David Copperfieldjust now -’
Steerforth only nodded; but with such a pleased ex-
pression of interest, and of participation in Mr. Peggotty’s
feelings, that the latter answered him as if he had spoken.
‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Peggotty. ‘That’s her, and so she is.
Thankee, sir.’
Ham nodded to me several times, as if he would have
said so too.
‘This here little Em’ly of ours,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘has
been, in our house, what I suppose (I’m a ignorant man,
but that’s my belief) no one but a little bright-eyed creetur
can be in a house. She ain’t my child; I never had one; but I
couldn’t love her more. You understand! I couldn’t do it!’
‘I quite understand,’ said Steerforth.
‘I know you do, sir,’ returned Mr. Peggotty, ‘and thankee
again. Mas’r Davy, he can remember what she was; you may
judge for your own self what she is; but neither of you can’t
fully know what she has been, is, and will be, to my loving
art. I am rough, sir,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘I am as rough as
a Sea Porkypine; but no one, unless, mayhap, it is a wom-
an, can know, I think, what our little Em’ly is to me. And
betwixt ourselves,’ sinking his voice lower yet, ‘that wom-
an’s name ain’t Missis Gummidge neither, though she has
a world of merits.’ Mr. Peggotty ruffled his hair again, with
both hands, as a further preparation for what he was going
to say, and went on, with a hand upon each of his knees:
‘There was a certain person as had know’d our Em’ly,
from the time when her father was drownded; as had seen
her constant; when a babby, when a young gal, when a wom-