‘What’s　amiss；　dame？’　said　Mr。　Peggotty。
  ‘Nothing；’　returned　Mrs。　Gummidge。　‘You’ve　come　from　The
  Willing　Mind；　Dan’l？’
  ‘Why　yes；　I’ve　took　a　short　spell　at　The　Willing　Mind　tonight；’
  said　Mr。　Peggotty。
  ‘I’m　sorry　I　should　drive　you　there；’　said　Mrs。　Gummidge。
  ‘Drive！　I　don’t　want　no　driving；’　returned　Mr。　Peggotty　with　an
  honest　laugh。　‘I　only　go　too　ready。’
  ‘Very　ready；’　said　Mrs。　Gummidge；　shaking　her　head；　and
  wiping　her　eyes。　‘Yes；　yes；　very　ready。　I　am　sorry　it　should　be
  along　of　me　that　you’re　so　ready。’
  ‘Along　o’　you！　It　an’t　along　o’　you！’　said　Mr。　Peggotty。　‘Don’t　ye
  believe　a　bit　on　it。’
  ‘Yes；　yes；　it　is；’　cried　Mrs。　Gummidge。　‘I　know　what　I　am。　I　know
  that　I　am　a　lone　lorn　creetur’；　and　not　only　that　everythink　goes
  contrary　with　me；　but　that　I　go　contrary　with　everybody。　Yes；　yes。
  I　feel　more　than　other　people　do；　and　I　show　it　more。　It’s　my
  misfortun’。’
  I　really　couldn’t　help　thinking；　as　I　sat　taking　in　all　this；　that　the
  misfortune　extended　to　some　other　members　of　that　family　besides
  Mrs。　Gummidge。　But　Mr。　Peggotty　made　no　such　retort；　only
  answering　with　another　entreaty　to　Mrs。　Gummidge　to　cheer　up。
  ‘I　an’t　what　I　could　wish　myself　to　be；’　said　Mrs。　Gummidge。　‘I
  am　far　from　it。　I　know　what　I　am。　My　troubles　has　made　me
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  contrary。　I　feel　my　troubles；　and　they　make　me　contrary。　I　wish　I
  didn’t　feel　’em；　but　I　do。　I　wish　I　could　be　hardened　to　’em；　but　I
  an’t。　I　make　the　house　uncomfortable。　I　don’t　wonder　at　it。　I’ve
  made　your　sister　so　all　day；　and　Master　Davy。’
  Here　I　was　suddenly　melted；　and　roared　out；　‘No；　you　haven’t；
  Mrs。　Gummidge；’　in　great　mental　distress。
  ‘It’s　far　from　right　that　I　should　do　it；’　said　Mrs。　Gummidge。　‘It
  an’t　a　fit　return。　I　had　better　go　into　the　house　and　die。　I　am　a　lone
  lorn　creetur’；　and　had　much　better　not　make　myself　contrary　here。
  If　thinks　must　go　contrary　with　me；　and　I　must　go　contrary　myself；
  let　me　go　contrary　in　my　parish。　Dan’l；　I’d　better　go　into　the　house；
  and　die　and　be　a　riddance！’
  Mrs。　Gummidge　retired　with　these　words；　and　betook　herself　to
  bed。　When　she　was　gone；　Mr。　Peggotty；　who　had　not　exhibited　a
  trace　of　any　feeling　but　the　profoundest　sympathy；　looked　round
  upon　us；　and　nodding　his　head　with　a　lively　expression　of　that
  sentiment　still　animating　his　face；　said　in　a　whisper：
  ‘She’s　been　thinking　of　the　old　’un！’
  I　did　not　quite　understand　what　old　one　Mrs。　Gummidge　was
  supposed　to　have　fixed　her　mind　upon；　until　Peggotty；　on　seeing
  me　to　bed；　explained　that　it　was　the　late　Mr。　Gummidge；　and　that
  her　brother　always　took　that　for　a　received　truth　on　such
  occasions；　and　that　it　always　had　a　moving　effect　upon　him。　Some
  time　after　he　was　in　his　hammock　that　night；　I　heard　him　myself
  repeat　to　Ham；　‘Poor　thing！　She’s　been　thinking　of　the　old　’un！’
  And　whenever　Mrs。　Gummidge　was　overcome　in　a　similar　manner
  during　the　remainder　of　our　stay　（which　happened　some　few
