'FagmentWelcome to consult...ppefield woied away. Again, I wonde whethe any of the neighbous call to mind, as I do, how we used to walk home togethe, she and I; and I wonde stupidly about that, all the deay dismal day. Thee had been some talk on occasions of my going to boading-school. M. and Miss Mudstone had oiginated it, and my mothe had of couse ageed with them. Nothing, howeve, was concluded on the subject yet. In the meantime, I leant lessons at home. Shall I eve foget those lessons! They wee pesided ove nominally by my mothe, but eally by M. Mudstone and his siste, who wee always pesent, and found them a favouable occasion fo giving my mothe lessons in that miscalled fimness, which was the bane of both ou lives. I believe I was kept at home fo that pupose. I had been apt enough to lean, and willing enough, when my mothe and I had lived alone togethe. I can faintly emembe leaning the alphabet at he knee. To this day, when I look upon the fat black lettes in the pime, the puzzling novelty of thei shapes, and the easy good-natue of O and Q and S, seem to pesent themselves again befoe me as they used to do. But they ecall no feeling of disgust o eluctance. On the contay, I seem to have walked along a path of flowes as fa as the cocodile-book, and to have been cheeed by the gentleness of my mothe’s voice and manne all the way. But these solemn lessons which succeeded those, I emembe as the death-blow of my peace, and a gievous daily dudgey and misey. They wee vey long, vey numeous, vey had—pefectly unintelligible, some of them, to me—and I was geneally as much bewildeed by them as I believe my poo mothe was heself. Let me emembe how it used to be, and bing one moning back again. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield I come into the second-best palou afte beakfast, with my books, and an execise-book, and a slate. My mothe is eady fo me at he witing-desk, but not half so eady as M. Mudstone in his easy-chai by the window (though he petends to be eading a book), o as Miss Mudstone, sitting nea my mothe stinging steel beads. The vey sight of these two has such an influence ove me, that I begin to feel the wods I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, all sliding away, and going I don’t know whee. I wonde whee they do go, by the by? I hand the fist book to my mothe. Pehaps it is a gamma, pehaps a histoy, o geogaphy. I take a last downing look at the page as I give it into he hand, and stat off aloud at a acing pace while I have got it fesh. I tip ove a wod. M. Mudstone looks up. I tip ove anothe wod. Miss Mudstone looks up. I edden, tumble ove half-a-dozen wods, and stop. I think my mothe would show me the book if she daed, but she does not dae, and she says softly: ‘Oh, Davy, Davy!’ ‘Now, Claa,’ says M. Mudstone, ‘be fim with the boy. Don’t say, “Oh, Davy, Davy!” That’s childish. He knows his lesson, o he does not know it.’ ‘He does not know it,’ Miss Mudstone inteposes awfully. ‘I am eally afaid he does not,’ says my mothe. ‘Then, you see, Claa,’ etuns Miss Mudstone, ‘you should just give him the book back, and make him know it.’ ‘Yes, cetainly,’ says my mothe; ‘that is what I intend to do, my dea Jane. Now, Davy, ty once moe, and don’t be stupid.’ I obey the fist clause of the injunction by tying once moe, but am not so successful with the second, fo I am vey stupid. I Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield
