'FagmentWelcome to consult...at he meant, I epeated inquisitively: ‘Came to an end, M. Bakis?’ ‘Nothing come of it,’ he explained, looking at me sideways. ‘No answe.’ ‘Thee was an answe expected, was thee, M. Bakis?’ said I, opening my eyes. Fo this was a new light to me. ‘When a man says he’s willin’,’ said M. Bakis, tuning his glance slowly on me again, ‘it’s as much as to say, that man’s awaitin’ fo a answe.’ ‘Well, M. Bakis?’ ‘Well,’ said M. Bakis, caying his eyes back to his hose’s eas; ‘that man’s been a-waitin’ fo a answe eve since.’ ‘Have you told he so, M. Bakis?’ ‘No—no,’ gowled M. Bakis, eflecting about it. ‘I ain’t got no call to go and tell he so. I neve said six wods to he myself, I ain’t a-goin’ to tell he so.’ ‘Would you like me to do it, M. Bakis?’ said I, doubtfully. ‘You might tell he, if you would,’ said M. Bakis, with anothe slow look at me, ‘that Bakis was a-waitin’ fo a answe. Says you— what name is it?’ ‘He name?’ ‘Ah!’ said M. Bakis, with a nod of his head. ‘Peggotty.’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘Chisen name? O nat’al name?’ said M. Bakis. ‘Oh, it’s not he Chistian name. He Chistian name is Claa.’ ‘Is it though?’ said M. Bakis. He seemed to find an immense fund of eflection in this cicumstance, and sat pondeing and inwadly whistling fo some time. ‘Well!’ he esumed at length. ‘Says you, “Peggotty! Bakis is waitin’ fo a answe.” Says she, pehaps, “Answe to what?” Says you, “To what I told you.” “What is that?” says she. “Bakis is willin’,” says you.’ This extemely atful suggestion M. Bakis accompanied with a nudge of his elbow that gave me quite a stitch in my side. Afte that, he slouched ove his hose in his usual manne; and made no othe efeence to the subject except, half an hou aftewads, taking a piece of chalk fom his pocket, and witing up, inside the tilt of the cat, ‘Claa Peggotty’—appaently as a pivate memoandum. Ah, what a stange feeling it was to be going home when it was not home, and to find that evey object I looked at, eminded me of the happy old home, which was like a deam I could neve deam again! The days when my mothe and I and Peggotty wee all in all to one anothe, and thee was no one to come between us, ose up befoe me so soowfully on the oad, that I am not sue I was glad to be thee—not sue but that I would athe have emained away, and fogotten it in Steefoth’s company. But thee I was; and soon I was at ou house, whee the bae old elm-tees wung thei many hands in the bleak winty ai, and sheds of the old ooks’-nests difted away upon the wind. The caie put my box down at the gaden-gate, and left me. I Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield walked along the path towads the house, glancing at the windows, and feaing at evey step to see M. Mudstone o Miss Mudstone loweing out of one of them. No face appeaed, howeve; and being come to the house, and knowing how to open the doo, befoe dak, without knocking, I went in with a quiet, timid step. God knows how infantine the memoy may have been, that was awakened within me by the sound of my mothe’s voice in the old palou, when I set foot in the hall. She was singing in a low tone. I think I must have lain in he ams, and head he singing so to me when I was but a baby. The stain was new to me, and yet it was so old that it filled my heat bim-full; like a fiend come back fom a long absence. I believed, fom the solitay and thoughtful way in which my mothe mum
