circumstances。　There　cannot　be　any　objection　to　your　seeing　her
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  presently；　ma’am。　It　may　do　her　good。’
  ‘And　she。　How　is　she？’　said　my　aunt；　sharply。
  Mr。　Chillip　laid　his　head　a　little　more　on　one　side；　and　looked　at
  my　aunt　like　an　amiable　bird。
  ‘The　baby；’　said　my　aunt。　‘How　is　she？’
  ‘Ma’am；’　returned　Mr。　Chillip；　‘I　apprehended　you　had　known。
  It’s　a　boy。’
  My　aunt　said　never　a　word；　but　took　her　bonnet　by　the　strings；
  in　the　manner　of　a　sling；　aimed　a　blow　at　Mr。　Chillip’s　head　with　it；
  put　it　on　bent；　walked　out；　and　never　came　back。　She　vanished　like
  a　discontented　fairy；　or　like　one　of　those　supernatural　beings；
  whom　it　was　popularly　supposed　I　was　entitled　to　see；　and　never
  came　back　any　more。
  No。　I　lay　in　my　basket；　and　my　mother　lay　in　her　bed；　but
  Betsey　Trotwood　Copperfield　was　for　ever　in　the　land　of　dreams
  and　shadows；　the　tremendous　region　whence　I　had　so　lately
  travelled；　and　the　light　upon　the　window　of　our　room　shone　out
  upon　the　earthly　bourne　of　all　such　travellers；　and　the　mound
  above　the　ashes　and　the　dust　that　once　was　he；　without　whom　I
  had　never　been。
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  Chapter　2
  I　OBSERVE
  The　first　objects　that　assume　a　distinct　presence　before　me；
  as　I　look　far　back；　into　the　blank　of　my　infancy；　are　my
  mother　with　her　pretty　hair　and　youthful　shape；　and
  Peggotty　with　no　shape　at　all；　and　eyes　so　dark　that　they　seemed　to
  darken　their　whole　neighbourhood　in　her　face；　and　cheeks　and
  arms　so　hard　and　red　that　I　wondered　the　birds　didn’t　peck　her　in
  preference　to　apples。
  I　believe　I　can　remember　these　two　at　a　little　distance　apart；
  dwarfed　to　my　sight　by　stooping　down　or　kneeling　on　the　floor；
  and　I　going　unsteadily　from　the　one　to　the　other。　I　have　an
  impression　on　my　mind　which　I　cannot　distinguish　from　actual
  remembrance；　of　the　touch　of　Peggotty’s　forefinger　as　she　used　to
  hold　it　out　to　me；　and　of　its　being　roughened　by　needlework；　like　a
  pocket　nutmeg…grater。
  This　may　be　fancy；　though　I　think　the　memory　of　most　of　us　can
  go　farther　back　into　such　times　than　many　of　us　suppose；　just　as　I
  believe　the　power　of　observation　in　numbers　of　very　young
  children　to　be　quite　wonderful　for　its　closeness　and　accuracy。
  Indeed；　I　think　that　most　grown　men　who　are　remarkable　in　this
  respect；　may　with　greater　propriety　be　said　not　to　have　lost　the
  faculty；　than　to　have　acquired　it；　the　rather；　as　I　generally　observe
  such　men　to　retain　a　certain　freshness；　and　gentleness；　and
  capacity　of　being　pleased；　which　are　also　an　inheritance　they　have
  preserved　from　their　childhood。
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  I　might　have　a　misgiving　that　I　am　‘meandering’　in　stopping　to
  say　this；　but　that　it　brings　me　to　remark　that　I　build　these
  conclusions；　in　part　upon　my　own　experience　of　myself；　and　if　it
  should　appear　from　anything　I　may　set　down　in　this　narrative　that
  I　was　a　child　of　close　observation；　or　that　as　a　man　I　have　a　strong
  memory　of　my　childhood；　I　undoubtedly　lay　claim　to　both　of　these
  characteristics。
  Looking　back；　as　I　was　saying；　into　the　blank　of　my　infancy；　the
  first　objects　I　can　remember　as　standing　out　by　themselves　from　a
  confusion　of　things；　are　my　mother　and　Peggotty。　What　else　do　I
  remember？　Let　me　see。
  There　comes　out　of　the　cloud；　our　house—not　new　to　me；　but
  quite　familiar；　in　its　earliest　remembrance。　On　the　ground…floor　is
  Peggotty’s　kitchen；　opening　into　a　back　yard；　with　a　pigeon…house
  on　a　pole；　in　the　centre；　without　any　pigeons　in　it；　a　great　dog…
  kennel　in　a　corner；　without　any　dog；　and　a　quantity　of　fowls　that
  look　terribly　tall　to　me；　walking　about；　in　a　menacing　and　ferocious
  manner。　There　is　one　cock　who　gets　upon　a　post　to　crow；　and
  seems　to　take　particular　notice　of　me　as　I　look　at　him　through　the
  kitchen　window；　who　makes　me　shiver；　he　is　so　fierce。　Of　the　geese
  outside　the　side…gate　who　come　waddling　after　me　with　their　long
  necks　stretched　out　when　I　go　that　way；　I　dream　at　night：　as　a　man
  environed　by　wild　beasts　might　dream　of　lions。
  Here　is　a　long　passage—what　an　enormous　perspective　I　make
  of　it！—leading　from　Peggotty’s　kitchen　to　the　front　door。　A　dark
  store…room　opens　out　of　it；　and　that　is　a　place　to　be　run　past　at
  night；　for　I　don’t　know　what　may　be　among　those　tubs　and　jars
  and　old　tea…chests；　when　there　is　nobody　in　there　with　a　dimly…
  burning　light；　letting　a　mouldy　air　come　out　of　the　door；　in　which
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  there　is　the　smell　of　soap；　pickles；　pepper；　candles；　and　coffee；　all
  at　one　whiff。　Then　there　are　the　two　parlours：　the　parlour　in　which
  we　sit　of　an　evening；　my　mother　and　I　and　Peggotty—for　Peggotty
  is　quite　our　companion；　when　her　work　is　done　and　we　are　alone—
  and　the　best　parlour　where　we　sit　on　a　Sunday；　grandly；　but　not　so
  comfortably。　There　is　something　of　a　doleful　air　about　that　room　to
  me；　for　Peggotty　has　told　me—I　don’t　know　when；　but　apparently
  ages　ago—about　my　father’s　funeral；　and　the　company　having
  their　black　cloaks　put　on。　One　Sunday　night　my　mother　reads　to
  Peggotty　and　me　in　there；　how　Lazarus　was　raised　up　from　the
  dead。　And　I　am　so　frightened　that　they　are　afterwards　obliged　to
  take　me　out　of　bed；　and　show　me　the　quiet　churchyard　out　of　the
  bedroom　window；　with　the　dead　all　lying　in　their　graves　at　rest；
  below　the　solemn　moon。
  There　is　nothing　half　so　green　that　I　know　anywhere；　as　the
  grass　of　that　churchyard；　nothing　half　so　shady　as　its　trees；
  nothing　half　so　quiet　as　its　tombstones。　The　sheep　are　feeding
  there；　when　I　kneel　up；　early　in　the　morning；　in　my　little　bed　in　a
  closet　within　my　mother’s　room；　to　look　out　at　it；　and　I　see　the　red
  light　shining　on　the　sun…dial；　and　think　within　myself；　‘Is　the　sundial　glad；　I　wonder；　that　it　can　tell　the　time　again？’
  Here　is　our　pew　in　the　church。　What　a　high…backed　pew！　With　a
  window　near　it；　out　of　which　our　house　can　be　seen；　and　is　seen
