I sat down on the pavement and cried. Now I had lost everything I owned in the world, and had no money for the coach fare to Dover. In the end I decided I would have to walk there, and I started the long journey. It took me six days to cover the hundred kilometres, as I got tired very easily, and had to rest. I sold my jacket for a shilling, so that I could buy bread and milk on the way, and at night I slept in disused farm buildings or under trees. Sometimes I was afraid of the dangerous-looking beggars and thieves I met on the road, but I knew I had to keep going. As I walked, I thought of my mother's gentle, pretty face. I felt sure she would approve of what I was doing, and that encouraged me to continue.
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The young man put the case into his cart. Then, looking round quickly to make sure there were no witnesses, he pushed me roughly against the wall and took my purse out of my trembling hand. Before I could say a word, he had driven the horse and cart down the road and out of sight round the corner. I knew I would never see him, my case or my ten shillings again.
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So, after helping the Micawbers to pack their few clothes, and waving goodbye to them at the coach station on their way to Devon, I went to the warehouse for my last day at work. I did not tell anyone I would not be coming back the following week. In the evening I packed my case, and put the ten shillings in the little purse Peggotty had once given me. I looked around for someone to help me with my case, which was rather heavy for me, and saw a tall young man with a horse and cart passing by.
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"Could you please take my case to the coach station?" I asked him politely.
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But when I arrived in Dover, it seemed a much larger town than I had imagined. I spent a whole morning asking people if they knew where Miss Betsey Trotwood lived. Finally I found someone who recognized the name and showed me the way to her house. I stood at her front door, in the neat little garden, for a few moments, trembling with fear, and wondering what my aunt would think of me. My face and hands were dirty, my hair was unbrushed, and my clothes were torn and dusty. Perhaps she wouldn't even want to invite me into her house!
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Just then a handsome but strict-looking grey-haired woman came out of the door towards me. I knew she must be my aunt.
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"Please, madam," I said bravely, "please, aunt…"
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"Please, aunt, I'm your nephew."
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"Go away!" she said crossly. "I don't allow anyone to walk on my grass!"
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"I'm David Copper field, your nephew's son, of Blunder stone in Suffolk, where you came on the night I was born, and saw my dear mother. I've been very unhappy since she died. My stepfather sent me to work in London, and I hated it, and ran away, and someone stole my case and my money, and I've had to walk all the way, and I haven't slept in a bed for six nights!" Here my selfcontrol broke, and I fell to the ground, sobbing bitterly.
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"Good heavens!" she cried, and sat down rather suddenly on the grass.
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"WHAT?" cried Miss Betsey in great surprise.
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My aunt jumped to her feet, picked me up and took me into her sitting-room, where she mixed some medicine in a glass and made me drink it. She also wrapped me in a large blanket and put me on her sofa. Then she rang the bell for her servant, Janet.
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A tall, grey-haired, pleasant-looking gentleman entered a few minutes later, laughing rather strangely to himself.
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"Now, Mr Dick," said my aunt firmly, "don't be a fool, because we all know you're intelligent." Mr Dick looked very serious at once. "No doubt you remember that I had a nephew, David Copperfield? Well, this is his son. He has run away."
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"Well --" Mr Dick looked vacantly at me, and then sudden ly his eyes shone. "If I were you, I would wash him!"
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"Well done, Mr Dick! You always have the right answer!" said my aunt delightedly.
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"Oh, really? David's son! Run away! Well!" said Mr Dick.
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And so they washed me, and gave me clean clothes and delicious food. While I was eating, my aunt stared at me, occasionally whispering "Good heavens!"to herself. When she could see that I felt better, she asked me question after question, and I told her the story of my life.
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"Please ask Mr Dick to come here, Janet," she said.
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"Now the question is, Mr Dick, what shall I do with him?"
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"Good heavens!" she said again, when I had finished. "Why did your poor mother marry again? What a terrible mistake!"
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"In love!" said Miss Betsey crossly. "Perhaps the poor silly girl thought she was in love! But now, Mr Dick, another question. What should we do with the boy?"
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"Perhaps she was in love," suggested Mr Dick, smiling his rather foolish smile.
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"Well --" said Mr Dick, thinking. Then an idea suddenly came to him. "You should put him to bed!"
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And so, in a comfortable clean little bed, in a pleasant airy room at the top of Miss Betsey Trotwood's house, I floated away into the world of my dreams.
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"Thank you again, Mr Dick, for your common sense!" said my aunt happily. "Janet, put the boy to bed!"
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"Oh! Are you going to send me back to the Murdstones? Please don't, aunt! Please let me stay here!" I cried, trembling.
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"I've written to your stepfather," she replied.
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At breakfast next morning I bravely asked my aunt, "Are you -- have you -- what's going to happen to me?"
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"I don't know what I'll do yet. We'll have to wait and see," she answered firmly.
