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CHAPTER 21
LITTLE EM'LY


There was a servant in that house, a man who, I understood, was
usually with Steerforth, and had come into his service at the
University, who was in appearance a pattern of respectability. I
believe there never existed in his station a more
respectable-looking man. He was taciturn, soft-footed, very quiet
in his manner, deferential, observant, always at hand when wanted,
and never near when not wanted; but his great claim to
consideration was his respectability. He had not a pliant face, he
had rather a stiff neck, rather a tight smooth head with short hair
clinging to it at the sides, a soft way of speaking, with a
peculiar habit of whispering the letter S so distinctly, that he
seemed to use it oftener than any other man; but every peculiarity
that he had he made respectable. If his nose had been upside-down,
he would have made that respectable. He surrounded himself with an
atmosphere of respectability, and walked secure in it. It would
have been next to impossible to suspect him of anything wrong, he
was so thoroughly respectable. Nobody could have thought of
putting him in a livery, he was so highly respectable. To have
imposed any derogatory work upon him, would have been to inflict a
wanton insult on the feelings of a most respectable man. And of
this, I noticed- the women-servants in the household were so
intuitively conscious, that they always did such work themselves,
and generally while he read the paper by the pantry fire.

Such a self-contained man I never saw. But in that quality, as in
every other he possessed, he only seemed to be the more
respectable. Even the fact that no one knew his Christian name,
seemed to form a part of his respectability. Nothing could be
objected against his surname, Littimer, by which he was known.
Peter might have been hanged, or Tom transported; but Littimer was
perfectly respectable.

It was occasioned, I suppose, by the reverend nature of
respectability in the abstract, but I felt particularly young in
this man's presence. How old he was himself, I could not guess -
and that again went to his credit on the same score; for in the
calmness of respectability he might have numbered fifty years as
well as thirty.

Littimer was in my room in the morning before I was up, to bring me
that reproachful shaving-water, and to put out my clothes. When I
undrew the curtains and looked out of bed, I saw him, in an equable
temperature of respectability, unaffected by the east wind of
January, and not even breathing frostily, standing my boots right
and left in the first dancing position, and blowing specks of dust
off my coat as he laid it down like a baby.

I gave him good morning, and asked him what o'clock it was. He
took out of his pocket the most respectable hunting-watch I ever
saw, and preventing the spring with his thumb from opening far,
looked in at the face as if he were consulting an oracular oyster,
shut it up again, and said, if I pleased, it was half past eight.

'Mr. Steerforth will be glad to hear how you have rested, sir.'

'Thank you,' said I, 'very well indeed. Is Mr. Steerforth quite
well?'

'Thank you, sir, Mr. Steerforth is tolerably well.' Another of his
characteristics - no use of superlatives. A cool calm medium
always.

'Is there anything more I can have the honour of doing for you,
sir? The warning-bell will ring at nine; the family take breakfast
at half past nine.'

'Nothing, I thank you.'

'I thank YOU, sir, if you please'; and with that, and with a little
inclination of his head when he passed the bed-side, as an apology
for correcting me, he went out, shutting the door as delicately as
if I had just fallen into a sweet sleep on which my life depended.

Every morning we held exactly this conversation: never any more,
and never any less: and yet, invariably, however far I might have
been lifted out of myself over-night, and advanced towards maturer
years, by Steerforth's companionship, or Mrs. Steerforth's
confidence, or Miss Dartle's conversation, in the presence of this
most respectable man I became, as our smaller poets sing, 'a boy
again'.

He got horses for us; and Steerforth, who knew everything, gave me
lessons in riding. He provided foils for us, and Steerforth gave
me lessons in fencing - gloves, and I began, of the same master, to
improve in boxing. It gave me no manner of concern that Steerforth
should find me a novice in these sciences, but I never could bear
to show my want of skill before the respectable Littimer. I had no
reason to believe that Littimer understood such arts himself; he
never led me to suppose anything of the kind, by so much as the
vibration of one of his respectable eyelashes; yet whenever he was
by, while we were practising, I felt myself the greenest and most
inexperienced of mortals.

I am particular about this man, because he made a particular effect
on me at that time, and because of what took place thereafter.

The week passed away in a most delightful manner. It passed
rapidly, as may be supposed, to one entranced as I was; and yet it
gave me so many occasions for knowing Steerforth better, and
admiring him more in a thousand respects, that at its close I
seemed to have been with him for a much longer time. A dashing way
he had of treating me like a plaything, was more agreeable to me
than any behaviour he could have adopted. It reminded me of our
old acquaintance; it seemed the natural sequel of it; it showed me
that he was unchanged; it relieved me of any uneasiness I might
have felt, in comparing my merits with his, and measuring my claims
upon his friendship by any equal standard; above all, it was a
familiar, unrestrained, affectionate demeanour that he used towards
no one else. 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.
He made up his mind to go with me into the country, and the day
arrived for our departure. He had been doubtful at first whether
to take Littimer or not, but decided to leave him at home. The
respectable creature, satisfied with his lot whatever it was,
arranged our portmanteaux on the little carriage that was to take
us into London, as if they were intended to defy the shocks of
ages, and received my modestly proffered donation with perfect
tranquillity.

