threepence。　Then；　at　a　grocer’s　shop；　we　bought　an　egg　and　a　slice
  of　streaky　bacon；　which　still　left　what　I　thought　a　good　deal　of
  change；　out　of　the　second　of　the　bright　shillings；　and　made　me
  consider　London　a　very　cheap　place。　These　provisions　laid　in；　we
  went　on　through　a　great　noise　and　uproar　that　confused　my　weary
  head　beyond　description；　and　over　a　bridge　which；　no　doubt；　was
  London　Bridge　（indeed　I　think　he　told　me　so；　but　I　was　half
  asleep）；　until　we　came　to　the　poor　person’s　house；　which　was　a
  part　of　some　alms…houses；　as　I　knew　by　their　look；　and　by　an
  inscription　on　a　stone　over　the　gate　which　said　they　were
  established　for　twenty…five　poor　women。
  The　Master　at　Salem　House　lifted　the　latch　of　one　of　a　number
  of　little　black　doors　that　were　all　alike；　and　had　each　a　little
  diamond…paned　window　on　one　side；　and　another　little　diamond…
  paned　window　above；　and　we　went　into　the　little　house　of　one　of
  these　poor　old　women；　who　was　blowing　a　fire　to　make　a　little
  saucepan　boil。　On　seeing　the　master　enter；　the　old　woman　stopped
  with　the　bellows　on　her　knee；　and　said　something　that　I　thought
  sounded　like　‘My　Charley！’　but　on　seeing　me　come　in　too；　she　got
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  up；　and　rubbing　her　hands　made　a　confused　sort　of　half　curtsey。
  ‘Can　you　cook　this　young　gentleman’s　breakfast　for　him；　if　you
  please？’　said　the　Master　at　Salem　House。
  ‘Can　I？’　said　the　old　woman。　‘Yes　can　I；　sure！’
  ‘How’s　Mrs。　Fibbitson　today？’　said　the　Master；　looking　at
  another　old　woman　in　a　large　chair　by　the　fire；　who　was　such　a
  bundle　of　clothes　that　I　feel　grateful　to　this　hour　for　not　having　sat
  upon　her　by　mistake。
  ‘Ah；　she’s　poorly；’　said　the　first　old　woman。　‘It’s　one　of　her　bad
  days。　If　the　fire　was　to　go　out；　through　any　accident；　I　verily
  believe　she’d　go　out　too；　and　never　come　to　life　again。’
  As　they　looked　at　her；　I　looked　at　her　also。　Although　it　was　a
  warm　day；　she　seemed　to　think　of　nothing　but　the　fire。　I　fancied
  she　was　jealous　even　of　the　saucepan　on　it；　and　I　have　reason　to
  know　that　she　took　its　impressment　into　the　service　of　boiling　my
  egg　and　broiling　my　bacon；　in　dudgeon；　for　I　saw　her；　with　my　own
  discomfited　eyes；　shake　her　fist　at　me　once；　when　those　culinary
  operations　were　going　on；　and　no　one　else　was　looking。　The　sun
  streamed　in　at　the　little　window；　but　she　sat　with　her　own　back
  and　the　back　of　the　large　chair　towards　it；　screening　the　fire　as　if
  she　were　sedulously　keeping　it　warm；　instead　of　it　keeping　her
  warm；　and　watching　it　in　a　most　distrustful　manner。　The
  completion　of　the　preparations　for　my　breakfast；　by　relieving　the
  fire；　gave　her　such　extreme　joy　that　she　laughed　aloud—and　a　very
  unmelodious　laugh　she　had；　I　must　say。
  I　sat　down　to　my　brown　loaf；　my　egg；　and　my　rasher　of　bacon；
  with　a　basin　of　milk　besides；　and　made　a　most　delicious　meal。
  While　I　was　yet　in　the　full　enjoyment　of　it；　the　old　woman　of　the
  house　said　to　the　Master：
