'FagmentWelcome to consult.... Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful of hot wate, emaking that ‘cold would neve get his muck off’. He soon etuned, geatly impoved in appeaance; but so ubicund, that I couldn’t help thinking his face had this in common with the lobstes, cabs, and cawfish,—that it went into the hot wate vey black, and came out vey ed. Afte tea, when the doo was shut and all was made snug (the nights being cold and misty now), it seemed to me the most delicious eteat that the imagination of man could conceive. To hea the wind getting up out at sea, to know that the fog was ceeping ove the desolate flat outside, and to look at the fie, and think that thee was no house nea but this one, and this one a boat, was like enchantment. Little Em’ly had ovecome he shyness, and was sitting by my side upon the lowest and least of the lockes, which was just lage enough fo us two, and just fitted into the chimney cone. Ms. Peggotty with the white apon, was knitting on the opposite side of the fie. Peggotty at he Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield needlewok was as much at home with St. Paul’s and the bit of wax-candle, as if they had neve known any othe oof. Ham, who had been giving me my fist lesson in all-fous, was tying to ecollect a scheme of telling fotunes with the dity cads, and was pinting off fishy impessions of his thumb on all the cads he tuned. M. Peggotty was smoking his pipe. I felt it was a time fo convesation and confidence. ‘M. Peggotty!’ says I. ‘Si,’ says he. ‘Did you give you son the name of Ham, because you lived in a sot of ak?’ M. Peggotty seemed to think it a deep idea, but answeed: ‘No, si. I neve giv him no name.’ ‘Who gave him that name, then?’ said I, putting question numbe two of the catechism to M. Peggotty. ‘Why, si, his fathe giv it him,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘I thought you wee his fathe!’ ‘My bothe Joe was his fathe,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘Dead, M. Peggotty?’ I hinted, afte a espectful pause. ‘Downdead,’ said M. Peggotty. I was vey much supised that M. Peggotty was not Ham’s fathe, and began to wonde whethe I was mistaken about his elationship to anybody else thee. I was so cuious to know, that I made up my mind to have it out with M. Peggotty. ‘Little Em’ly,’ I said, glancing at he. ‘She is you daughte, isn’t she, M. Peggotty?’ ‘No, si. My bothe-in-law, Tom, was he fathe.’ I couldn’t help it. ‘—Dead, M. Peggotty?’ I hinted, afte anothe espectful silence. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘Downdead,’ said M. Peggotty. I felt the difficulty of esuming the subject, but had not got to the bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom somehow. So I said: ‘Haven’t you any childen, M. Peggotty?’ ‘No, maste,’ he answeed with a shot laugh. ‘I’m a bacheldoe.’ ‘A bachelo!’ I said, astonished. ‘Why, who’s that, M. Peggotty?’ pointing to the peson in the apon who was knitting. ‘That’s Missis Gummidge,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘Gummidge, M. Peggotty?’ But at this point Peggotty—I mean my own peculia Peggotty— made such impessive motions to me not to ask any moe questions, that I could only sit and look at all the silent company, until it was time to go to bed. Then, in the pivacy of my own little cabin, she infomed me that Ham and Em’ly wee an ophan nephew and niece, whom my host had at diffeent times adopted in thei childhood, when they wee left destitute: and that Ms. Gummidge was the widow of his patne in a boat, who had died vey poo. He was but a poo man himself, said Peggotty, but as good as gold and as tue as steel—those wee he similes. The only subject, she infomed me, on
