Stories from Dickens

  *II. I FALL INTO DISGRACE*

  That first lonely evening when I crept off alone, feeling that no onewanted me, was the most miserable of my life. I rolled up in a cornerof my bed and cried myself to sleep.

  Presently I was awakened by somebody saying, "Here he is!" anduncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me,and it was one of them who had done it.

  "Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?"

  I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered,"Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my tremblinglip, which answered her with greater truth.

  "Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!"

  I dare say, no words she could have uttered would have affected me somuch, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in thebedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would haveraised me up.

  Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers norPeggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. It was Mr.Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said:

  "What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? Firmness, my dear!"

  "I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother. "I meant to be very good."

  "Go below, my dear," he answered. "David and I will come downtogether."

  When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair,and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes.

  "David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if Ihave an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?"

  "I don't know."

  "I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquerthat fellow'; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I shoulddo it. What is that upon your face?"

  "Dirt," I said.

  He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked thequestion twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my babyheart would have burst before I would have told him so.

  "You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," he said,with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you understood me verywell, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me."

  "Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked meinto the parlor, with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be madeuncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthfulhumors."

  What a little thing will change the current of our lives! I might havebeen made another creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A word ofwelcome home, of assurance that it _was_ home, might have made merespect my new father instead of hate him. But the word was not spoken,and the time for it was gone.

  From that time my life was a lonely one. My mother petted me in secret,but plainly stood in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntlessPeggotty must needs keep her peace. His word alone was law.

  After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came to live with us. And fromthe second day of her arrival she took charge of the household keys, andmanaged things with a firmness second only to her brother himself.

  There had been some talk of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and MissMurdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course agreed withthem. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet, and in themeantime I learned my lessons at home.

  Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally bymy mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were alwayspresent, and found them a favorable occasion for giving my motherlessons in that miscalled firmness which was the bane of both our lives.I believe I was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough tolearn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had lived alonetogether. I can faintly remember learning the alphabet at her knee. Tothis day, when I look upon the fat black letters in the primer, thepuzzling novelty of their shapes and the easy good-nature of O and Q andS seem to present themselves again before me as they used to do. Butthey recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, Iseem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as thecrocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of mymother's voice and manner all the way.

  But these solemn lessons which succeeded I remember as the death-blow tomy peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were verylong, very numerous, very hard,--and I was generally as much bewilderedby them as I believe my poor mother was herself.

  Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.

  I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast with my books and anexercise-book and a slate. My mother is ready for me at herwriting-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chairby the window, though he pretends to be reading a book, or as MissMurdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing steel beads. The verysight of these two has such an influence over me that I begin to feelthe words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head all slidingaway and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by thebye?

  I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps ahistory or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I giveit into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have gotit fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip overanother word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble overhalf-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the bookif she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:

  "Oh, Davy! Davy!"

  "Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy. Don't say 'Oh,Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not knowit."

  "He does _not_ know it," Miss Murdstone interposes, awfully.

  "I am really afraid he does not," says my mother.

  "Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you should just give himthe book back and make him know it."

  "Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend to do, my dearJane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid."

  The natural result of this treatment was to make me sullen, dull, anddogged; and my temper was not improved by the sense that I was dailyshut out from my mother.

  One morning, after about six months of these lessons, when I went intothe parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, MissMurdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round thebottom of a cane,--a lithe and limber cane, which he left off bindingwhen I came in, and poised and switched in the air.

  "Now, David," he said, "you must be far more careful to-day than usual."He gave the cane another poise and another switch, and laid it downbeside him with an expressive look and took up his book.

  This was a good freshener to my presence of mind as a beginning. I feltthe words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line,but by the entire page. I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed,if I may so express it, to have put skates on and to skim away from mewith a smoothness there was no checking.

  We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with an idea that Iwas very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Bookafter book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone beingfirmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came to the last, mymother burst out crying.

  "Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.

  Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood up, cane in hand.

  "David, you and I will go upstairs," he said.

  He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely, and when we got there,suddenly twisted my head under his arm.

  "Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! Ihave tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstoneare by. I can't indeed!"

  "Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that."

  He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stoppedhim for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for amoment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterward
s,and in the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth, and bit itthrough. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it!

  He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all thenoise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--Iheard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and thedoor was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, uponthe floor.

  How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillnessseemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when mysmart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!

  I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawledup from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, andugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, andmade me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt Ifelt. It lay like lead upon my breast.

  For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one exceptMiss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in myremembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whisperedthrough the keyhole.

  I groped my way to the door, and, putting my own lips to the keyhole,whispered,

  "Is that you, Peggotty, dear?"

  "Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft as a mouse, or theCat'll hear us."

  I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, her room being close by.

  "How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?"

  I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I wasdoing on mine, before she answered, "No. Not very."

  "What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear? Do you know?"

  "School. Near London."

  "When, Peggotty?"

  "To-morrow."

  "Sha'n't I see mamma?"

  "Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."

  Then she stole away, fearful of surprises. In the morning Miss Murdstoneappeared as usual, and told me I was going to school, which was notaltogether such news to me as she supposed. She also informed me thatwhen I was dressed, I was to come down stairs into the parlor, and havemy breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and with red eyes,into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my suffering soul.

  "Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt any one I love! Try to bebetter, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy,that you should have such bad passions in your heart."

  They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was moresorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried toeat my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread and butter,and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, andthen glance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or lookaway.

  "Master Copperfield's box there?" said Miss Murdstone, when wheels wereheard at the gate.

  I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstoneappeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door; the boxwas taken out to his cart and lifted in.

  "Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note.

  "Yes, my dear Jane," returned my mother. "Good-bye, Davy. You are goingfor your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in theholidays, and be a better boy. God bless you!"

  Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say onthe way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; andthen I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.

  We had not gone half a mile when I was astonished to see Peggotty burstfrom a hedge and climb into the cart. Not a word did she say, but shesqueezed me tight, crammed a bag of cakes into my pockets, and put apurse into my hand. After a final squeeze she got down from the cartand ran away as quickly as she had come.

  My pocket-handkerchief was now so wet that the carrier proposedspreading it out upon the horse's back to dry. We did so, and I thenhad leisure to look at the purse. It had three bright shillings in itfrom Peggotty, and--more precious still--two half-crowns folded togetherin a bit of paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy.With my love."

  I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me myhandkerchief again, but he said I had better let it dry first. Ithought so too, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve this time.

  Then the cakes came in for consideration. I offered the carrier onewhich he ate at a gulp, without the slightest change of expression.

  "Did _she_ make 'em?" asked the carrier, whose name, by the way, wasBarkis.

  "Peggotty, you mean, sir?"

  "Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. "Her."

  "Yes, she makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking."

  Mr. Barkis said nothing for some moments. Then--

  "Perhaps you might be writin' to her, later on?"

  "Yes, indeed," I said.

  "Then you just say to her that Barkis is willin'. Would you?"

  "Yes, sir," I replied, considerably puzzled by the message. And I diddeliver it the very first time I wrote to Peggotty. I did not then knowthat the carrier meant, by being "willing," he wanted to marry my goodPeggotty and was too shy to say so for himself.

  At Yarmouth I changed to the coach for London; and at London, to stillanother coach for Salem, the school. And so, after a long, wearisomejourney, I reached my new destination. Another leaf of my life wasturned over, and a fresh one begun.