We bade adieu to Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle, with many thanks
on my part, and much kindness on the devoted mother's. The last
thing I saw was Littimer's unruffled eye; fraught, as I fancied,
with the silent conviction that I was very young indeed.

What I felt, in returning so auspiciously to the old familiar
places, I shall not endeavour to describe. We went down by the
Mail. I was so concerned, I recollect, even for the honour of
Yarmouth, that when Steerforth said, as we drove through its dark
streets to the inn, that, as well as he could make out, it was a
good, queer, out-of-the-way kind of hole, I was highly pleased. We
went to bed on our arrival (I observed a pair of dirty shoes and
gaiters in connexion with my old friend the Dolphin as we passed
that door), and breakfasted late in the morning. Steerforth, who
was in great spirits, had been strolling about the beach before I
was up, and had made acquaintance, he said, with half the boatmen
in the place. Moreover, he had seen, in the distance, what he was
sure must be the identical house of Mr. Peggotty, with smoke coming
out of the chimney; and had had a great mind, he told me, to walk
in and swear he was myself grown out of knowledge.

'When do you propose to introduce me there, Daisy?' he said. 'I am
at your disposal. Make your own arrangements.'

'Why, I was thinking that this evening would be a good time,
Steerforth, when they are all sitting round the fire. I should
like you to see it when it's snug, it's such a curious place.'

'So be it!' returned Steerforth. 'This evening.'

'I shall not give them any notice that we are here, you know,' said
I, delighted. 'We must take them by surprise.'

'Oh, of course! It's no fun,' said Steerforth, 'unless we take
them by surprise. Let us see the natives in their aboriginal
condition.'

'Though they ARE that sort of people that you mentioned,' I
returned.

'Aha! What! you recollect my skirmishes with Rosa, do you?' he
exclaimed with a quick look. 'Confound the girl, I am half afraid
of her. She's like a goblin to me. But never mind her. Now what
are you going to do? You are going to see your nurse, I suppose?'

'Why, yes,' I said, 'I must see Peggotty first of all.'

'Well,' replied Steerforth, looking at his watch. 'Suppose I
deliver you up to be cried over for a couple of hours. Is that
long enough?'

I answered, laughing, that I thought we might get through it in
that time, but that he must come also; for he would find that his
renown had preceded him, and that he was almost as great a
personage as I was.

'I'll come anywhere you like,' said Steerforth, 'or do anything you
like. Tell me where to come to; and in two hours I'll produce
myself in any state you please, sentimental or comical.'

I gave him minute directions for finding the residence of Mr.
Barkis, carrier to Blunderstone and elsewhere; and, on this
understanding, went out alone. There was a sharp bracing air; the
ground was dry; the sea was crisp and clear; the sun was diffusing
abundance of light, if not much warmth; and everything was fresh
and lively. I was so fresh and lively myself, in the pleasure of
being there, that I could have stopped the people in the streets
and shaken hands with them.

The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only
seen as children always do, I believe, when we go back to them.
But I had forgotten nothing in them, and found nothing changed,
until I came to Mr. Omer's shop. OMER AND Joram was now written
up, where OMER used to be; but the inscription, DRAPER, TAILOR,
HABERDASHER, FUNERAL FURNISHER, &c., remained as it was.

My footsteps seemed to tend so naturally to the shop door, after I
had read these words from over the way, that I went across the road
and looked in. There was a pretty woman at the back of the shop,
dancing a little child in her arms, while another little fellow
clung to her apron. I had no difficulty in recognizing either
Minnie or Minnie's children. The glass door of the parlour was not
open; but in the workshop across the yard I could faintly hear the
old tune playing, as if it had never left off.

'Is Mr. Omer at home?' said I, entering. 'I should like to see
him, for a moment, if he is.'

'Oh yes, sir, he is at home,' said Minnie; 'the weather don't suit
his asthma out of doors. Joe, call your grandfather!'

The little fellow, who was holding her apron, gave such a lusty
shout, that the sound of it made him bashful, and he buried his
face in her skirts, to her great admiration. I heard a heavy
puffing and blowing coming towards us, and soon Mr. Omer,
shorter-winded than of yore, but not much older-looking, stood
before me.

'Servant, sir,' said Mr. Omer. 'What can I do for you, sir?'
'You can shake hands with me, Mr. Omer, if you please,' said I,
putting out my own. 'You were very good-natured to me once, when
I am afraid I didn't show that I thought so.'

