1 David Copperfield
‘Counting from when?’
‘From today, ma’am.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Murdstone. ‘Then here’s one day off.’
She kept a calendar of the holidays in this way, and every
morning checked a day off in exactly the same manner. She
did it gloomily until she came to ten, but when she got into
two figures she became more hopeful, and, as the time ad-
vanced, even jocular.
It was on this very first day that I had the misfortune to
throw her, though she was not subject to such weakness in
general, into a state of violent consternation. I came into the
room where she and my mother were sitting; and the baby
(who was only a few weeks old) being on my mother’s lap,
I took it very carefully in my arms. Suddenly Miss Murd-
stone gave such a scream that I all but dropped it.
‘My dear Jane!’ cried my mother.
‘Good heavens, Clara, do you see?’ exclaimed Miss Murd-
stone.
‘See what, my dear Jane?’ said my mother; ‘where?’
‘He’s got it!’ cried Miss Murdstone. ‘The boy has got the
baby!’
She was limp with horror; but stiffened herself to make
a dart at me, and take it out of my arms. Then, she turned
faint; and was so very ill that they were obliged to give her
cherry brandy. I was solemnly interdicted by her, on her re-
covery, from touching my brother any more on any pretence
whatever; and my poor mother, who, I could see, wished
otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict, by saying: ‘No
doubt you are right, my dear Jane.’