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  ‘Have　you　got　your　flute　with　you？’
  ‘Yes；’　he　returned。
  ‘Have　a　blow　at　it；’　said　the　old　woman；　coaxingly。　‘Do！’
  The　Master；　upon　this；　put　his　hand　underneath　the　skirts　of　his
  coat；　and　brought　out　his　flute　in　three　pieces；　which　he　screwed
  together；　and　began　immediately　to　play。　My　impression　is；　after
  many　years　of　consideration；　that　there　never　can　have　been
  anybody　in　the　world　who　played　worse。　He　made　the　most　dismal
  sounds　I　have　ever　heard　produced　by　any　means；　natural　or
  artificial。　I　don’t　know　what　the　tunes　were—if　there　were　such
  things　in　the　performance　at　all；　which　I　doubt—but　the　influence
  of　the　strain　upon　me　was；　first；　to　make　me　think　of　all　my
  sorrows　until　I　could　hardly　keep　my　tears　back；　then　to　take　away
  my　appetite；　and　lastly；　to　make　me　so　sleepy　that　I　couldn’t　keep
  my　eyes　open。　They　begin　to　close　again；　and　I　begin　to　nod；　as　the
  recollection　rises　fresh　upon　me。　Once　more　the　little　room；　with
  its　open　corner　cupboard；　and　its　square…backed　chairs；　and　its
  angular　little　staircase　leading　to　the　room　above；　and　its　three
  peacock’s　feathers　displayed　over　the　mantelpiece—I　remember
  wondering　when　I　first　went　in；　what　that　peacock　would　have
  thought　if　he　had　known　what　his　finery　was　doomed　to　come　to—
  fades　from　before　me；　and　I　nod；　and　sleep。　The　flute　becomes
  inaudible；　the　wheels　of　the　coach　are　heard　instead；　and　I　am　on
  my　journey。　The　coach　jolts；　I　wake　with　a　start；　and　the　flute　has
  come　back　again；　and　the　Master　at　Salem　House　is　sitting　with　his
  legs　crossed；　playing　it　dolefully；　while　the　old　woman　of　the　house
  looks　on　delighted。　She　fades　in　her　turn；　and　he　fades；　and　all
  fades；　and　there　is　no　flute；　no　Master；　no　Salem　House；　no　David
  Copperfield；　no　anything　but　heavy　sleep。
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  I　dreamed；　I　thought；　that　once　while　he　was　blowing　into　this
  dismal　flute；　the　old　woman　of　the　house；　who　had　gone　nearer
  and　nearer　to　him　in　her　ecstatic　admiration；　leaned　over　the　back
  of　his　chair　and　gave　him　an　affectionate　squeeze　round　the　neck；
  which　stopped　his　playing　for　a　moment。　I　was　in　the　middle　state
  between　sleeping　and　waking；　either　then　or　immediately
  afterwards；　for；　as　he　resumed—it　was　a　real　fact　that　he　had
  stopped　playing—I　saw　and　heard　the　same　old　woman　ask　Mrs。
  Fibbitson　if　it　wasn’t　delicious　（meaning　the　flute）；　to　which　Mrs。
  Fibbitson　replied；　‘Ay；　ay！　yes！’　and　nodded　at　the　fire：　to　which；　I
  am　persuaded；　she　gave　the　credit　of　the　whole　performance。
  When　I　seemed　to　have　been　dozing　a　long　while；　the　Master　at
  Salem　House　unscrewed　his　flute　into　the　three　pieces；　put　them
  up　as　before；　and　took　me　away。　We　found　the　coach　very　near　at
  hand；　and　got　upon　the　roof；　but　I　was　so　dead　sleepy；　that　when
  we　stopped　on　the　road　to　take　up　somebody　else；　they　put　me
  inside　where　there　were　no　passengers；　and　where　I　slept