'Was I though?' returned the old man. 'I'm glad to hear it, but I
don't remember when. Are you sure it was me?'

'Quite.'

'I think my memory has got as short as my breath,' said Mr. Omer,
looking at me and shaking his head; 'for I don't remember you.'

'Don't you remember your coming to the coach to meet me, and my
having breakfast here, and our riding out to Blunderstone together:
you, and I, and Mrs. Joram, and Mr. Joram too - who wasn't her
husband then?'

'Why, Lord bless my soul!' exclaimed Mr. Omer, after being thrown
by his surprise into a fit of coughing, 'you don't say so! Minnie,
my dear, you recollect? Dear me, yes; the party was a lady, I
think?'

'My mother,' I rejoined.

'To - be - sure,' said Mr. Omer, touching my waistcoat with his
forefinger, 'and there was a little child too! There was two
parties. The little party was laid along with the other party.
Over at Blunderstone it was, of course. Dear me! And how have you
been since?'

Very well, I thanked him, as I hoped he had been too.

'Oh! nothing to grumble at, you know,' said Mr. Omer. 'I find my
breath gets short, but it seldom gets longer as a man gets older.
I take it as it comes, and make the most of it. That's the best
way, ain't it?'

Mr. Omer coughed again, in consequence of laughing, and was
assisted out of his fit by his daughter, who now stood close beside
us, dancing her smallest child on the counter.

'Dear me!' said Mr. Omer. 'Yes, to be sure. Two parties! Why, in
that very ride, if you'll believe me, the day was named for my
Minnie to marry Joram. "Do name it, sir," says Joram. "Yes, do,
father," says Minnie. And now he's come into the business. And
look here! The youngest!'

Minnie laughed, and stroked her banded hair upon her temples, as
her father put one of his fat fingers into the hand of the child
she was dancing on the counter.

'Two parties, of course!' said Mr. Omer, nodding his head
retrospectively. 'Ex-actly so! And Joram's at work, at this
minute, on a grey one with silver nails, not this measurement' -
the measurement of the dancing child upon the counter - 'by a good
two inches. - Will you take something?'

I thanked him, but declined.

'Let me see,' said Mr. Omer. 'Barkis's the carrier's wife -
Peggotty's the boatman's sister - she had something to do with your
family? She was in service there, sure?'

My answering in the affirmative gave him great satisfaction.

'I believe my breath will get long next, my memory's getting so
much so,' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir, we've got a young relation of
hers here, under articles to us, that has as elegant a taste in the
dress-making business - I assure you I don't believe there's a
Duchess in England can touch her.'

'Not little Em'ly?' said I, involuntarily.

'Em'ly's her name,' said Mr. Omer, 'and she's little too. But if
you'll believe me, she has such a face of her own that half the
women in this town are mad against her.'

'Nonsense, father!' cried Minnie.

'My dear,' said Mr. Omer, 'I don't say it's the case with you,'
winking at me, 'but I say that half the women in Yarmouth - ah! and
in five mile round - are mad against that girl.'

'Then she should have kept to her own station in life, father,'
said Minnie, 'and not have given them any hold to talk about her,
and then they couldn't have done it.'

'Couldn't have done it, my dear!' retorted Mr. Omer. 'Couldn't
have done it! Is that YOUR knowledge of life? What is there that
any woman couldn't do, that she shouldn't do - especially on the
subject of another woman's good looks?'

I really thought it was all over with Mr. Omer, after he had
uttered this libellous pleasantry. He coughed to that extent, and
his breath eluded all his attempts to recover it with that
obstinacy, that I fully expected to see his head go down behind the
counter, and his little black breeches, with the rusty little
bunches of ribbons at the knees, come quivering up in a last
ineffectual struggle. At length, however, he got better, though he
still panted hard, and was so exhausted that he was obliged to sit
on the stool of the shop-desk.

'You see,' he said, wiping his head, and breathing with difficulty,
'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
Em'ly 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.'

'I assure you, Mr. Omer, she has said so to me,' I returned
eagerly, 'when we were both children.'

Mr. Omer nodded his head and rubbed his chin. 'Just so. Then out
of a very little, she could dress herself, you see, better than
most others could out of a deal, and that made things unpleasant.
Moreover, she was rather what might be called wayward - I'll go so
far as to say what I should call wayward myself,' said Mr. Omer; '-
didn't know her own mind quite - a little spoiled - and couldn't,
at first, exactly bind herself down. No more than that was ever
said against her, Minnie?'

'No, father,' said Mrs. Joram. 'That's the worst, I believe.'

