foot of the stocking, looking silently at the fire. There, Peggy, said my mother, changing her tone, don't let us fall out with one another, for I couldn't bear it. You are my true friend. I know if I have any in the world when I call you a ridiculous creature or a vexatious thing or anything of that sort. Peggotty, I only mean that you are my true friend. Friend and always have been. Ever since the night when Mr. Copperfield first brought me home here and you came out to the gate to meet me. Peggotty was not slow to respond and ratify the treaty of friendship by giving me one of her best hugs. I think I had some glimpses of the real character of this conversation at the time, but I am sure now that the good creature originated it and took her part in it merely that my mother might comfort herself with the little contradictory summary in which she had indulged. The design was efficacious, for I remember that my mother seemed more at ease during the rest of the evening and that Peggotty observed her less. When we had had our tea and the ashes were thrown up and the candles snuffed, I read Peggotty a chapter out of the Crocodile book in remembrance of old times. She took it out of her pocket. I don't know whether she had kept it there ever since. And then we talked about Salem House, which brought me round again to Steerforth, who was my great subject. We were very happy. And that evening, as the last of its race and destined evermore to close, that volume of my life will never pass out of my memory. It was almost 10 o' clock before we heard the sound of wheels. We all got up then, and my mother said hurriedly that as it was so late and Mr. And Ms. Murdstone approved of early hours for young people, perhaps I had better go to bed. I kissed her and went upstairs with my candle directly before they came in. It appeared to my childish fancy, as I ascended to the bedroom where I had been imprisoned, that they brought a cold blast of air into the house, which blew away the old familiar feeling like a feather. I felt uncomfortable about going down to breakfast in the morning, as I had never set eyes on Mr. Murdstone since the day when I committed my memorable offence. However, as it must be done, I went down after two or three false starts, half way and as many runs, back on tiptoe to my own room and and presented myself in the parlour. He was standing before the fire with his back to it while Miss Murdstone made the tea. He looked at me steadily as I entered, but made no sign of recognition whatever. I went up to him after a moment of confusion and said, I beg your pardon, sir. I am very sorry for what I did and I hope you will forgive me. I am glad to hear that you are sorry, David, he replied the hand he gave me was the hand I had bitten. I could not restrain my eye from resting for an instant on a red spot upon it, but it was not so red as I turned when I met that sinister expression in his face. How do you do, ma'? Am, I said to Miss Murdstone. Ah, dear me, sighed Miss Murdstone, giving me the tea caddy scoop instead of her fingers. How long are the holidays? A month, ma', am, Counting from when? From to day, ma'. Am. Oh, said Miss Murdstone, then here's one day off. She kept a calendar of the holidays in this way, and every morning checked a day off in exactly the same manner. She did it gloomily until she came to 10, but when she got into two figures, she became more hopeful, and as the time advanced, even jocular. It was on this first day that I had the misfortune to throw her, though she was not subject to such weakness in general, into a state of violent consternation. I came into the room where she and my mother were sitting, and the baby, who was only a few weeks old, being on my mother's lap, I took it very carefully in my arms. Suddenly Miss Murdstone gave such a scream that I all but dropped it. My dear Jane. Cried my mother. Good heavens, Clara, do you see? Exclaimed Miss Murdstone. See what, my dear Jean? Said my mother. Where he's got it. Cried Miss Murdstone. The boy has got the baby. She was limp with horror, but stiffened herself to make a dart at me and take it out of my arms. Then she turned faint, and was so very ill that they were obliged to give her cherry brandy. I was solemnly interdicted by her on her recovery from touching my brother any more, on any pretence whatever. And my poor mother, who I could see wished otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict by saying, no doubt you are right, my dear Jane. On another occasion, when we three were together, this same dear baby, it was truly dear to me. For our mother's sake was the innocent occasion of Miss Murdstone's going into a passion. My mother, who had been looking at its eyes as it lay upon her lap, said, davie, come here, and looked at mine. I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down. I declare, said my mother gently, they are exactly alike. I suppose they are mine. I think they are the colour of mine, but they are wonderfully