  profoundly；　until　I　found　the　coach　going　at　a　footpace　up　a　steep
  hill　among　green　leaves。　Presently；　it　stopped；　and　had　come　to　its
  destination。
  A　short　walk　brought　us—I　mean　the　Master　and　me—to　Salem
  House；　which　was　enclosed　with　a　high　brick　wall；　and　looked　very
  dull。　Over　a　door　in　this　wall　was　a　board　with　SALEM　HOUSE
  upon　it；　and　through　a　grating　in　this　door　we　were　surveyed　when
  we　rang　the　bell　by　a　surly　face；　which　I　found；　on　the　door　being
  opened；　belonged　to　a　stout　man　with　a　bull…neck；　a　wooden　leg；
  overhanging　temples；　and　his　hair　cut　close　all　round　his　head。
  ‘The　new　boy；’　said　the　Master。
  The　man　with　the　wooden　leg　eyed　me　all　over—it　didn’t　take
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  long；　for　there　was　not　much　of　me—and　locked　the　gate　behind
  us；　and　took　out　the　key。　We　were　going　up　to　the　house；　among
  some　dark　heavy　trees；　when　he　called　after　my　conductor。　‘Hallo！’
  We　looked　back；　and　he　was　standing　at　the　door　of　a　little
  lodge；　where　he　lived；　with　a　pair　of　boots　in　his　hand。
  ‘Here！　The　cobbler’s　been；’　he　said；　‘since　you’ve　been　out；　Mr。
  Mell；　and　he　says　he　can’t　mend　’em　any　more。　He　says　there　ain’t
  a　bit　of　the　original　boot　left；　and　he　wonders　you　expect　it。’
  With　these　words　he　threw　the　boots　towards　Mr。　Mell；　who
  went　back　a　few　paces　to　pick　them　up；　and　looked　at　them　（very
  disconsolately；　I　was　afraid）；　as　we　went　on　together。　I　observed
  then；　for　the　first　time；　that　the　boots　he　had　on　were　a　good　deal
  the　worse　for　wear；　and　that　his　stocking　was　just　breaking　out　in
  one　place；　like　a　bud。
  Salem　House　was　a　square　brick　building　with　wings；　of　a　bare
  and　unfurnished　appearance。　All　about　it　was　so　very　quiet；　that　I
  said　to　Mr。　Mell　I　supposed　the　boys　were　out；　but　he　seemed
  surprised　at　my　not　knowing　that　it　was　holiday…time。　That　all　the
  boys　were　at　their　several　homes。　That　Mr。　Creakle；　the
  proprietor；　was　down　by　the　sea…side　with　Mrs。　and　Miss　Creakle；
  and　that　I　was　sent　in　holiday…time　as　a　punishment　for　my
  misdoing；　all　of　which　he　explained　to　me　as　we　went　along。
  I　gazed　upon　the　schoolroom　into　which　he　took　me；　as　the
  most　forlorn　and　desolate　place　I　had　ever　seen。　I　see　it　now。　A
  long　room　with　three　long　rows　of　desks；　and　six　of　forms；　and
  bristling　all　round　with　pegs　for　hats　and　slates。　Scraps　of　old
  copy…books　and　exercises　litter　the　dirty　floor。　Some　silkworms’
  houses；　made　of　the　same　materials；　are　scattered　over　the　desks。
  Two　miserable　little　white　mice；　left　behind　by　their　owner；　are
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  running　up　and　down　in　a　fusty　castle　made　of　pasteboard　and
  wire；　looking　in　all　the　corners　with　their　red　eyes　for　anything　to
  eat。　A　bird；　in　a　cage　very　little　bigger　than　himself；　makes　a
  mournful　rattle　now　and　then　in　hopping　on　his　perch；　two　inches
  high；　or　dropping　from　it；　but　neither　sings　nor　chirps。　There　is　a
  strange　unwholesome　smell　upon　the　room；　like　mildewed
  corduroys；　sweet　ap