(7) CHARLES DICKENS:DAVID COPPERFIELD: CHAPTER 7: MY FIRST HALF AT SALEM HOUSE

Next day.  My first day in the school.  The roar of voices in the school room changed to a hush as Mr Creakle entered, after breakfast, and stood in the doorway looking round upon us like a giant in a story book surveying his captives.

Tungay stood at Mr Creakle's elbow.  He had no occasion to cry out 'silence!' so ferociously, for the boys all struck speechless and motionless. 

Mr Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was seen to hear.

'Now, boys, this is a new half.  Take care what you are about, in the new half.  Come fresh upto lessons, I advise you, for I come fresh upto punishment.  I won't flinch.  It will be of no use you rubbing yourselves; you won't rub out the marks that I shall give you.  Now, get to work, every boy!'

When this introduction was delivered, Tungay stumped out again, Mr Creakle came to where I sat, and told me that if I were famous for biting, he was famous for biting, too.  Then he showed me the cane, and asked me what I thought of that, for a tooth?  Was it a sharp tooth hey? Was it a double tooth, hey?  Had it a deep prong, hey? Did it bite, hey?  Did it bite?  At every question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that made me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem House, and was very soon in tears.

Not only I, on the contrary a majority of boys, especially the smaller ones were visited with similar instances as Mr Creakle made the round.  Half the boys were writhing and crying, before the day's work began, and they cried through their work.  I am not exaggerating but giving an on the spot account of what used to experience in those days.

Mr Creakle enjoyed cutting the boys, especially he could not resist the appetite for cutting when he saw a chubby boy.  I was chubby myself and destined to receive his appetite.  When I think of the fellow now, my blood rises in my veins.  He was a brute fit to be a mercenary.

Here sit I at the desk, watching his eyes, as he rules a cypher book for another victim, whose hands have just been flattened, by the same ruler, and he is trying to wipe the sting out with a pocket hand-kerchief.  I had plenty to do.  But I was morbid attracted to his eyes, to search what he would do next, whether it would be my turn or somebody else's. A lane of small boys beyond me, with the same interest in his eyes, watch it too.  He knew it, even though he pretended otherwise.  He made dreadful mouths as he ruled the cypher-book; then he threw his eyes sideways down our lane, and we all droop over our books and trembled.  A moment afterwards we were again eyeing him.  An unhappy boy, found with imperfect exercises, approached at his command.  The boy falters and promised to do better next day.  Mr Creakle cut a joke before he beat him, and we laughed at it- miserable little dogs, we laughed, with our faces as white as ash, and our hearts sinking into our boots.

Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon.  A buzz and hum go up around me as if the boys were so many blue-bottles.  A clogged sensation of lukewarm fat of meat was upon me ( we dined an hour or two ago) and my head was so heavy as so much lead.  I would give the world to go to sleep.  I sat with my eyes on Mr Creakle, blinking at him like a young owl.  When sleep overpowered me for a minute, he loomed- through my slumber, ruling those cypher books, until he softly came behind me, and woke me up like a red ridge accross my back.  In the play ground my eyes were fascinated by him.  The window at which he used to take dinner stood for him.  If I saw his face near it I assumed an imploring and submissive face.  If he looked out through the window, the boldest boy  (except  J. Steerforth) stopped in the middle of a shout or yell, and became contemplative.  One day the unfortunate Traddles broke that window accidentally, with a ball.  I shuddered at the scene, and felt the ball was bound to hit Creakle's head.

Poor Traddles! In the tight sky-blue suit, his arms and legs looked like German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the happiest and most miserable of all boys.  He was always being caned- he was caned every day that half year- except on one Monday when he was beat with ruler on both hands.  He would say he was going to write to his uncle, but never would he write.  After laying his head for a while, on the desk, he would cheer up, and begin to laugh, and draw skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry.  I wondered what comfort Traddles drew from drawing skeletons on his slate,  and for sometime looked upon him as a hermit, and would say that canning couldn't last forever.  Perhaps, drawing skeletons on slate was easy, and it gave him a relief.

Traddles held that boys should stand by one another solemnly.  On several occasions he suffered for this, but one was particularly noted. When Steerforth laughed in church the Beadle thought it was Traddles.  He took him into custody, and the whole congregation despised him, and followed him.  He never revealed the real offender.  Steerforth commented on him that he was not a sneak.  We all appreciated it very much.

To see Steerforth walk to the church before us arm-in-arm with Miss Creakle was one of the great sights of my life.  I didn't think Miss Creakle was a beauty in comparison to little Emily.  But I thought she was a young lady of extraordinary attraction, and she had good manners and behaviour.

When Steerforth, in white trousers, carried her  parasol for her, I felt proud of him, and thought, that she adored him with all her heart.  Mr Sharp and Mr Mell were notable persons for me.  Steerforth to them was Sun to two stars.

Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved very useful friend; Since nobody dared to annoy one whom he honoured with his countenance.  He couldn't defend me from Mr Creakle, who was very severe with me, but whenever I had been treated worse than usual he always wanted me to have courage to stand up, and he wouldn't have stood it himself.  There was one advantage, and only one that I know of in Mr Creakle's severity.  He found my placard in his way when he came up or down behind the form on which I sat and wanted to take a cut at me in passing; for this reason it was soon taken off, and I saw it no more.

An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between me and Steerforth, in a manner that inspired me with great pride and satisfaction, though it sometimes led to inconvenience.  It happened on one occasion, when he was talking to me in the play ground laboured the observation that something or somebody- I forgot what now- was like something or somebody in Peregrine Pickle.  He said nothing at the time, but when I was going to bed at night, asked me if I had got that book.  I said no and explained how it was that I had read it, and all those other books of which I had made mention.

'And do you recollect them?' Steerforth asked

'Oh yes,' I said, 'I have a good memory.'

'Then I tell you what, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth, 'You shall tell them to me. I can't get to sleep very early at night, and I generally wake rather early in the morning.  We'll go over them one after another.  We'll make some Arabian Nights of it.'

I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we commenced carrying it into execution that very evening.  What ravages I committed on my favourite authors in the course of my interpretation of them, I am not in a condition to say, and should be very unwilling to know, but I had a profound faith in them, and I had,  to the best of my belief, a simple, earnest manner of narrating, what I did narrate; and these qualities went a long way.

I was often sleepy at night, or out of spirits or indisposed to resume the story; and then it was rather a hard work; and it must be done; to disappoint or displease Steerforth was out of question.  In the morning too, when I felt weary, and should have enjoyed another hour's repose very much, it was tiresome to be roused, like Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a long story before the getting up bell rang; but Steerforth was resolute; and he explained to me, in return, my sums and exercises, and anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, I was no loser by transaction.  Let me do myself justice, however, I was not moved by any selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him.  I admired and loved him, and his approval was return enough.  It was so precious to me that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart.

Steerforth was considerate, too, and showed his consideration, in one particular instance in an unflinching manner, that was little tantalizing, to poor Traddles and the rest.  Peggotty's promised letter- what a comfortable letter it was- before 'the half' was many weeks old; and with it a perfect nest of oranges, and two bottles of cowslips wine.  This treasure, as in duty bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense.

'Now, I'll tell you what, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth,'the wine shall be kept for you to drink, while story telling.' 

I blushed at the idea, and begged him, not to think of it.  But he said, he had observed I was sometimes hoarse, and every drop of it should be devoted to the purpose he had mentioned.  Accordingly it was locked up in his in his box, and drawn by himself and administered to me through a piece of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to be in want of a restorative.  Sometimes to make it more sovereign specific, he was so kind to squeeze orange juice into it, or stir it up with ginger, or dissolve a peppermint drop in it.  I couldn't say that the flavour was improved by these experiments.  I drank it gratefully and was very sensible to his attention.