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"Well, his family called him mad, and wanted to lock him up for ever. But I met him, and thought -- I still think -- he's an extremely sensible, intelligent person. So I offered to take care of him, and he's lived in my house for ten years. Nobody knows what useful advice he's given me! I trust him completely!"
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This news made me very depressed, but there was nothing I could do about it and my aunt soon began to talk about some thing else.
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"He looks a little -- well, mad. Is he mad, aunt?"
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"What do you think of Mr Dick, child?"
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When I heard how generous my aunt had been to poor harmless Mr Dick, I began to understand her character better. In spite of her stern appearance and frequent crossness, she was very kind to people who needed her help. I hoped she would be kind to me.
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Several days later, I was looking out of the sitting-room window when I saw Mr and Miss Murdstone riding into my aunt's garden. My aunt had seen them too, and hurried out, waving her umbrella angrily at them and shouting. "Go away! Don't ride on my grass! Who do you think you are? Go away, I tell you!"
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"I agree with you, Miss Trotwood," said Miss Murdstone, smiling falsely. "My brother would certainly have been happier if he hadn't married her, because I consider poor dear Clara was, in fact, just a child."
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"Aunt!" I cried out. "They're Mr and Miss Murdstone!"
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"I don't care!" she shouted. "Nobody is allowed to ride on my grass!" And she went back into her house, banging the door behind her. The Murdstones had to lead their horses out of the garden, and then return to ring the doorbell. They looked very uncomfortable and unsure of themselves. Janet showed them into the sitting-room, where my aunt, Mr Dick and I were waiting.
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"Fortunately," said my aunt, "you and I, madam, are too old and plain for anyone to say that about us."
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Miss Murdstone did not seem eager to agree to this. Her brother, however, wanted to get down to business.
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"Excuse me," said my aunt sharply. "I imagine you are the Mr Murdstone who married my nephew's widow. In my opinion, it would have been much better if you had never married the poor Child."
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"Miss Trotwood --" began Mr Murdstone, stepping forward.
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"I see," said my aunt. "Now tell me, has David inherited any money from his father or mother?"
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"I must add," said Miss Murdstone, "that of all the boys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy."
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"Please don't let me go with them, aunt!" I begged. "They've always been unkind to me, and they made my mother very unhappy. I'll be so miserable if I have to go back with them!"
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"No, madam," answered Mr Murdstone. "My dear Clara naturally trusted me to take care of David, and I'm ready to do that, if he comes back with me now. But I alone shall decide what to do with him, Miss Trotwood -- understand that. I am here, for the first and last time, to take him away. If you decide to keep him with you, you keep him for ever."
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"Miss Trotwood," he said, a little crossly, "having received your letter, I've come to explain to you, in case you haven't realized it yet, that this boy is extremely wicked and violent. Both my sister and I have tried to change his character, but sadly we have failed."
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"What do you say, David?" asked my aunt, turning to me.
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"You'd better go. I'll keep the boy and take my chance with him. I don't believe a word of your story. Do you think I don't know how you broke that poor girl's heart? And how you hated her son, and punished him for it? I can see by your face that I'm right." We all stared at Mr Murdstone. It was true that his face was white and he was breathing fast. "Good bye, sir, and goodbye to you too, madam," added my aunt, turning suddenly to Miss Murdstone. "If I see you riding on my grass again, I'll knock your hat right off your head!"
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The Murdstones said nothing in reply to these fierce words, but walked quickly out of the house.
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"What would I do without you, Mr Dick!" asked my aunt, shaking his hand enthusiastically. Then she turned to Mr Murdstone.
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"What do you think, Mr Dick?" asked my aunt.
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Mr Dick thought for a moment. "Get a suit of clothes made for him immediately," he said.
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"Mr Dick, you and I will adopt this boy together," said my aunt, her stern expression softening into a smile.
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"Thank you, thank you, aunt!" I cried. "I'll do my best to make you proud of me!" and I kissed her many times.
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And so a new life began for me. I was soon able to forget the warehouse and the Murdstones, in learning to please my aunt, and to play games with Mr Dick, who spent much of his time with me.
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"I haven't decided which school you'll go to yet," she replied. "First we're going to ask my old friend Mr Wickfield's advice about it. He lives and works in Canterbury, you see."
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But one day my aunt suggested that I should go to boarding school in Canterbury. I was delighted, as I was eager to continue my studies, and Canterbury was very near my aunt's home in Dover. So the next day my aunt and I went to Canterbury, where I admired the beautiful old buildings in the ancient city centre.
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"Is it a large school, aunt?" I asked politely.
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Soon we stopped in front of a very old house, with a very clean front doorstep, and fresh white curtains at the windows. A strange-looking person, dressed in black, with short red hair and a very thin white face came out to meet us. I thought he must be a servant. He was about fifteen, but looked much older.
