When I reached home I was in Peggotty's arms before I got to the door, and she took me into the house. Her grief burst out when she first saw me; but she controlled it soon, and spoke in whispers, and walked softly, as if the dead could be disturbed. She had not been in bed, I found, for a long time. She sat up at night still, and watched. As long as her poor dear pretty was above the ground, she said, she would never desert her.
Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went into the parlor where he was, but sat by the fireside, weeping silently, and pondering in his elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was busy at her writing-desk, which was covered with letters and papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and asked me, in an iron whisper, if I had been measured for my mourning.
I will not dwell upon the dull, sorrowful days before and after my dear mother's funeral. The house had been cold and quiet enough before, but was now almost terrifying. And had it not been for Peggotty I do not know how I should have stood it.
But soon even she was denied me. Miss Murdstone had never liked her, and now lost no time in dismissing her from our service. The single ray of light in this gloomy time is a little visit I was allowed to make with her to Yarmouth, to our old friends, Mr. Peggotty, Ham, and Emily. The latter was much grown now, but prettier than ever, and shyer about letting me kiss her.
And Barkis, the honest carrier, after having been "willing" all this time, was hugely gratified to gain a favorable answer from Peggotty. They were married while I was there, and I was glad to leave my faithful old nurse so well provided for.
Then I returned home—no, I cannot say that word—to Mr. and Miss Murdstone.
IV. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT
And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look back upon without sorrow. I was as one alone—apart from all friendly notice, apart from the society of all other boys of my own age, apart from all companionship but my own spiritless thoughts,—which seems to cast its gloom upon this paper as I write.
What would I have given to have been sent to the hardest school that ever was kept—to have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere? No such hope dawned upon me. They disliked me; and they steadily overlooked me. I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about this time; but it is little to the purpose. He could not bear me; and in putting me from him he tried, as I believe, to put away the notion that I had any claim upon him—and succeeded.
I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; but day by day I was made to feel that I was in the way, and an altogether useless member of society. Finally Mr. Murdstone called me to him one day, and told me that he could not afford to send me to school, but that I must go to work for myself. He had a partner in the wine trade in London, and I was to be given a position there.