alike. What are you talking about, Clara? Said Miss Murdstone. My dear Jane, faltered my mother, a little abashed by the harsh tone of this inquiry. I find that the baby's eyes and Davies are exactly alike. Clara, said Miss Murdstone, rising angrily. You are a positive fool sometimes, my dear Jane, remonstrated my mother. A positive fool, said Miss Murdstone. Who else could compare my brother's baby with your boy? They are not at all alike. They are exactly unlike. They are utterly dissimilar in all respects. I hope they will ever remain so. I will not sit here and hear such comparisons made. With that she stalked out and made the door bang after her. In short, I was not a favourite with Miss Murdstone. In short, I was not a favorite there with anybody, not even with myself. For those who did like me could not show it, and those who did not showed it so plainly that I had a sensitive consciousness of always appearing constrained, boorish and dull. I felt that I made them as uncomfortable as they made me. If I came into the room where they were and they were talking together and my mother seemed cheerful, an anxious cloud would steal over her face. From the moment of my entrance. If Mr. Murdstone were in his best humour, I checked him. If Miss Murdstone were in her worst, I intensified it. I had perception enough to know that my mother was the victim always, that she was afraid to speak to me or to be kind to me, lest she should give them some offence by her manner of doing so, and receive a lecture afterwards. That she was not only ceaselessly afraid of her own offending, but of my offending, and uneasily watched their looks if I only moved. Therefore I resolved to keep myself as much out of their way as I could, and many a wintry hour did I hear the church clock strike when I was sitting in my cheerless bedroom or wrapped in my little greatcoat, poring over a book. In the evening, sometimes I went and sat with Peggotty in the kitchen. There I was comfortable and not afraid of being myself, but neither of these resources was approved of in the parlor. The tormenting humor which was dominant there stopped them both. I was still held to be necessary to my poor mother's training and as one of her trials could not be suffered to absent myself. David, said Mr. Murdstone one day after dinner, when I was going to leave the room as usual. I am sorry to observe that you are of a sullen disposition. As sulky as a bear, said Mr. Murdstone. I stood still and hung my head. Now, David, said Mr. Murdstone, a sullen, obdurate disposition is of all tempers the worst, and the boy's is of all such dispositions. That ever I have seen, remarked his sister, the most confirmed and stubborn. I think, my dear Clara, even you must observe it. I beg your pardon, my dear Jane, said my mother, but are you quite sure? I am certain. You'll excuse me, my dear Jeanne, that you understand, Davie, I should be somewhat ashamed of myself, Clara, returned Miss Murdstone, if I could not understand the boy, or any boy, I don't profess to be profound, but I do lay claim to common sense. No doubt, my dear Jane, returned my mother, your understanding is very vigorous. Oh, dear, no. Pray, don't say that. Clara, interposed Ms. Murdstone angrily. But I am sure it is resumed, my mother, and everybody knows it is. I profit so much by it myself, in many ways at least I ought to, that no one can be more convinced of it than myself, and therefore I speak with great diffidence. My dear Jane, I assure you we'll say I don't understand the boy, Clara, returned Miss Murdstone, arranging the little fetters on her wrists. We'll agree, if you please, that I don't understand him at all. He is much too deep for me. Perhaps my brother's penetration may enable him to have some insight into his character. And I believe my brother was speaking on the subject when we not very decently interrupted him. I think, Clara, said Mr. Murdstone, in a low, grave voice, that there may be better and more dispassionate judges of such a question than you. Edward, replied my mother timidly. You are a far better judge of all questions than I pretend to be. Both you and Jane are. I only said. You only said something weak and inconsiderate, he replied. Try not to do it again, my dear Clara, and keep a watch upon yourself. My mother's lips moved as if she answered, yes, my dear Edward, but she said nothing aloud. I was sorry, David, I remarked, said Mr. Murdstone, turning his head and his eyes stiffly towards me, to observe that you are of a sullen disposition. This is not a character that I can suffer to develop itself beneath my eyes without an effort at improvement. You must endeavor, sir, to change it. We must endeavour to change it for you. I beg your pardon, sir, I faltered. I have never meant to be sullen since I came back. Don't take refuge in a lie, sir, he returned so fiercely that I saw my mother involuntarily put out her trembling hand, as if to interpose between us. You have withdrawn yourself in your