Telling stories continued for days and weeks. Tommy Traddles lived through the stories, we could see many facets of mirth, sorrow, fear,love, hate, anger and sympathy, in him, as the stories progressed.  Story telling didn't attract punishment at Salem House.  But the discussions and arguments in the course of story telling attracted the attention of Mr Creakle, who was prowling in the passage, and flogged Traddles and me for disorderly conduct.  Steerforth was an exception.  Storytelling encouraged my romantic and dreamy mood, but it did not benefited me much.  Cherished as a kind of play in my room, and the spread of this information among the boys, which brought a good deal of public attention to me, simulated my reading.  I don't think Salem House contributed any thing to the well being and development of its boys.  They didn't receive any nourishment to their intellectual life. They were too much troubled and knocked about to learn.  In a life of constant misfortune, torment and worry they could not take advantage of studies.  My little vanity and Steerforth's encouragement helped me to pick some crumbs of knowledge.

I was much assisted by Mr Mell, who had a liking for me, that I am grateful to remember.  It always gave me pain to observe that Steerforth used to treat him with systematic contempt, and seldom lost any occasion to wound his feelings, or induce others to do so.

This troubled me for a long time.  I told Steerforth, from whom I could no more keep such secrets, about the two old women Mr Mell had taken me to see, and I was always afraid that Steerforth would let it out and mock him with it.

We little thought, any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my breakfast that morning, and went to sleep under the shadow of peacock feathers to the sound of flute, what consequences would come of the introduction into those alms-houses of my insignificant person.  But the visit had its unforseen consequences; and of serious sort, too, in their way.

One day when Mr Creakle was not present because he was indisposed, which naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, there was a good deal of noise in the morning session.  The boys experienced great relief and satisfaction, and it was difficult to manage them.  Tungay, with his wooden leg came twice or thrice, and took note of offenders' names.  But no great impression was made by it. The boys were pretty sure of getting into trouble next day, and thought it wise to enjoy the day.

Being Saturday, it was properly a half holiday.  As the noise in the playground would have disturbed Mr Creakle, and the weather was not favorable for going out for a walk,  we were ordered into school in the afternoon and set some lighter tasks than usual, which were made for the occasion.  It was the day for Mr Sharp to get his wig curled.  Mr Mell who always used to do drudgery, kept by himself.  I recall the poor Mr Mell bending his aching head, supported on his bony hand, over the book on his desk, trying to get on with his tiresome work, amidst the uproar of the boys.  The boys started in and out of their places, playing at puss in the corner with other boys; there were laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys, dancing boys, howling boys; boys shuffled with their feet, boys whirled about him, grinning, making faces, mimicking him behind his back and before his eyes; mimicking his poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother, everything belonging to him, that they should have had consideration for.

'Silence,' cried Mr Mell, suddenly rising up and striking his desk with the book.  'What does this mean! It is impossible to bear it.  It's maddening.  How can you do it to me, boys?'

It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him, following his eyes as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.

Steerforth was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end of the long room, he was lounging with his back against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr Mell, with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when Mr Mell looked at him.

'Silence, Mr Steerforth!' said Mr Mell 

'Silence yourself,' returned Steerforth, turning red, 'whom are you talking to?' 

'Sit down,' said Mr Mell.

'Sit down yourself,' said Steerforth, 'and mind your business.'

There was a titter and some applause; but Mr Mell was so white, the silence immediately succeeded, and one boy had darted out to imitate his mother again, changed his mind, and pretended to want a pen mended.

'If you think Steerforth,' said Mr Mell,  'I am not acquainted with the power you can establish over any mind here'- he laid his hand, without considering what he did upon my  head, 'or that I have not observed you urging the young juniors onto every sort of outrages against me, you are mistaken.' 