'So when she got a situation,' said Mr. Omer, 'to keep a fractious
old lady company, they didn't very well agree, and she didn't stop.
At last she came here, apprenticed for three years. Nearly two of
'em are over, and she has been as good a girl as ever was. Worth
any six! Minnie, is she worth any six, now?'

'Yes, father,' replied Minnie. 'Never say I detracted from her!'

'Very good,' said Mr. Omer. 'That's right. And so, young
gentleman,' he added, after a few moments' further rubbing of his
chin, 'that you may not consider me long-winded as well as
short-breathed, I believe that's all about it.'

As they had spoken in a subdued tone, while speaking of Em'ly, I
had no doubt that she was near. On my asking now, if that were not
so, Mr. Omer nodded yes, and nodded towards the door of the
parlour. My hurried inquiry if I might peep in, was answered with
a free permission; and, looking through the glass, I saw her
sitting at her work. I saw her, a most beautiful little creature,
with the cloudless blue eyes, that had looked into my childish
heart, turned laughingly upon another child of Minnie's who was
playing near her; with enough of wilfulness in her bright face to
justify what I had heard; with much of the old capricious coyness
lurking in it; but with nothing in her pretty looks, I am sure, but
what was meant for goodness and for happiness, and what was on a
good and

happy course.

The tune across the yard that seemed as if it never had left off -
alas! it was the tune that never DOES leave off - was beating,
softly, all the while.

'Wouldn't you like to step in,' said Mr. Omer, 'and speak to her?
Walk in and speak to her, sir! Make yourself at home!'

I was too bashful to do so then - I was afraid of confusing her,
and I was no less afraid of confusing myself.- but I informed
myself of the hour at which she left of an evening, in order that
our visit might be timed accordingly; and taking leave of Mr. Omer,
and his pretty daughter, and her little children, went away to my
dear old Peggotty's.

Here she was, in the tiled kitchen, cooking dinner! The moment I
knocked at the door she opened it, and asked me what I pleased to
want. I looked at her with a smile, but she gave me no smile in
return. I had never ceased to write to her, but it must have been
seven years since we had met.

'Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma'am?' I said, feigning to speak roughly
to her.

'He's at home, sir,' returned Peggotty, 'but he's bad abed with the
rheumatics.'

'Don't he go over to Blunderstone now?' I asked.

'When he's well he do,' she answered.

'Do YOU ever go there, Mrs. Barkis?'

She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick movement
of her hands towards each other.

'Because I want to ask a question about a house there, that they
call the - what is it? - the Rookery,' said I.

She took a step backward, and put out her hands in an undecided
frightened way, as if to keep me off.

'Peggotty!' I cried to her.

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 was troubled with no misgiving
that it was young in me to respond to her emotions. I had never
laughed and cried in all my life, I dare say - not even to her -
more freely than I did that morning.

'Barkis will be so glad,' said Peggotty, wiping her eyes with her
apron, 'that it'll do him more good than pints of liniment. May I
go and tell him you are here? Will you come up and see him, my
dear?'

Of course I would. But Peggotty could not get out of the room as
easily as she meant to, for as often as she got to the door and
looked round at me, she came back again to have another laugh and
another cry upon my shoulder. At last, to make the matter easier,
I went upstairs with her; and having waited outside for a minute,
while she said a word of preparation to Mr. Barkis, presented
myself before that invalid.

He received me with absolute enthusiasm. He was too rheumatic to
be shaken hands with, but he begged me to shake the tassel on the
top of his nightcap, which I did most cordially. When I sat down
by the side of the bed, he said that it did him a world of good to
feel as if he was driving me on the Blunderstone road again. As he
lay in bed, face upward, and so covered, with that exception, that
he seemed to be nothing but a face - like a conventional cherubim
- he looked the queerest object I ever beheld.

'What name was it, as I wrote up in the cart, sir?' said Mr.
Barkis, with a slow rheumatic smile.

'Ah! Mr. Barkis, we had some grave talks about that matter, hadn't
we?'

'I was willin' a long time, sir?' said Mr. Barkis.

'A long time,' said I.

'And I don't regret it,' said Mr. Barkis. 'Do you remember what
you told me once, about her making all the apple parsties and doing
all the cooking?'

'Yes, very well,' I returned.

'It was as true,' said Mr. Barkis, 'as turnips is. It was as
true,' said Mr. Barkis, nodding his nightcap, which was his only
means of emphasis, 'as taxes is. And nothing's truer than them.'

Mr. Barkis turned his eyes upon me, as if for my assent to this
result of his reflections in bed; and I gave it.

'Nothing's truer than them,' repeated Mr. Barkis; 'a man as poor as
I am, finds that out in his mind when he's laid up. I'm a very
poor man, sir!'

'I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Barkis.'

'A very poor man, indeed I am,' said Mr. Barkis.

