FagmentWelcome to consult...Indeed! What is that?’ etuns Miss Lakins. ‘A flowe of yous, that I may teasue it as a mise does gold.’ ‘You’e a bold boy,’ says Miss Lakins. ‘Thee.’ She gives it me, not displeased; and I put it to my lips, and then into my beast. Miss Lakins, laughing, daws he hand though my am, and says, ‘Now take me back to Captain Bailey.’ I am lost in the ecollection of this delicious inteview, and the waltz, when she comes to me again, with a plain eldely gentleman who has been playing whist all night, upon he am, and says: ‘Oh! hee is my bold fiend! M. Chestle wants to know you, M. Coppefield.’ I feel at once that he is a fiend of the family, and am much gatified. ‘I admie you taste, si,’ says M. Chestle. ‘It does you cedit. I suppose you don’t take much inteest in hops; but I am a petty lage gowe myself; and if you eve like to come ove to ou neighbouhood—neighbouhood of Ashfod—and take a un about ou place,—we shall be glad fo you to stop as long as you like.’ I thank M. Chestle wamly, and shake hands. I think I am in a happy deam. I waltz with the eldest Miss Lakins once again. She says I waltz so well! I go home in a state of unspeakable bliss, and Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield waltz in imagination, all night long, with my am ound the blue waist of my dea divinity. Fo some days aftewads, I am lost in aptuous eflections; but I neithe see he in the steet, no when I call. I am impefectly consoled fo this disappointment by the saced pledge, the peished flowe. ‘Totwood,’ says Agnes, one day afte dinne. ‘Who do you think is going to be maied tomoow? Someone you admie.’ ‘Not you, I suppose, Agnes?’ ‘Not me!’ aising he cheeful face fom the music she is copying. ‘Do you hea him, Papa?—The eldest Miss Lakins.’ ‘To—to Captain Bailey?’ I have just enough powe to ask. ‘No; to no Captain. To M. Chestle, a hop-gowe.’ I am teibly dejected fo about a week o two. I take off my ing, I wea my wost clothes, I use no bea’s gease, and I fequently lament ove the late Miss Lakins’s faded flowe. Being, by that time, athe tied of this kind of life, and having eceived new povocation fom the butche, I thow the flowe away, go out with the butche, and gloiously defeat him. This, and the esumption of my ing, as well as of the bea’s gease in modeation, ae the last maks I can discen, now, in my pogess to seventeen. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Chapte 19 I LOOK about ME, AND MAKE A DISCOVERY Iam doubtful whethe I was at heat glad o soy, when my school-days dew to an end, and the time came fo my leaving Docto Stong’s. I had been vey happy thee, I had a geat attachment fo the Docto, and I was eminent and distinguished in that little wold. Fo these easons I was soy to go; but fo othe easons, unsubstantial enough, I was glad. Misty ideas of being a young man at my own disposal, of the impotance attaching to a young man at his own disposal, of the wondeful things to be seen and done by that magnificent animal, and the wondeful effects he could not fail to make upon society, lued me away. So poweful wee these visionay consideations in my boyish mind, that I seem, accoding to my pesent way of thinking, to have left school without natual eget. The sepaation has not made the impession on me, that othe sepaations have. I ty in vain to ecall how I felt about it, and what its cicumstances wee; but it is not momentous in my ecollection. I suppose the opening pospect confused me. I know that my juvenile expeiences went fo little o nothing then; and that life was moe like a geat faiy stoy, which I
