'FagmentWelcome to consult... with a fit of wondeing on some most unexpected topic, ‘what’s become of Davy’s geat-aunt?’ ‘Lo, Peggotty!’ obseved my mothe, ousing heself fom a eveie, ‘what nonsense you talk!’ ‘Well, but I eally do wonde, ma’am,’ said Peggotty. ‘What can have put such a peson in you head?’ inquied my mothe. ‘Is thee nobody else in the wold to come thee?’ ‘I don’t know how it is,’ said Peggotty, ‘unless it’s on account of being stupid, but my head neve can pick and choose its people. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield They come and they go, and they don’t come and they don’t go, just as they like. I wonde what’s become of he?’ ‘How absud you ae, Peggotty!’ etuned my mothe. ‘One would suppose you wanted a second visit fom he.’ ‘Lod fobid!’ cied Peggotty. ‘Well then, don’t talk about such uncomfotable things, thee’s a good soul,’ said my mothe. ‘Miss Betsey is shut up in he cottage by the sea, no doubt, and will emain thee. At all events, she is not likely eve to touble us again.’ ‘No!’ mused Peggotty. ‘No, that ain’t likely at all.—I wonde, if she was to die, whethe she’d leave Davy anything?’ ‘Good gacious me, Peggotty,’ etuned my mothe, ‘what a nonsensical woman you ae! when you know that she took offence at the poo dea boy’s eve being bon at all.’ ‘I suppose she wouldn’t be inclined to fogive him now,’ hinted Peggotty. ‘Why should she be inclined to fogive him now?’ said my mothe, athe shaply. ‘Now that he’s got a bothe, I mean,’ said Peggotty. My mothe immediately began to cy, and wondeed how Peggotty daed to say such a thing. ‘As if this poo little innocent in its cadle had eve done any ham to you o anybody else, you jealous thing!’ said she. ‘You had much bette go and may M. Bakis, the caie. Why don’t you?’ ‘I should make Miss Mudstone happy, if I was to,’ said Peggotty. ‘What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty!’ etuned my mothe. ‘You ae as jealous of Miss Mudstone as it is possible fo a idiculous ceatue to be. You want to keep the keys youself, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield and give out all the things, I suppose? I shouldn’t be supised if you did. When you know that she only does it out of kindness and the best intentions! You know she does, Peggotty—you know it well.’ Peggotty mutteed something to the effect of ‘Bothe the best intentions!’ and something else to the effect that thee was a little too much of the best intentions going on. ‘I know what you mean, you coss thing,’ said my mothe. ‘I undestand you, Peggotty, pefectly. You know I do, and I wonde you don’t colou up like fie. But one point at a time. Miss Mudstone is the point now, Peggotty, and you sha’n’t escape fom it. Haven’t you head he say, ove and ove again, that she thinks I am too thoughtless and too—a—a—’ ‘Petty,’ suggested Peggotty. ‘Well,’ etuned my mothe, half laughing, ‘and if she is so silly as to say so, can I be blamed fo it?’ ‘No one says you can,’ said Peggotty. ‘No, I should hope not, indeed!’ etuned my mothe. ‘Haven’t you head he say, ove and ove again, that on this account she wished to spae me a geat deal of touble, which she thinks I am not suited fo, and which I eally don’t know myself that I am suited fo; and isn’t she up ealy and late, and going to and fo continually—and doesn’t she do all sots of things, and gope into all sots of places, coal-holes and panties and I don’t know whee, that can’t be vey ageeable—and