  times）；　he　always　said　the　same　thing　in　extenuation　of　the
  circumstance；　and　always　with　the　tenderest　commiseration。
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  So　the　fortnight　slipped　away；　varied　by　nothing　but　the
  variation　of　the　tide；　which　altered　Mr。　Peggotty’s　times　of　going
  out　and　coming　in；　and　altered　Ham’s　engagements　also。　When　the
  latter　was　unemployed；　he　sometimes　walked　with　us　to　show　us
  the　boats　and　ships；　and　once　or　twice　he　took　us　for　a　row。　I　don’t
  know　why　one　slight　set　of　impressions　should　be　more
  particularly　associated　with　a　place　than　another；　though　I　believe
  this　obtains　with　most　people；　in　reference　especially　to　the
  associations　of　their　childhood。　I　never　hear　the　name；　or　read　the
  name；　of　Yarmouth；　but　I　am　reminded　of　a　certain　Sunday
  morning　on　the　beach；　the　bells　ringing　for　church；　little　Em’ly
  leaning　on　my　shoulder；　Ham　lazily　dropping　stones　into　the
  water；　and　the　sun；　away　at　sea；　just　breaking　through　the　heavy
  mist；　and　showing　us　the　ships；　like　their　own　shadows。
  At　last　the　day　came　for　going　home。　I　bore　up　against　the
  separation　from　Mr。　Peggotty　and　Mrs。　Gummidge；　but　my　agony
  of　mind　at　leaving　little　Em’ly　was　piercing。　We　went　arm…in…arm
  to　the　public…house　where　the　carrier　put　up；　and　I　promised；　on
  the　road；　to　write　to　her。　（I　redeemed　that　promise　afterwards；　in
  characters　larger　than　those　in　which　apartments　are　usually
  announced　in　manuscript；　as　being　to　let。）　We　were　greatly
  overcome　at　parting；　and　if　ever；　in　my　life；　I　have　had　a　void　made
  in　my　heart；　I　had　one　made　that　day。
  Now；　all　the　time　I　had　been　on　my　visit；　I　had　been　ungrateful
  to　my　home　again；　and　had　thought　little　or　nothing　about　it。　But　I
  was　no　sooner　turned　towards　it；　than　my　reproachful　young
  conscience　seemed　to　point　that　way　with　a　ready　finger；　and　I　felt；
  all　the　more　for　the　sinking　of　my　spirits；　that　it　was　my　nest；　and
  that　my　mother　was　my　comforter　and　friend。
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  This　gained　upon　me　as　we　went　along；　so　that　the　nearer　we
  drew；　the　more　familiar　the　objects　became　that　we　passed；　the
  more　excited　I　was　to　get　there；　and　to　run　into　her　arms。　But
  Peggotty；　instead　of　sharing　in　those　transports；　tried　to　check
  them　（though　very　kindly）；　and　looked　confused　and　out　of　sorts。
  Blunderstone　Rookery　would　come；　however；　in　spite　of　her；
  when　the　carrier’s　horse　pleased—and　did。　How　well　I　recollect　it；
  on　a　cold　grey　afternoon；　with　a　dull　sky；　threatening　rain！
  The　door　opened；　and　I　looked；　half　laughing　and　half　crying　in
  my　pleasant　agitation；　for　my　mother。　It　was　not　she；　but　a　strange
  servant。
  ‘Why；　Peggotty！’　I　said；　ruefully；　‘isn’t　she　come　home？’
  ‘Yes；　yes；　Master　Davy；’　said　Peggotty。　‘She’s　come　home。　Wait
  a　bit；　Master　Davy；　and　I’ll—I’ll　tell　you　something。’
  Between　her　agitation；　and　her　natural　awkwardness　in　getting
