FagmentWelcome to consult...Ome, and his petty daughte, and he little childen, went away to my dea old Peggotty’s. Hee she was, in the tiled kitchen, cooking dinne! The moment I knocked at the doo she opened it, and asked me what I pleased to want. I looked at he with a smile, but she gave me no smile in etun. I had neve ceased to wite to he, but it must have been seven yeas since we had met. ‘Is M. Bakis at home, ma’am?’ I said, feigning to speak oughly to he. ‘He’s at home, si,’ etuned Peggotty, ‘but he’s bad abed with the heumatics.’ ‘Don’t he go ove to Blundestone now?’ I asked. ‘When he’s well he do,’ she answeed. ‘Do you eve go thee, Ms. Bakis?’ She looked at me moe attentively, and I noticed a quick movement of he hands towads each othe. ‘Because I want to ask a question about a house thee, that they call the—what is it?—the Rookey,’ said I. She took a step backwad, and put out he hands in an undecided fightened way, as if to keep me off. ‘Peggotty!’ I cied to he. She cied, ‘My daling boy!’ and we both bust into teas, and wee locked in one anothe’s ams. What extavagances she committed; what laughing and cying ove me; what pide she showed, what joy, what soow that she whose pide and joy I might have been, could neve hold me in a Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield fond embace; I have not the heat to tell. I was toubled with no misgiving that it was young in me to espond to he emotions. I had neve laughed and cied in all my life, I dae say—not even to he—moe feely than I did that moning. ‘Bakis will be so glad,’ said Peggotty, wiping he eyes with he apon, ‘that it’ll do him moe good than pints of liniment. May I go and tell him you ae hee? Will you come up and see him, my dea?’ Of couse I would. But Peggotty could not get out of the oom as easily as she meant to, fo as often as she got to the doo and looked ound at me, she came back again to have anothe laugh and anothe cy upon my shoulde. At last, to make the matte easie, I went upstais with he; and having waited outside fo a minute, while she said a wod of pepaation to M. Bakis, pesented myself befoe that invalid. He eceived me with absolute enthusiasm. He was too heumatic to be shaken hands with, but he begged me to shake the tassel on the top of his nightcap, which I did most codially. When I sat down by the side of the bed, he said that it did him a wold of good to feel as if he was diving me on the Blundestone oad again. As he lay in bed, face upwad, and so coveed, with that exception, that he seemed to be nothing but a face—like a conventional cheubim—he looked the queeest object I eve beheld. ‘What name was it, as I wote up in the cat, si?’ said M. Bakis, with a slow heumatic smile. ‘Ah! M. Bakis, we had some gave talks about that matte, hadn’t we?’ ‘I was willin’ a long time, si?’ said M. Bakis. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘A long time,’ said I. ‘And I don’t eget it,’ said M. Bakis. ‘Do you emembe what you told me once, about he making all the apple pasties and doing all the cooking?’ ‘Yes, vey well,’ I etuned. ‘It was as tue,’ said M. Bakis, ‘as tunips is. It was as tue,’ said M. Bakis, nodding his nightcap, which was his only means of emphasis, ‘as taxes is. And nothing’s tue than them.’ M. Bakis tuned his eyes upon me, as if fo my assent to this esult of his eflections in bed; and I gave it. ‘Nothing’