Here his right hand came slowly and feebly from under the
bedclothes, and with a purposeless uncertain grasp took hold of a
stick which was loosely tied to the side of the bed. After some
poking about with this instrument, in the course of which his face
assumed a variety of distracted expressions, Mr. Barkis poked it
against a box, an end of which had been visible to me all the time.
Then his face became composed.

'Old clothes,' said Mr. Barkis.

'Oh!' said I.

'I wish it was Money, sir,' said Mr. Barkis.

'I wish it was, indeed,' said I.

'But it AIN'T,' said Mr. Barkis, opening both his eyes as wide as
he possibly could.

I expressed myself quite sure of that, and Mr. Barkis, turning his
eyes more gently to his wife, said:

'She's the usefullest and best of women, C. P. Barkis. All the
praise that anyone can give to C. P. Barkis, she deserves, and
more! My dear, you'll get a dinner today, for company; something
good to eat and drink, will you?'

I should have protested against this unnecessary demonstration in
my honour, but that I saw Peggotty, on the opposite side of the
bed, extremely anxious I should not. So I held my peace.

'I have got a trifle of money somewhere about me, my dear,' said
Mr. Barkis, 'but I'm a little tired. If you and Mr. David will
leave me for a short nap, I'll try and find it when I wake.'

We left the room, in compliance with this request. When we got
outside the door, Peggotty informed me that Mr. Barkis, being now
'a little nearer' than he used to be, always resorted to this same
device before producing a single coin from his store; and that he
endured unheard-of agonies in crawling out of bed alone, and taking
it from that unlucky box. In effect, we presently heard him
uttering suppressed groans of the most dismal nature, as this
magpie proceeding racked him in every joint; but while Peggotty's
eyes were full of compassion for him, she said his generous impulse
would do him good, and it was better not to check it. So he
groaned on, until he had got into bed again, suffering, I have no
doubt, a martyrdom; and then called us in, pretending to have just
woke up from a refreshing sleep, and to produce a guinea from under
his pillow. His satisfaction in which happy imposition on us, and
in having preserved the impenetrable secret of the box, appeared to
be a sufficient compensation to him for all his tortures.

I prepared Peggotty for Steerforth's arrival and it was not long
before he came. I am persuaded she knew no difference between his
having been a personal benefactor of hers, and a kind friend to me,
and that she would have received him with the utmost gratitude and
devotion in any case. But his easy, spirited good humour; his
genial manner, his handsome looks, his natural gift of adapting
himself to whomsoever he pleased, and making direct, when he cared
to do it, to the main point of interest in anybody's heart; bound
her to him wholly in five minutes. His manner to me, alone, would
have won her. But, through all these causes combined, I sincerely
believe she had a kind of adoration for him before he left the
house that night.

He stayed there with me to dinner - if I were to say willingly, I
should not half express how readily and gaily. He went into Mr.
Barkis's room like light and air, brightening and refreshing it as
if he were healthy weather. There was no noise, no effort, no
consciousness, in anything he did; but in everything an
indescribable lightness, a seeming impossibility of doing anything
else, or doing anything better, which was so graceful, so natural,
and agreeable, that it overcomes me, even now, in the remembrance.

We made merry in the little parlour, where the Book of Martyrs,
unthumbed since my time, was laid out upon the desk as of old, and
where I now turned over its terrific pictures, remembering the old
sensations they had awakened, but not feeling them. When Peggotty
spoke of what she called my room, and of its being ready for me at
night, and of her hoping I would occupy it, before I could so much
as look at Steerforth, hesitating, he was possessed of the whole
case.

'Of course,' he said. 'You'll sleep here, while we stay, and I
shall sleep at the hotel.'

'But to bring you so far,' I returned, 'and to separate, seems bad
companionship, Steerforth.'

'Why, in the name of Heaven, where do you naturally belong?' he
said. 'What is "seems", compared to that?' It was settled at
once.

He maintained all his delightful qualities to the last, until we
started forth, at eight o'clock, for Mr. Peggotty's boat. Indeed,
they were more and more brightly exhibited as the hours went on;
for I thought even then, and I have no doubt now, that the
consciousness of success in his determination to please, inspired
him with a new delicacy of perception, and made it, subtle as it
was, more easy to him. 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 vent! Probably only
in an increase, had that been possible, of the romantic feelings of
fidelity and friendship with which I walked beside him, over the
dark wintry sands towards the old boat; the wind sighing around us
even more mournfully, than it had sighed and moaned upon the night
when I first darkened Mr. Peggotty's door.

'This is a wild kind of place, Steerforth, is it not?'

'Dismal enough in the dark,' he said: 'and the sea roars as if it
were hungry for us. Is that the boat, where I see a light yonder?'
'That's the boat,' said I.

