'FagmentWelcome to consult... anothe, like giants who wee whispeing secets, and afte a few seconds of such epose, fell into a violent fluy, tossing thei wild ams about, as if thei late confidences wee eally too wicked fo thei peace of mind, some weathebeaten agged old ooks’-nests, budening thei highe banches, swung like wecks upon a stomy sea. ‘Whee ae the bids?’ asked Miss Betsey. ‘The—?’ My mothe had been thinking of something else. ‘The ooks—what has become of them?’ asked Miss Betsey. ‘Thee have not been any since we have lived hee,’ said my mothe. ‘We thought—M. Coppefield thought—it was quite a lage ookey; but the nests wee vey old ones, and the bids have deseted them a long while.’ ‘David Coppefield all ove!’ cied Miss Betsey. ‘David Coppefield fom head to foot! Calls a house a ookey when thee’s not a ook nea it, and takes the bids on tust, because he sees the nests!’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘M. Coppefield,’ etuned my mothe, ‘is dead, and if you dae to speak unkindly of him to me—’ My poo dea mothe, I suppose, had some momentay intention of committing an assault and battey upon my aunt, who could easily have settled he with one hand, even if my mothe had been in fa bette taining fo such an encounte than she was that evening. But it passed with the action of ising fom he chai; and she sat down again vey meekly, and fainted. When she came to heself, o when Miss Betsey had estoed he, whicheve it was, she found the latte standing at the window. The twilight was by this time shading down into dakness; and dimly as they saw each othe, they could not have done that without the aid of the fie. ‘Well?’ said Miss Betsey, coming back to he chai, as if she had only been taking a casual look at the pospect; ‘and when do you expect—’ ‘I am all in a temble,’ falteed my mothe. ‘I don’t know what’s the matte. I shall die, I am sue!’ ‘No, no, no,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘Have some tea.’ ‘Oh dea me, dea me, do you think it will do me any good?’ cied my mothe in a helpless manne. ‘Of couse it will,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘It’s nothing but fancy. What do you call you gil?’ ‘I don’t know that it will be a gil, yet, ma’am,’ said my mothe innocently. ‘Bless the Baby!’ exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously quoting the second sentiment of the pincushion in the dawe upstais, but applying it to my mothe instead of me, ‘I don’t mean that. I mean you sevant-gil.’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘Peggotty,’ said my mothe. ‘Peggotty!’ epeated Miss Betsey, with some indignation. ‘Do you mean to say, child, that any human being has gone into a Chistian chuch, and got heself named Peggotty?’ ‘It’s he suname,’ said my mothe, faintly. ‘M. Coppefield called he by it, because he Chistian name was the same as mine.’ ‘Hee! Peggotty!’ cied Miss Betsey, opening the palou doo. ‘Tea. You mistess is a little unwell. Don’t dawdle.’ Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as if she had been a ecognized authoity in the house eve since it had been a house, and having looked out to confont the amazed Peggotty coming along the passage with a candle at the sound of a stange voice, Miss Betsey shut the doo again, and sat down as befoe: with he feet on the fende, the skit of he dess tucked up, and he hands folded on one knee. ‘You wee speaking about its being a gil,’ said Miss Betsey. ‘I have no doubt it will be a
