David Copperfield
There was no other news in Peggotty’s letters. Mr. Barkis
was an excellent husband, she said, though still a little near;
but we all had our faults, and she had plenty (though I am
sure I don’t know what they were); and he sent his duty, and
my little bedroom was always ready for me. Mr. Peggotty
was well, and Ham was well, and Mrs.. Gummidge was but
poorly, and little Em’ly wouldn’t send her love, but said that
Peggotty might send it, if she liked.
All this intelligence I dutifully imparted to my aunt, only
reserving to myself the mention of little Em’ly, to whom I
instinctively felt that she would not very tenderly incline.
While I was yet new at Doctor Strong’s, she made several
excursions over to Canterbury to see me, and always at un-
seasonable hours: with the view, I suppose, of taking me
by surprise. But, finding me well employed, and bearing a
good character, and hearing on all hands that I rose fast in
the school, she soon discontinued these visits. I saw her on
a Saturday, every third or fourth week, when I went over
to Dover for a treat; and I saw Mr. Dick every alternate
Wednesday, when he arrived by stage-coach at noon, to stay
until next morning.
On these occasions Mr. Dick never travelled without a
leathern writing-desk, containing a supply of stationery
and the Memorial; in relation to which document he had a
notion that time was beginning to press now, and that it re-
ally must be got out of hand.
Mr. Dick was very partial to gingerbread. To render
his visits the more agreeable, my aunt had instructed me
to open a credit for him at a cake shop, which was ham-