it　was　he；　and　that　he　was　a　lawyer；　and　steward　of　the　estates　of　a
  rich　gentleman　of　the　county；　‘what　wind　blows　you　here？　Not　an
  ill　wind；　I　hope？’
  ‘No；’　replied　my　aunt。　‘I　have　not　come　for　any　law。’
  ‘That’s　right；　ma’am；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield。　‘You　had　better　come
  for　anything　else。’　His　hair　was　quite　white　now；　though　his
  eyebrows　were　still　black。　He　had　a　very　agreeable　face；　and；　I
  thought；　was　handsome。　There　was　a　certain　richness　in　his
  complexion；　which　I　had　been　long　accustomed；　under　Peggotty’s
  tuition；　to　connect　with　port　wine；　and　I　fancied　it　was　in　his　voice
  too；　and　referred　his　growing　corpulency　to　the　same　cause。　He
  was　very　cleanly　dressed；　in　a　blue　coat；　striped　waistcoat；　and
  nankeen　trousers；　and　his　fine　frilled　shirt　and　cambric　neckcloth
  looked　unusually　soft　and　white；　reminding　my　strolling　fancy　（I
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  call　to　mind）　of　the　plumage　on　the　breast　of　a　swan。
  ‘This　is　my　nephew；’　said　my　aunt。
  ‘Wasn’t　aware　you　had　one；　Miss　Trotwood；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield。
  ‘My　grand…nephew；　that　is　to　say；’　observed　my　aunt。
  ‘Wasn’t　aware　you　had　a　grand…nephew；　I　give　you　my　word；’
  said　Mr。　Wickfield。
  ‘I　have　adopted　him；’　said　my　aunt；　with　a　wave　of　her　hand；
  importing　that　his　knowledge　and　his　ignorance　were　all　one　to
  her；　‘and　I　have　brought　him　here；　to　put　to　a　school　where　he　may
  be　thoroughly　well　taught；　and　well　treated。　Now　tell　me　where
  that　school　is；　and　what　it　is；　and　all　about　it。’
  ‘Before　I　can　advise　you　properly；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield—‘the　old
  question；　you　know。　What’s　your　motive　in　this？’
  ‘Deuce　take　the　man！’　exclaimed　my　aunt。　‘Always　fishing　for
  motives；　when　they’re　on　the　surface！　Why；　to　make　the　child
  happy　and　useful。’
  ‘It　must　be　a　mixed　motive；　I　think；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield；　shaking
  his　head　and　smiling　incredulously。
  ‘A　mixed　fiddlestick；’　returned　my　aunt。　‘You　claim　to　have　one
  plain　motive　in　all　you　do　yourself。　You　don’t　suppose；　I　hope；　that
  you　are　the　only　plain　dealer　in　the　world？’
  ‘Ay；　but　I　have　only　one　motive　in　life；　Miss　Trotwood；’　he
  rejoined；　smiling。　‘Other　people　have　dozens；　scores；　hundreds。　I
  have　only　one。　There’s　the　difference。　However；　that’s　beside　the
  question。　The　best　school？　Whatever　the　motive；　you　want　the
  best？’
  My　aunt　nodded　assent。
  ‘At　the　best　we　have；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield；　considering；　‘your
  nephew　couldn’t　board　just　now。’
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  ‘But　he　could　board　somewhere　else；　I　suppose？’　suggested　my
  aunt。
  Mr。　Wickfield　thought　I　could。　After　a　little　discussion；　he
  proposed　to　take　my　aunt　to　the　school；　that　she　might　see　it　and
  judge　for　herself；　also；　to　take　her；　with　the　same　object；　to　two　or
  three　houses　where　he　thought　I　could　be　boarded。　My　aunt
  embracing　the　proposal；　we　were　all　three　going　out　together；
  when　he　stopped　and　said：
  ‘Our　little　friend　here　might　have　some　motive；　perhaps；　for
  objecting　to　the　arrangements。　I　think　we　had　better　leave　him
  behind？’
  My　aunt　seemed　disposed　to　contest　the　point；　but　to　facilitate
  matters　I　said　I　would　gladly　remain　behind；　if　they　pleased；　and
  returned　into　Mr。　Wickfield’s　office；　where　I　sat　down　again；　in　the
  chair　I　had　first　occupied；　to　await　their　return。
  It　so　happened　that　this　chair　was　opposite　a　narrow　passage；
  which　ended　in　the　little　circular　room　where　I　had　seen　Uriah
  Heep’s　pale　face　looking　out　of　the　window。　Uriah；　having　taken
  the　pony　to　a　neighbouring　stable；　was　at　work　at　a　desk　in　this
  room；　which　had　a　brass　frame　on　the　top　to　hang　paper　upon；　and
  on　which　the　writing　he　was　making　a　copy　of　was　then　hanging。
  Though　his　face　was　towards　me；　I　thought；　for　some　time；　the
  writing　being　between　us；　that　he　could　not　see　me；　but　looking
  that　way　more　attentively；　it　made　me　uncomfortable　to　observe
  that；　every　now　and　then；　his　sleepless　eyes　would　come　below　the
  writing；　like　two　red　suns；　and　stealthily　stare　at　me　for　I　dare　say
  a　whole　minute　at　a　time；　during　which　his　pen　went；　or　pretended
  to　go；　as　cleverly　as　ever。　I　made　several　attempts　to　get　out　of
  their　way—such　as　standing　on　a　chair　to　look　at　a　map　on　the
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  other　side　of　the　room；　and　poring　over　the　columns　of　a　Kentish
  newspaper—but　they　always　attracted　me　back　again；　and
