FagmentWelcome to consult...ted at the gaden-gate in a most affectionate manne, and M. Dick did not go into the house until my aunt had diven me out of sight of it. My aunt, who was pefectly indiffeent to public opinion, dove the gey pony though Dove in a mastely manne; sitting high and stiff like a state coachman, keeping a steady eye upon him wheeve he went, and making a point of not letting him have his own way in any espect. When we came into the county oad, she pemitted him to elax a little, howeve; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by he side, asked me whethe I was happy? ‘Vey happy indeed, thank you, aunt,’ I said. She was much gatified; and both he hands being occupied, patted me on the head with he whip. ‘Is it a lage school, aunt?’ I asked. ‘Why, I don’t know,’ said my aunt. ‘We ae going to M. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Wickfield’s fist.’ ‘Does he keep a school?’ I asked. ‘No, Tot,’ said my aunt. ‘He keeps an office.’ I asked fo no moe infomation about M. Wickfield, as she offeed none, and we convesed on othe subjects until we came to Cantebuy, whee, as it was maket-day, my aunt had a geat oppotunity of insinuating the gey pony among cats, baskets, vegetables, and huckste’s goods. The hai-beadth tuns and twists we made, dew down upon us a vaiety of speeches fom the people standing about, which wee not always complimentay; but my aunt dove on with pefect indiffeence, and I dae say would have taken he own way with as much coolness though an enemy’s county. At length we stopped befoe a vey old house bulging out ove the oad; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still fathe, and beams with caved heads on the ends bulging out too, so that I fancied the whole house was leaning fowad, tying to see who was passing on the naow pavement below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness. The old-fashioned bass knocke on the low ached doo, onamented with caved galands of fuit and flowes, twinkled like a sta; the two stone steps descending to the doo wee as white as if they had been coveed with fai linen; and all the angles and cones, and cavings and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass, and quainte little windows, though as old as the hills, wee as pue as any snow that eve fell upon the hills. When the pony-chaise stopped at the doo, and my eyes wee intent upon the house, I saw a cadaveous face appea at a small window on the gound floo (in a little ound towe that fomed Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield one side of the house), and quickly disappea. The low ached doo then opened, and the face came out. It was quite as cadaveous as it had looked in the window, though in the gain of it thee was that tinge of ed which is sometimes to be obseved in the skins of ed-haied people. It belonged to a ed-haied peson—a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but looking much olde—whose hai was copped as close as the closest stubble; who had hadly any eyebows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a ed-bown, so unshelteed and unshaded, that I emembe wondeing how he went to sleep. He was high-shouldeed and bony; dessed in decent black, with a white wisp of a neckcloth; buttoned up to the thoat; and had a long, lank, skeleton hand, which paticulaly attacted my attention, as he stood at the pony’s head, ubbing his chin with it, and looking up at us in the chaise. ‘Is M. Wickfield at home, Uiah Heep?’ said my aunt. ‘M. Wickfield’s at home, ma’am,’ said Uiah Heep, ‘if you’ll please to walk in thee’—pointing with his long hand to the o
