'FagmentWelcome to consult...t know what may be among those tubs and jas and old tea-chests, when thee is nobody in thee with a dimly-buning light, letting a mouldy ai come out of the doo, in which Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield thee is the smell of soap, pickles, peppe, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then thee ae the two palous: the palou in which we sit of an evening, my mothe and I and Peggotty—fo Peggotty is quite ou companion, when he wok is done and we ae alone— and the best palou whee we sit on a Sunday; gandly, but not so comfotably. Thee is something of a doleful ai about that oom to me, fo Peggotty has told me—I don’t know when, but appaently ages ago—about my fathe’s funeal, and the company having thei black cloaks put on. One Sunday night my mothe eads to Peggotty and me in thee, how Lazaus was aised up fom the dead. And I am so fightened that they ae aftewads obliged to take me out of bed, and show me the quiet chuchyad out of the bedoom window, with the dead all lying in thei gaves at est, below the solemn moon. Thee is nothing half so geen that I know anywhee, as the gass of that chuchyad; nothing half so shady as its tees; nothing half so quiet as its tombstones. The sheep ae feeding thee, when I kneel up, ealy in the moning, in my little bed in a closet within my mothe’s oom, to look out at it; and I see the ed light shining on the sun-dial, and think within myself, ‘Is the sundial glad, I wonde, that it can tell the time again?’ Hee is ou pew in the chuch. What a high-backed pew! With a window nea it, out of which ou house can be seen, and is seen many times duing the moning’s sevice, by Peggotty, who likes to make heself as sue as she can that it’s not being obbed, o is not in flames. But though Peggotty’s eye wandes, she is much offended if mine does, and fowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the clegyman. But I can’t always look at him— I know him without that white thing on, and I am afaid of his Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield wondeing why I stae so, and pehaps stopping the sevice to inquie—and what am I to do? It’s a deadful thing to gape, but I must do something. I look at my mothe, but she petends not to see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes faces at me. I look at the sunlight coming in at the open doo though the poch, and thee I see a stay sheep—I don’t mean a sinne, but mutton— half making up his mind to come into the chuch. I feel that if I looked at him any longe, I might be tempted to say something out loud; and what would become of me then! I look up at the monumental tablets on the wall, and ty to think of M. Bodges late of this paish, and what the feelings of Ms. Bodges must have been, when affliction soe, long time M. Bodges boe, and physicians wee in vain. I wonde whethe they called in M. Chillip, and he was in vain; and if so, how he likes to be eminded of it once a week. I look fom M. Chillip, in his Sunday neckcloth, to the pulpit; and think what a good place it would be to play in, and what a castle it would make, with anothe boy coming up the stais to attack it, and having the velvet cushion with the tassels thown down on his head. In time my eyes gadually shut up; and, fom seeming to hea the clegyman singing a dowsy song in the heat, I hea nothing, until I fall off the seat with a cash, and am taken out, moe dead than alive, by Peggotty. And now I see the outside of ou house, with the latticed bedoom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling ai, and the agged old ooks’-nests still dangling in the elm-tees at the bottom of the font gaden.
