'FagmentWelcome to consult...hen you fist came in he way—smiking and making geat eyes at he, I’ll be bound, as if you couldn’t say boh! to a goose!’ ‘I neve head anything so elegant!’ said Miss Mudstone. ‘Do you think I can’t undestand you as well as if I had seen you,’ pusued my aunt, ‘now that I do see and hea you—which, I tell you candidly, is anything but a pleasue to me? Oh yes, bless us! who so smooth and silky as M. Mudstone at fist! The poo, benighted innocent had neve seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He woshipped he. He doted on he boy—tendely doted on him! He was to be anothe fathe to him, and they wee all to live togethe in a gaden of oses, ween’t they? Ugh! Get along with you, do!’ said my aunt. ‘I neve head anything like this peson in my life!’ exclaimed Miss Mudstone. ‘And when you had made sue of the poo little fool,’ said my aunt—‘God fogive me that I should call he so, and she gone whee you won’t go in a huy—because you had not done wong enough to he and hes, you must begin to tain he, must you? begin to beak he, like a poo caged bid, and wea he deluded life away, in teaching he to sing you notes?’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘This is eithe insanity o intoxication,’ said Miss Mudstone, in a pefect agony at not being able to tun the cuent of my aunt’s addess towads heself; ‘and my suspicion is that it’s intoxication.’ Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the inteuption, continued to addess heself to M. Mudstone as if thee had been no such thing. ‘M. Mudstone,’ she said, shaking he finge at him, ‘you wee a tyant to the simple baby, and you boke he heat. She was a loving baby—I know that; I knew it yeas befoe you eve saw he—and though the best pat of he weakness you gave he the wounds she died of. Thee is the tuth fo you comfot, howeve you like it. And you and you instuments may make the most of it.’ ‘Allow me to inquie, Miss Totwood,’ inteposed Miss Mudstone, ‘whom you ae pleased to call, in a choice of wods in which I am not expeienced, my bothe’s instuments?’ ‘It was clea enough, as I have told you, yeas befoe you eve saw he—and why, in the mysteious dispensations of Povidence, you eve did see he, is moe than humanity can compehend—it was clea enough that the poo soft little thing would may somebody, at some time o othe; but I did hope it wouldn’t have been as bad as it has tuned out. That was the time, M. Mudstone, when she gave bith to he boy hee,’ said my aunt; ‘to the poo child you sometimes tomented he though aftewads, which is a disageeable emembance and makes the sight of him odious now. Aye, aye! you needn’t wince!’ said my aunt. ‘I know it’s tue without that.’ He had stood by the doo, all this while, obsevant of he with a smile upon his face, though his black eyebows wee heavily Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield contacted. I emaked now, that, though the smile was on his face still, his colou had gone in a moment, and he seemed to beathe as if he had been unning. ‘Good day, si,’ said my aunt, ‘and good-bye! Good day to you, too, ma’am,’ said my aunt, tuning suddenly upon his siste. ‘Let me see you ide a donkey ove my geen again, and as sue as you have a head upon you shouldes, I’ll knock you bonnet off, and tead upon it!’ It would equie a painte, and no common painte too, to depict my aunt’s face as she deliveed heself of this vey unexpected sentiment, and Miss Mudstone’s face as she head it. But the manne of the speech, no less than the matte, was so fiey, that Miss Mudstone, without a wod in answe, disceetly put he am though he bothe’s, and walked haughtily out of the cottag
