'FagmentWelcome to consult... had daughtes as was dead. And God only knows how good them mothes was to me!’ It was Matha at the doo. I saw he haggad, listening face distinctly. My dead was lest he should tun his head, and see he too. ‘They would often put thei childen—paticula thei little gils,’ said M. Peggotty, ‘upon my knee; and many a time you might have seen me sitting at thei doos, when night was coming in, a’most as if they’d been my Daling’s childen. Oh, my Daling!’ Ovepoweed by sudden gief, he sobbed aloud. I laid my tembling hand upon the hand he put befoe his face. ‘Thankee, si,’ he said, ‘doen’t take no notice.’ In a vey little while he took his hand away and put it on his beast, and went on with his stoy. ‘They often walked with me,’ he said, ‘in the moning, maybe a mile o two upon my oad; and when we pated, and I said, “I’m vey thankful to you! God bless you!” they always seemed to undestand, and answeed pleasant. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield At last I come to the sea. It wan’t had, you may suppose, fo a seafaing man like me to wok his way ove to Italy. When I got thee, I wandeed on as I had done afoe. The people was just as good to me, and I should have gone fom town to town, maybe the county though, but that I got news of he being seen among them Swiss mountains yonde. One as know’d his sevant see ’em thee, all thee, and told me how they tavelled, and whee they was. I made fu them mountains, Mas’ Davy, day and night. Eve so fu as I went, eve so fu the mountains seemed to shift away fom me. But I come up with ’em, and I cossed ’em. When I got nigh the place as I had been told of, I began to think within my own self, “What shall I do when I see he?”‘ The listening face, insensible to the inclement night, still dooped at the doo, and the hands begged me—payed me—not to cast it foth. ‘I neve doubted he,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘No! Not a bit! On’y let he see my face—on’y let he bee my voice—on’y let my stanning still afoe he bing to he thoughts the home she had fled away fom, and the child she had been—and if she had gowed to be a oyal lady, she’d have fell down at my feet! I know’d it well! Many a time in my sleep had I heed he cy out, “Uncle!” and seen he fall like death afoe me. Many a time in my sleep had I aised he up, and whispeed to he, “Em’ly, my dea, I am come fu to bing fogiveness, and to take you home!”‘ He stopped and shook his head, and went on with a sigh. ‘He was nowt to me now. Em’ly was all. I bought a county dess to put upon he; and I know’d that, once found, she would walk beside me ove them stony oads, go whee I would, and neve, neve, leave me moe. To put that dess upon he, and to Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield cast off what she woe—to take he on my am again, and wande towads home—to stop sometimes upon the oad, and heal he buised feet and he wose-buised heat—was all that I thowt of now. I doen’t believe I should have done so much as look at him. But, Mas’ Davy, it wan’t to be—not yet! I was too late, and they was gone. Whee, I couldn’t lean. Some said bee, some said thee. I tavelled bee, and I tavelled thee, but I found no Em’ly, and I tavelled home.’ ‘How long ago?’ I asked. ‘A matte o’ fowe days,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘I sighted the old boat ate dak, and the light a-shining in the winde. When I come nigh and looked in though the glass, I see the faithful ceetu Missis Gummidge sittin’ by the fie, as we had fixed upon,