  whenever　I　looked　towards　those　two　red　suns；　I　was　sure　to　find
  them；　either　just　rising　or　just　setting。
  At　length；　much　to　my　relief；　my　aunt　and　Mr。　Wickfield　came
  back；　after　a　pretty　long　absence。　They　were　not　so　successful　as　I
  could　have　wished；　for　though　the　advantages　of　the　school　were
  undeniable；　my　aunt　had　not　approved　of　any　of　the　boardinghouses　proposed　for　me。
  ‘It’s　very　unfortunate；’　said　my　aunt。　‘I　don’t　know　what　to　do；
  Trot。’
  ‘It　does　happen　unfortunately；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield。　‘But　I’ll　tell
  you　what　you　can　do；　Miss　Trotwood。’
  ‘What’s　that？’　inquired　my　aunt。
  ‘Leave　your　nephew　here；　for　the　present。　He’s　a　quiet　fellow。
  He　won’t　disturb　me　at　all。　It’s　a　capital　house　for　study。　As　quiet
  as　a　monastery；　and　almost　as　roomy。　Leave　him　here。’
  My　aunt　evidently　liked　the　offer；　though　she　was　delicate　of
  accepting　it。　So　did　I。　‘Come；　Miss　Trotwood；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield。
  ‘This　is　the　way　out　of　the　difficulty。　It’s　only　a　temporary
  arrangement；　you　know。　If　it　don’t　act　well；　or　don’t　quite　accord
  with　our　mutual　convenience；　he　can　easily　go　to　the　right…about。
  There　will　be　time　to　find　some　better　place　for　him　in　the
  meanwhile。　You　had　better　determine　to　leave　him　here　for　the
  present！’
  ‘I　am　very　much　obliged　to　you；’　said　my　aunt；　‘and　so　is　he；　I
  see；　but—’
  ‘Come！　I　know　what　you　mean；’　cried　Mr。　Wickfield。　‘You　shall
  not　be　oppressed　by　the　receipt　of　favours；　Miss　Trotwood。　You
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  may　pay　for　him；　if　you　like。　We　won’t　be　hard　about　terms；　but
  you　shall　pay　if　you　will。’
  ‘On　that　understanding；’　said　my　aunt；　‘though　it　doesn’t　lessen
  the　real　obligation；　I　shall　be　very　glad　to　leave　him。’
  ‘Then　come　and　see　my　little　housekeeper；’　said　Mr。　Wickfield。
  We　accordingly　went　up　a　wonderful　old　staircase；　with　a
  balustrade　so　broad　that　we　might　have　gone　up　that；　almost　as
  easily；　and　into　a　shady　old　drawing…room；　lighted　by　some　three
  or　four　of　the　quaint　windows　I　had　looked　up　at　from　the　street：
  which　had　old　oak　seats　in　them；　that　seemed　to　have　come　of　the
  same　trees　as　the　shining　oak　floor；　and　the　great　beams　in　the
  ceiling。　It　was　a　prettily　furnished　room；　with　a　piano　and　some
  lively　furniture　in　red　and　green；　and　some　flowers。　It　seemed　to
  be　all　old　nooks　and　corners；　and　in　every　nook　and　corner　there
  was　some　queer　little　table；　or　cupboard；　or　bookcase；　or　seat；　or
  something　or　other；　that　made　me　think　there　was　not　such
  another　good　corner　in　the　room；　until　I　looked　at　the　next　one；
  and　found　it　equal　to　it；　if　not　better。　On　everything　there　was　the
  same　air　of　retirement　and　cleanliness　that　marked　the　house
  outside。
  Mr。　Wickfield　tapped　at　a　door　in　a　corner　of　the　panelled　wall；
  and　a　girl　of　about　my　own　age　came　quickly　out　and　kissed　him。
  On　her　face；　I　saw　immediately　the　placid　and　sweet　expression　of
  the　lady　whose　picture　had　looked　at　me　downstairs。　It　seemed　to
  my　imagination　as　if　the　portrait　had　grown　womanly；　and　the
  original　remained　a　child。　Although　her　face　was　quite　bright　and
  happy；　there　was　a　tranquillity　about　it；　and　about　her—a　quiet；
  good；　calm　spirit—that　I　never　have　forgotten；　that　I　shall　never
  forget。　This　was　his　little　housekeeper；　his　daughter　Agnes；　Mr。
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  Wickfield　said。　When　I　heard　how　he　said　it；　and　saw　how　he　held
  her　hand；　I　guessed　what　the　one　motive　of　his　life　was。
  She　had　a　little　basket…trifle　hanging　at　her　side；　with　keys　in　it；
  and　she　looked　as　staid　and　as　discreet　a　housekeeper　as　the　old
  house　could　have。　She　listened　to　her　father　as　he　told　her　about
  me；　with　a　pleasant　face；　and　when　he　had　concluded；　proposed　to
  my　aunt　that　we　should　go　upstairs　and　see　my　room。　We　all　went
  together；　she　before　us：　and　a　glorious　old　room　it　was；　with　more
  oak　beams；　and　diamond　panes；　and　the　broad　balustrade　going
  all　the　way　up　to　it。
  I　cannot　call　to　mind　where　or　when；　in　my　childhood；　I　had
  seen　a　stained　glass　window　in　a　church。　Nor　do　I　recollect　its
  subject。　But　I　know　that　when　I　saw　her　turn　round；　in　the　grave
  light　of　the　old　staircase；　and　wait　for　us；　above；　I　thought　of　that
  window；　and　I　associated　something　of　its　tranquil　brightness　with
  Agnes　Wickfield　ever　afterwards。
  My　aunt　was　as　happy　as　I　was；　in　the　arrangement　made　for
  me；　and　we　went　down　to　the　drawing…room　again；　well　pleased
  and　gratified。　As　she　would　not　hear　of　staying　to　dinner；　lest　she
  should　by　a