'And it's the same I saw this morning,' he returned. 'I came
straight to it, by instinct, I suppose.'

We said no more as we approached the light, but made softly for the
door. I laid my hand upon the latch; and whispering Steerforth to
keep close to me, went in.

A murmur of voices had been audible on the outside, and, at the
moment of our entrance, a clapping of hands: which latter noise, I
was surprised to see, proceeded from the generally disconsolate
Mrs. Gummidge. But Mrs. Gummidge was not the only person there who
was unusually excited. Mr. Peggotty, his face lighted up with
uncommon satisfaction, and laughing with all his might, held his
rough arms wide open, as if for little Em'ly to run into them; Ham,
with a mixed expression in his face of admiration, exultation, and
a lumbering sort of bashfulness that sat upon him very well, held
little Em'ly by the hand, as if he were presenting her to Mr.
Peggotty; little Em'ly herself, blushing and shy, but delighted
with Mr. Peggotty's delight, as her joyous eyes expressed, was
stopped by our entrance (for she saw us first) in the very act of
springing from Ham to nestle in Mr. Peggotty's embrace. In the
first glimpse we had of them all, and at the moment of our passing
from the dark cold night into the warm light room, this was the way
in which they were all employed: Mrs. Gummidge in the background,
clapping her hands like a madwoman.

The little picture was so instantaneously dissolved by our going
in, that one might have doubted whether it had ever been. I was in
the midst of the astonished family, face to face with Mr. Peggotty,
and holding out my hand to him, when Ham shouted:

'Mas'r Davy! It's Mas'r Davy!'

In a moment we were all shaking hands with one another, and asking
one another how we did, and telling one another how glad we were to
meet, and all talking at once. Mr. Peggotty was so proud and
overjoyed to see us, that he did not know what to say or do, but
kept over and over again shaking hands with me, and then with
Steerforth, and then with me, and then ruffling his shaggy hair all
over his head, and laughing with such glee and triumph, that it was
a treat to see him.

'Why, that you two gent'lmen - gent'lmen growed - should come to
this here roof tonight, of all nights in my life,' said Mr.
Peggotty, 'is such a thing as never happened afore, I do rightly
believe! Em'ly, my darling, come here! Come here, my little
witch! There's Mas'r Davy's friend, my dear! There's the
gent'lman as you've heerd on, Em'ly. He comes to see you, along
with Mas'r Davy, on the brightest night of your uncle's life as
ever was or will be, Gorm the t'other one, and horroar for it!'

After delivering this speech all in a breath, and with
extraordinary animation and pleasure, Mr. Peggotty put one of his
large hands rapturously on each side of his niece's face, and
kissing it a dozen times, laid it with a gentle pride and love upon
his broad chest, and patted it as if his hand had been a lady's.
Then he let her go; and as she ran into the little chamber where I
used to sleep, looked round upon us, quite hot and out of breath
with his uncommon satisfaction.

'If you two gent'lmen - gent'lmen growed now, and such gent'lmen -'
said Mr. Peggotty.

'So th' are, so th' are!' cried Ham. 'Well said! So th' are.
Mas'r Davy bor' - gent'lmen growed - so th' are!'

'If you two gent'lmen, gent'lmen growed,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'don't
ex-cuse me for being in a state of mind, when you understand
matters, I'll arks your pardon. Em'ly, my dear! - She knows I'm a
going to tell,' here his delight broke out again, 'and has made
off. Would you be so good as look arter her, Mawther, for a
minute?'

Mrs. Gummidge nodded and disappeared.

'If this ain't,' said Mr. Peggotty, sitting down among us by the
fire, 'the brightest night o' my life, I'm a shellfish - biled too
- and more I can't say. This here little Em'ly, sir,' in a low
voice to Steerforth, '- her as you see a blushing here just now -'

Steerforth only nodded; but with such a pleased expression of
interest, and of participation in Mr. Peggotty's feelings, that the
latter answered him as if he had spoken.

'To be sure,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'That's her, and so she is.
Thankee, sir.'

Ham nodded to me several times, as if he would have said so too.

'This here little Em'ly of ours,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'has been, in
our house, what I suppose (I'm a ignorant man, but that's my
belief) no one but a little bright-eyed creetur can be in a house.
She ain't my child; I never had one; but I couldn't love her more.
You understand! I couldn't do it!'

'I quite understand,' said Steerforth.