  many　times　during　the　morning’s　service；　by　Peggotty；　who　likes
  to　make　herself　as　sure　as　she　can　that　it’s　not　being　robbed；　or　is
  not　in　flames。　But　though　Peggotty’s　eye　wanders；　she　is　much
  offended　if　mine　does；　and　frowns　to　me；　as　I　stand　upon　the　seat；
  that　I　am　to　look　at　the　clergyman。　But　I　can’t　always　look　at　him—
  I　know　him　without　that　white　thing　on；　and　I　am　afraid　of　his
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  wondering　why　I　stare　so；　and　perhaps　stopping　the　service　to
  inquire—and　what　am　I　to　do？　It’s　a　dreadful　thing　to　gape；　but　I
  must　do　something。　I　look　at　my　mother；　but　she　pretends　not　to
  see　me。　I　look　at　a　boy　in　the　aisle；　and　he　makes　faces　at　me。　I
  look　at　the　sunlight　coming　in　at　the　open　door　through　the　porch；
  and　there　I　see　a　stray　sheep—I　don’t　mean　a　sinner；　but　mutton—
  half　making　up　his　mind　to　come　into　the　church。　I　feel　that　if　I
  looked　at　him　any　longer；　I　might　be　tempted　to　say　something　out
  loud；　and　what　would　become　of　me　then！　I　look　up　at　the
  monumental　tablets　on　the　wall；　and　try　to　think　of　Mr。　Bodgers
  late　of　this　parish；　and　what　the　feelings　of　Mrs。　Bodgers　must
  have　been；　when　affliction　sore；　long　time　Mr。　Bodgers　bore；　and
  physicians　were　in　vain。　I　wonder　whether　they　called　in　Mr。
  Chillip；　and　he　was　in　vain；　and　if　so；　how　he　likes　to　be　reminded
  of　it　once　a　week。　I　look　from　Mr。　Chillip；　in　his　Sunday　neckcloth；
  to　the　pulpit；　and　think　what　a　good　place　it　would　be　to　play　in；
  and　what　a　castle　it　would　make；　with　another　boy　coming　up　the
  stairs　to　attack　it；　and　having　the　velvet　cushion　with　the　tassels
  thrown　down　on　his　head。　In　time　my　eyes　gradually　shut　up；　and；
  from　seeming　to　hear　the　clergyman　singing　a　drowsy　song　in　the
  heat；　I　hear　nothing；　until　I　fall　off　the　seat　with　a　crash；　and　am
  taken　out；　more　dead　than　alive；　by　Peggotty。
  And　now　I　see　the　outside　of　our　house；　with　the　latticed
  bedroom…windows　standing　open　to　let　in　the　sweet…smelling　air；
  and　the　ragged　old　rooks’…nests　still　dangling　in　the　elm…trees　at
  the　bottom　of　the　front　garden。　Now　I　am　in　the　garden　at　the
  back；　beyond　the　yard　where　the　empty　pigeon…house　and　dog…
  kennel　are—a　very　preserve　of　butterflies；　as　I　remember　it；　with　a
  high　fence；　and　a　gate　and　padlock；　where　the　fruit　clusters　on　the
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  trees；　riper　and　richer　than　fruit　has　ever　been　since；　in　any　other
  garden；　and　where　my　mother　gathers　some　in　a　basket；　while　I
  stand　by；　bolting　furtive　gooseberries；　and　trying　to　look　unmoved。
  A　great　wind　rises；　and　the　summer　is　gone　in　a　moment。　We　are
  playing　in　the　winter　twilight；　dancing　about　the　parlour。　When
  my　mother　is　out　of　breath　and　rests　herself　in　an　elbow…chair；　I
  watch　her　winding　her　bright　curls　round　her　fingers；　and
  straitening　her　waist；　and　nobody　knows　better　than　I　do　that　she
  likes　to　look　so　well；　and　is　proud　of　being　so　pretty。
  That　is　among　my　very　ear