“Tell me what should you say, darling?” she asked again, when this was over, and we were walking on.
“If you were thinking of being married—to Mr. Barkis, Peggotty?”
“Yes,” said Peggotty.
“I should think it would be a very good thing. For then you know, Peggotty, you would always have the horse and cart to bring you over to see me, and could come for nothing, and be sure of coming.”
“The sense of the dear!” cried Peggotty. “What I have been thinking of, this month back! Yes, my precious; and I think I should be more independent altogether, you see; let alone my working with a better heart in my own house, than I could in anybody else’s now. I
don’t know what I might be fit for, now, as a servant to a stranger. And I shall be always near my pretty’s resting-place,” said Peggotty musing, “and able to see it when I like; and when I lie down to rest, I may be laid not far off from my darling girl!”
We neither of us said anything for a little while.
“But I wouldn’t so much as give it another thought,” said Peggotty, cheerily, “if my Davy was anyways against it—not if I had been asked in church thirty times three times over, and was wearing out the ring in my pocket.”
“Look at me, Peggotty,” I replied; “and see if I am not really glad, and don’t truly wish it!” As indeed I did, with all my heart.
“Well, my life,” said Peggotty, giving me a squeeze, “I have thought of it night and day, every way I can, and I hope the right way; but I’ll think of it again, and speak to my brother about it, and in the meantime we’ll keep it to ourselves, Davy, you and me. Barkis is a good plain creetur’,” said Peggotty, “and if I tried to do my duty by him, I think it would be my fault if I wasn’t—if I wasn’t pretty comfortable,” said Peggotty, laughing heartily.