  out　of　the　cart；　Peggotty　was　making　a　most　extraordinary　festoon
  of　herself；　but　I　felt　too　blank　and　strange　to　tell　her　so。　When　she
  had　got　down；　she　took　me　by　the　hand；　led　me；　wondering；　into
  the　kitchen；　and　shut　the　door。
  ‘Peggotty！’　said　I；　quite　frightened。　‘What’s　the　matter？’
  ‘Nothing’s　the　matter；　bless　you；　Master　Davy　dear！’　she
  answered；　assuming　an　air　of　sprightliness。
  ‘Something’s　the　matter；　I’m　sure。　Where’s　mama？’
  ‘Where’s　mama；　Master　Davy？’　repeated　Peggotty。
  ‘Yes。　Why　hasn’t　she　come　out　to　the　gate；　and　what　have　we
  come　in　here　for？　Oh；　Peggotty！’　My　eyes　were　full；　and　I　felt　as　if　I
  were　going　to　tumble　down。
  ‘Bless　the　precious　boy！’　cried　Peggotty；　taking　hold　of　me。
  ‘What　is　it？　Speak；　my　pet！’
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  ‘Not　dead；　too！　Oh；　she’s　not　dead；　Peggotty？’
  Peggotty　cried　out　No！　with　an　astonishing　volume　of　voice；　and
  then　sat　down；　and　began　to　pant；　and　said　I　had　given　her　a　turn。
  I　gave　her　a　hug　to　take　away　the　turn；　or　to　give　her　another
  turn　in　the　right　direction；　and　then　stood　before　her；　looking　at
  her　in　anxious　inquiry。
  ‘You　see；　dear；　I　should　have　told　you　before　now；’　said
  Peggotty；　‘but　I　hadn’t　an　opportunity。　I　ought　to　have　made　it；
  perhaps；　but　I　couldn’t　azackly’—that　was　always　the　substitute
  for　exactly；　in　Peggotty’s　militia　of　words—‘bring　my　mind　to　it。’
  ‘Go　on；　Peggotty；’　said　I；　more　frightened　than　before。
  ‘Master　Davy；’　said　Peggotty；　untying　her　bonnet　with　a　shaking
  hand；　and　speaking　in　a　breathless　sort　of　way。　‘What　do　you
  think？　You　have　got　a　Pa！’
  I　trembled；　and　turned　white。　Something—I　don’t　know　what；
  or　how—connected　with　the　grave　in　the　churchyard；　and　the
  raising　of　the　dead；　seemed　to　strike　me　like　an　unwholesome
  wind。
  ‘A　new　one；’　said　Peggotty。
  ‘A　new　one？’　I　repeated。
  Peggotty　gave　a　gasp；　as　if　she　were　swallowing　something　that
  was　very　hard；　and；　putting　out　her　hand；　said：
  ‘Come　and　see　him。’
  ‘I　don’t　want　to　see　him。’
  —‘And　your　mama；’　said　Peggotty。
  I　ceased　to　draw　back；　and　we　went　straight　to　the　best　parlour；
  where　she　left　me。　On　one　side　of　the　fire；　sat　my　mother；　on　the
  other；　Mr。　Murdstone。　My　mother　dropped　her　work；　and　arose
  hurriedly；　but　timidly　I　thought。
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  ‘Now；　Clara　my　dear；’　said　Mr。　Murdstone。　‘Recollect！　control
  yourself；　always　control　yourself！　Davy　boy；　how　do　you　do？’
  I　gave　him　my　hand。　After　a　moment　of　suspense；　I　went　and
  kissed　my　mother：　she　kissed　me；　patted　me　gently　on　the
  shoulder；　and　sat　down　again　to　her　work。　I　could　not　look　at　her；　I
  could　not　look　at　him；　I　knew　quite　well　that　he　was　looking　at　us
  both；　and　I　turned　to　the　window　and　looked　out　there；　at　some
  shrubs　that　were　drooping　their　heads　in　the　cold。
  As　soon　as　I　could　creep　away；　I　crept　upstairs。　My　old　dear
  bedroom　was　changed；　and　I　was　to　lie　a　long　way