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"Mr Wickfield," said my aunt, "this is my nephew. I have adopted him, and I want to send him to a good boarding school here in Canterbury. Can you help me find a school for him?"
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"He is, madam," replied Uriah, smiling unpleasantly. He showed us into the sitting-room, where I noticed two large paintings on the wall, one of a grey-haired gentleman and the other of a lady with a sweet, gentle face. Just then a gentle man entered the room, looking a little older than his picture. I soon discovered he was Mr Wickfield, my aunt's lawyer.
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Mr Wickfield thought for a moment. "There's a very good school I can recommend, Dr Strong's, but the boy can't board there, and it's too far to travel from Dover every day. However, he could live here, if you liked, in my house. There's plenty of room for him."
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"Is Mr Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?" asked my aunt.
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"That's very kind of you, Mr Wickfield. I'll pay you for his food, of course," said my aunt.
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"Come and meet Agnes, who takes care of everything and manages the house," said Mr Wickfield. We all went upstairs to another sitting-room, prettily furnished, where a girl of my own age was sitting. On her face I saw immediately the beautiful, calm expression of the lady in the painting downstairs, and I knew she must be Mr Wickfield's daughter, Agnes. When I saw the way Mr Wickfield looked at Agnes and held her hand, I realized that she was the only thing that made life worth living for him. The lady in the painting was her mother, who had died some years before, and Agnes was now in complete charge of the house. She welcomed me warmly as a guest, and showed me the comfortable bedroom I would sleep in. My aunt was very happy to leave me in the care of Mr Wickfield and his daughter.
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The next day I had my first experience of a well-organized school. It could not have been more different from Salem House. The headmaster, Dr Strong, was a gentle, kind man who enjoyed teaching and never punished anybody. I soon made friends with the other boys, and as time went on, with the teachers too. But although I liked school very much, I was always happy to return to the Wickfields' quiet house every evening. There, Agnes used to help me with my studies and listen sympathetically to my problems, and her father always seemed pleased to see me. I often wrote to my aunt and Peggotty, and Mr Dick came to visit me once a week.
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"Thank you, aunt!" I said, trying not to cry. "And give my love to Mr Dick! And thank you again!"
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When she had gone, I dried my tears and spent a pleasant evening with the Wickfields. We ate supper and talked in the pretty little sitting-room. Agnes played the piano and tried to amuse her father, but he often looked serious and rather sad. During the evening he drank a good deal of wine. I wondered why he seemed unhappy.
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"I must leave now, David," she told me. "Mr Wickfield will take you to school tomorrow, and make all the arrangements. I'm sure you will work hard, and do well."
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"What are you studying, Uriah?" I asked politely.
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"Come in, come in, Master Copperfield!" he cried when he saw me passing the door. I entered, and found him reading a large dusty book, and making careful notes in a notebook.
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The strangest person in my new life was Uriah Heep. Soon after I arrived in Canterbury, we had a conversation one evening. He was doing a lot of Mr Wickfield's work, and was working late in his small office, just off the hall of the Wick fields' house.
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"I'm going to be a lawyer," he replied, rubbing his thin hands together and smiling his oily smile.
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"You're Mr Wickfield's assistant, aren't you? Perhaps one day you'll be his partner," I said, trying to make conversation.
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"Oh no, Master Copperfield!" cried Uriah, rolling his eyes upwards. "I could never rise so high! No, I'm much too humble for that! But thank you, Master Copperfield, for thinking kindly of me. And may I say, that if ever you have the time (and I'm sure a young gentleman like you is much too busy to spare the time for a poor person like me), my mother and I would be glad to offer you a cup of tea at our humble home."
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"Of course -- if I have time," I answered, and left the room quickly. I did not feel comfortable with him, for some reason.
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But the following week he invited me to tea again, and I did not want to appear rude, so I agreed. That evening he and I walked to the small house where he lived with his mother. It was a warm day and we were drinking our tea near the open door when a gentleman I recognized passed by. It was Mr Micawber! He saw me sitting near the door and called out. "Copperfield! Is it really you?"
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I was delighted to see him again, and Mrs Heep invited him in for some tea. I had to introduce him to the Heeps, but I did not think that Uriah would be a good influence on Mr Micawber. However, I was interested to discover that the Micawbers were now living in Canterbury, as nothing had "turned up" in Devon. They seemed to be very short of money again, and surrounded by creditors as usual. I left the Heeps' house as soon as possible, taking Mr Micawber with me, as I did not want him to tell Uriah all about my life at the warehouse in London.
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And so the years passed. I learnt everything that Dr Strong and his teachers could teach me, and at seventeen, came to the end of my schooldays. My aunt suggested that, before deciding what profession to choose, I should spend a month in Lon don or travelling round the country. This would give me time to consider my next step. I agreed enthusiastically, and although I was sorry to say goodbye to my sweet friend Agnes and her father, I was looking forward to leading the life of an independent young gentleman.
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