'I know you do, sir,' returned Mr. Peggotty, 'and thankee again.
Mas'r Davy, he can remember what she was; you may judge for your
own self what she is; but neither of you can't fully know what she
has been, is, and will be, to my loving art. I am rough, sir,'
said Mr. Peggotty, 'I am as rough as a Sea Porkypine; but no one,
unless, mayhap, it is a woman, can know, I think, what our little
Em'ly is to me. And betwixt ourselves,' sinking his voice lower
yet, 'that woman's name ain't Missis Gummidge neither, though she
has a world of merits.'
Mr. Peggotty ruffled his hair again, with both hands, as a further
preparation for what he was going to say, and went on, with a hand
upon each of his knees:

'There was a certain person as had know'd our Em'ly, from the time
when her father was drownded; as had seen her constant; when a
babby, when a young gal, when a woman. Not much of a person to
look at, he warn't,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'something o' my own build
- rough - a good deal o' the sou'-wester in him - wery salt - but,
on the whole, a honest sort of a chap, with his art in the right
place.'

I thought I had never seen Ham grin to anything like the extent to
which he sat grinning at us now.

'What does this here blessed tarpaulin go and do,' said Mr.
Peggotty, with his face one high noon of enjoyment, 'but he loses
that there art of his to our little Em'ly. He follers her about,
he makes hisself a sort o' servant to her, he loses in a great
measure his relish for his wittles, and in the long-run he makes it
clear to me wot's amiss. Now I could wish myself, you see, that
our little Em'ly was in a fair way of being married. I could wish
to see her, at all ewents, under articles to a honest man as had a
right to defend her. I don't know how long I may live, or how soon
I may die; but I know that if I was capsized, any night, in a gale
of wind in Yarmouth Roads here, and was to see the town-lights
shining for the last time over the rollers as I couldn't make no
head against, I could go down quieter for thinking "There's a man
ashore there, iron-true to my little Em'ly, God bless her, and no
wrong can touch my Em'ly while so be as that man lives."'

Mr. Peggotty, in simple earnestness, waved his right arm, as if he
were waving it at the town-lights for the last time, and then,
exchanging a nod with Ham, whose eye he caught, proceeded as
before.

'Well! I counsels him to speak to Em'ly. He's big enough, but he's
bashfuller than a little un, and he don't like. So I speak.
"What! Him!" says Em'ly. "Him that I've know'd so intimate so
many years, and like so much. Oh, Uncle! I never can have him.
He's such a good fellow!" I gives her a kiss, and I says no more to
her than, "My dear, you're right to speak out, you're to choose for
yourself, you're as free as a little bird." Then I aways to him,
and I says, "I wish it could have been so, but it can't. But you
can both be as you was, and wot I say to you is, Be as you was with
her, like a man." He says to me, a-shaking of my hand, "I will!" he
says. And he was - honourable and manful - for two year going on,
and we was just the same at home here as afore.'

Mr. Peggotty's face, which had varied in its expression with the
various stages of his narrative, now resumed all its former
triumphant delight, as he laid a hand upon my knee and a hand upon
Steerforth's (previously wetting them both, for the greater
emphasis of the action), and divided the following speech between
us:

'All of a sudden, one evening - as it might be tonight - comes
little Em'ly from her work, and him with her! There ain't so much
in that, you'll say. No, because he takes care on her, like a
brother, arter dark, and indeed afore dark, and at all times. But
this tarpaulin chap, he takes hold of her hand, and he cries out to
me, joyful, "Look here! This is to be my little wife!" And she
says, half bold and half shy, and half a laughing and half a
crying, "Yes, Uncle! If you please." - If I please!' cried Mr.
Peggotty, rolling his head in an ecstasy at the idea; 'Lord, as if
I should do anythink else! - "If you please, I am steadier now, and
I have thought better of it, and I'll be as good a little wife as
I can to him, for he's a dear, good fellow!" Then Missis Gummidge,
she claps her hands like a play, and you come in. Theer! the
murder's out!' said Mr. Peggotty - 'You come in! It took place
this here present hour; and here's the man that'll marry her, the
minute she's out of her time.'

Ham staggered, as well he might, under the blow Mr. Peggotty dealt
him in his unbounded joy, as a mark of confidence and friendship;
but feeling called upon to say something to us, he said, with much
faltering and great difficulty:

'She warn't no higher than you was, Mas'r Davy - when you first
come - when I thought what she'd grow up to be. I see her grown up
- gent'lmen - like a flower. I'd lay down my life for her - Mas'r
Davy - Oh! most content and cheerful! She's more to me - gent'lmen
- than - she's all to me that ever I can want, and more than ever
I - than ever I could say. I - I love her true. There ain't a
gent'lman in all the land - nor yet sailing upon all the sea - that
can love his lady more than I love her, though there's many a
common man - would say better - what he meant.'

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. I thought the simple confidence
reposed in us by Mr. Peggotty and by himself, was, in itself,
affecting. I was affected by the story altogether. How far my
emotions were influenced by the recollections of my childhood, I
don't know. Whether I had come there with any lingering fancy that
I was still to love little Em'ly, I don't know. I know that I was
filled with pleasure by all this; but, at first, with an
indescribably sensitive pleasure, that a very little would have
changed to pain.