sullenness to your own room. You have kept your own room when you Ought to have been here. You know now once for all, that I require you to be here and not there. Further, that I require you to bring obedience here. You know me, David. I will have it done. Miss Murdstone gave a hoarse chuckle. I will have a respectful, prompt and ready bearing towards myself, he continued, and towards Jane Murdstone and towards your mother. I will not have this room shunned as if it were infected at the pleasure of a child. Sit down, he ordered me like a dog, and I obeyed like a dog. One more thing, he said. I observe that you have an attachment to low and common company. You are not to associate with servants. The kitchen will not improve you in the many respects in which you need improvement. Of the woman who abets you, I say nothing, since you, Clara, addressing my mother in a lower voice from old associations and long established fancies, have a weakness respecting her which is not yet overcome. A most unaccountable delusion it is, cried Miss Murdstone. I only say, he resumed addressing me, that I disapprove of your preferring such company as Mistress Peggotty, and that it is to be abandoned. Now, David, you understand me, and you know what will be the consequence if you fail to obey me to the letter. I knew well better perhaps, than he thought, as far as my poor mother was concerned, and I obeyed him to the letter. I retreated to my own room no more. I took refuge with Peggotty no more, but sat wearily in the parlour day after day, looking forward to night and bedtime. What irksome constraint I underwent, sitting in the same attitude hours upon hours, afraid to move an arm or a leg, lest Miss Murdstone should complain as she did, on the least pretence of my restlessness, and afraid to move an eye, lest she should light on some look of dislike or scrutiny that would find new cause for complaint in mine. What intolerable dulness to sit listening to the ticking of the clock and watching Miss Murdstone's little shiny steel beads as she strung them, and wondering whether she would ever be married, and if so, to what sort of unhappy man, and counting the divisions in the moulding of the chimney piece, and wandering away with my eyes to the ceiling among the curls and corkscrews in the paper on the wall. What walks I took alone down muddy lanes in the bad winter weather, carrying that parlour and Mr. And Ms. Murdstone in it everywhere. A monstrous load that I was obliged to bear a daymare that there was no possibility of breaking in a Weight that brooded on my wits and blunted them. What meals I had in silence and embarrassment, always feeling that there were a knife and fork too many and that mine an appetite too many and that mine a plate and chair too many and those mine a somebody too many and that I. What evenings when the candles came and I was expected to employ myself, but not daring to read an entertaining book, pored over some hard headed, harder hearted treatise on arithmetic, when the tables of weights and measurements set themselves to tunes as Rule Britannia or Away with Melancholy, when they wouldn't stand still to be learnt, but would go threading my grandmother's needle through my unfortunate head in at one ear and out the other. What yawns and dozes I lapsed into in spite of all my care. And what starts I came out of concealed sleeps with. What answers I never got to little observations that I rarely made. What a blank space I seemed which everybody overlooked and yet was in everybody's way. What a heavy relief it was to hear Miss Murdstone hail the first stroke of nine at night and order me to bed. Thus the holidays lagged away until the morning came when Miss Murdstone said, here's the last day off and gave me the closing cup of tea of the vacation. I was not sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state, but I was recovering a little and looking forward to Steerforth, albeit Mr. Creakle loomed behind him. Again Mr. Barkis appeared at the gate and again Miss Murdstone in her warning voice said clara. When my mother bent over me to bid me farewell, I kissed her and my baby brother and was very sorry then, but not sorry to go away. For the gulf between us was there and the parting was there every day. And it is not so much the embrace she gave me that lives in my mind, though it was as fervent as could be as what followed the embrace. I was in the carrier's cart when I heard her calling to me. I looked out and she stood at the garden gate alone, holding her baby up in her arms for me to see. It was cold, still weather and not a hair of her head nor a fold of her dress was stirred as she looked intently at me, holding up her child. So I lost her. So I saw her afterwards in my sleep at school, a silent presence near my bed, looking at me with the same intent face, holding up her baby in her arms. 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, faithkmore.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 continued.