Therefore, if it had depended upon me to touch the prevailing chord
among them with any skill, I should have made a poor hand of it.
But it depended upon Steerforth; and he did it with such address,
that in a few minutes we were all as easy and as happy as it was
possible to be.

'Mr. Peggotty,' he said, 'you are a thoroughly good fellow, and
deserve to be as happy as you are tonight. My hand upon it! Ham,
I give you joy, my boy. My hand upon that, too! Daisy, stir the
fire, and make it a brisk one! and Mr. Peggotty, unless you can
induce your gentle niece to come back (for whom I vacate this seat
in the corner), I shall go. Any gap at your fireside on such a
night - such a gap least of all - I wouldn't make, for the wealth
of the Indies!'

So Mr. Peggotty went into my old room to fetch little Em'ly. At
first little Em'ly didn't like to come, and then Ham went.
Presently they brought her to the fireside, very much confused, and
very shy, - but she soon became more assured when she found how
gently and respectfully Steerforth spoke to her; how skilfully he
avoided anything that would embarrass her; how he talked to Mr.
Peggotty of boats, and ships, and tides, and fish; how he referred
to me about the time when he had seen Mr. Peggotty at Salem House;
how delighted he was with the boat and all belonging to it; how
lightly and easily he carried on, until he brought us, by degrees,
into a charmed circle, and we were all talking away without any
reserve.

Em'ly, indeed, said little all the evening; but she looked, and
listened, and her face got animated, and she was charming.
Steerforth told a story of a dismal shipwreck (which arose out of
his talk with Mr. Peggotty), as if he saw it all before him - and
little Em'ly's eyes were fastened on him all the time, as if she
saw it too. He told us a merry adventure of his own, as a relief
to that, with as much gaiety as if the narrative were as fresh to
him as it was to us - and little Em'ly laughed until the boat rang
with the musical sounds, and we all laughed (Steerforth too), in
irresistible sympathy with what was so pleasant and light-hearted.
He got Mr. Peggotty to sing, or rather to roar, 'When the stormy
winds do blow, do blow, do blow'; and he sang a sailor's song
himself, so pathetically and beautifully, that I could have almost
fancied that the real wind creeping sorrowfully round the house,
and murmuring low through our unbroken silence, was there to
listen.

As to Mrs. Gummidge, he roused that victim of despondency with a
success never attained by anyone else (so Mr. Peggotty informed
me), since the decease of the old one. He left her so little
leisure for being miserable, that she said next day she thought she
must have been bewitched.

But he set up no monopoly of the general attention, or the
conversation. When little Em'ly grew more courageous, and talked
(but still bashfully) across the fire to me, of our old wanderings
upon the beach, to pick up shells and pebbles; and when I asked her
if she recollected how I used to be devoted to her; and when we
both laughed and reddened, casting these looks back on the pleasant
old times, so unreal to look at now; he was silent and attentive,
and observed us thoughtfully. She sat, at this time, and all the
evening, on the old locker in her old little corner by the fire -
Ham beside her, where I used to sit. 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 I observed that she did so, all the evening.

As I remember, it was almost midnight when we took our leave. We
had had some biscuit and dried fish for supper, and Steerforth had
produced from his pocket a full flask of Hollands, which we men (I
may say we men, now, without a blush) had emptied. We parted
merrily; and as they all stood crowded round the door to light us
as far as they could upon our road, I saw the sweet blue eyes of
little Em'ly peeping after us, from behind Ham, and heard her soft
voice calling to us to be careful how we went.

'A most engaging little Beauty!' said Steerforth, taking my arm.
'Well! It's a quaint place, and they are quaint company, and it's
quite a new sensation to mix with them.'

'How fortunate we are, too,' I returned, 'to have arrived to
witness their happiness in that intended marriage! I never saw
people so happy. How delightful to see it, and to be made the
sharers in their honest joy, as we have been!'

'That's rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl; isn't he?'
said Steerforth.

He had been so hearty with him, and with them all, that I felt a
shock in this unexpected and cold reply. But turning quickly upon
him, and seeing a laugh in his eyes, I answered, much relieved:

'Ah, Steerforth! It's well for you to joke about the poor! You
may skirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sympathies in
jest from me, but I know better. When I see how perfectly you
understand them, how exquisitely you can enter into happiness like
this plain fisherman's, or humour a love like my old nurse's, 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, twenty times the more!'

He stopped, and, looking in my face, said, 'Daisy, I believe you
are in earnest, and are good. I wish we all were!' Next moment he
was gaily singing Mr. Peggotty's song, as we walked at a round pace
back to Yarmouth.





David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
Category:
General Fiction

England - Social life and customs - 19th century
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