'I don't give myself the trouble of thinking at all about you,' said Steerforth, coolly, 'so I am not mistaken, as it happens.'

And when you make use of your position of favouritism here, sir,' said Mr Mell, with his lips trembling very much, 'to insult a gentleman-' 

'And what? - Where is he? said Steerforth. 

'Here,' somebody cried out, 'Shame J. steerforth! Too bad.' It was Traddles, whom Steerforth instantly embarrassed by bidding him hold his toung.

'- to insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and whoever gave you the least offence, and the many reasons for not insulting whom you are old enough and wise enough to understand,' said Mr Mell, with his lips trembling more and more, 'you commit a mean and base action, you can sit down or stand up as you pleas, sir. Copperfield, go on.'

'Young Copperfield,' said Steerforth coming  forward up the room, 'Stop a bit. I tell you what Mr Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty of calling me mean or base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar, you are always a begger,you know; when you do that you are an impudent beggar.'

I was not clear whether he was going to strike Mr Mell or Mr Mell was going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side.  I saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned into stone, and found Mr Creakle among us with Tungay at his side, and Mrs and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were frightened.  Mr Mell with his elbows on his desk and his face in his hands, sat for some moments quite still.

'Mr Mell,' said Mr Creakle, shaking him by the arm, and his whisper was so audible now, that Tungay felt it necessary to repeat the words, 'you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?'

'No, sir, no,' returned Mell, showing his face and shaking his head, and rubbing his hands in great agitation. 'No, sir, no. I have remembered myself, I- no, Mr Creakle I have not forgotten myself.  O- I have remembered myself, sir I- I- could wish you  had remembered me a little sooner, Mr Creakle. It- it would have been more kind, sir, more just, sir.  It would have saved me something, sir.'

Mr Creakle looking hard at Mr Mell, put his hand on Tungay's shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, and sat upon the desk.  After still looking hard at Mr Mell, from his throne, as he shook his head, and rubbed his hands, and remained in the same state of agitation, Mr Creakle turned to Mr Steerforth, and said:

'Now, sir, as he didn't  condescend to tell me, what is this?'

Mr Steerforth avoided the question for a little while, looking in scorn and anger at his opponent, remained silent.  I could not help thinking, at that moment, how noble he was in appearance, and how homely and plain Mr Mell looked opposed to him.

'What did he mean by talking about favourites, then? said Steerforth at length.

'Favourites?' repeated Mr Creakle, with the veins in his forehead swelling quickly, 'Who talked about favourites?'

'He did,' said Steerforth.

'And pray what did you mean by that sir?' demanded Mr Creakle turning angrily to his assistant.

'I meant, Mr Creakle,' he returned in a low voice, 'as I said; no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favouritism to degrade me.'

'To degrade you,' said Mr Creakle.  But give me leave to ask you, Mr what's your name,' here Mr Creakle folded his arms, cane and all upon his chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his little eyes were hardly visible below them; 'Whether when you talked about favourites, you showed proper respect to me?' said Mr Creakle darting his head at him suddenly, and drawing it back again, 'the principal of this establishment and your employer.'

'It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit,' said Mr Mell. ' I should not have done so if I had been cool.' 

Here Steerforth struck in.

'Then Mr he said, I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called him a beggar.  If I had been cool I shouldn't have called him begger.  But I did and I am ready to take the consequences of it.'

Without considering perhaps, there were any consequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech.  It made an impression on the boys too, for there was a long stir among them, though no one spoke a word.

'I am surprised, Steerforth- although your candour does you honour,' said Mr Creakle, 'does you honour certainly- I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed and in Salem House, sir.'

Steerforth gave a short laugh.

'That is not an answer, sir,' said Mr Creakle, 'to my remark.  I expect more than that from you, Steerforth.'

If Mr Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the handsome boy, it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr Creakle looked. 

'Let him deny it,' said Steerforth.

'Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth? asked Mr Creakle.  Why does he go a-begging?'

'If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation is one,' said Steerforth. 'It's all the same.'

He glanced at me, and Mr Mell's hand gently patted me upon the shoulder.  I looked up with flush upon my face and remorse in my heart, but Mr Mell's eyes were fixed on Steerforth.  He continued to pat me kindly on the shoulder, but he looked at him.

'Since you expect me, Mr Creakle to justify myself,' said Steerforth, 'and to say what I mean, - what I have to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an alm-house.'

Mr Mell still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on the shoulder, and said to himself in a whisper 'Yes I thought so.'

Mr Creakle turned to his assistant, with severe proud and laboured politeness. 

'Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr Mell.  Have the goodness, if you please, to set him right before the assembled school.'

'He is right, sir, without correction,' returned Mr Mell in the midst of a dead silence, 'what he has said is true.'

'Be so good then as declare publicly, will you? said Mr Creakle, putting his head on one side, and rolling his eyes round the school, 'Wether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?'

'I believe not directly,' Mr Mell returned.

'Why, you know not?' said Mr Creakle, 'Don't you, man?'

'I apprehend, you never supported my worldly circumstances, to be very good,' replied Mr Mell.  'you know what my position is and always has been, here.'

'I apprehend, if you come to that,'said Mr Creakle, with his veins swelling again, bigger than ever, that you have been in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for charity school.  'Mr Mell, we will part it you please. The sooner the better.'

'There is no time,' answered Mell, rising, 'like the present.'

'Sir, to you!' said Mr Creakle 

'I take my leave of you, Mr Creakle, 'and all of you,' said Mr Mell, glancing round the room, again patting me gently on the shoulders. 'James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have done today.  At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend, to me or  anyone in whom I feel an interest.'

Once more he had laid his hand upon my shoulder, and then taking his flute and a few books from the desk, and leaving the key in it for the successor, he went out of the school, with his property under his arm.  Mr Creakle then made a speech, through Tungay, he thanked Steerforth for asserting ( though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respect of Salem House, and which he wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth, which we had three cheers.  I did not quite know what for, but I supposed for Steerforth, and so joined them ardently, though I felt miserable.  Mr Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles, for being discovered in tears, instead of cheers, on account of Mr Mell's departure, and went back to his bed.

We were left to ourselves now and looked very blank.  I felt so much self reproach and contrition for my part in what had happened.  Nothing would have enabled me to keep back my tears, but the fear of Steerforth.  He was very angry with Traddles.

Poor Traddles, came out of his deep sorrow, began to relieve himself with a burst of skeletons.  Mr Mell was ill-used, he said.

'Who has ill-used him? You girl?' Steerforth asked.

'You have,' returned Traddles

'What have I done?' Steerforth

'What have you done?' retorted Traddles.

'Hurt his feelings and lost his situation.'

'His feelings?' retorted Steerforth with disdain. 'His feelings will soon get better of it. I'll be bound. His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles.  As to his situation- which was a precious one, wasn't it? Do you suppose I am not going to write home?, and take care that he gets some money?'

We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a widow, and rich and would do almost anything.  It was said he had asked her.  We all felt very happy.

But I must say that when I was going with the story in the dark, that night, Mr Mell's old flute seemed to sound in my ears, and when at last Steerforth was tired, and lay down in my bed, I fancied it playing so sorrowful somewhere, that I was quite wretched.

I soon forgot Mr Mell, and Steerforth in an amateur way and without any book, took some of Mell's classes, until a new master was found.  The new master came from a grammar school, and before he entered his duties, dined in the parlour one day, to be introduced to Steerforth.  Steerforth approved of him highly, and told us he was a brick.  Without exactly understanding what learners distinction was meant by this, I respected him greatly for it, and had no doubt whatever of his superior knowledge, that he never took pains with me -not that I was anybody- that Mr Mell had taken.

There was only one other event in this half year, that made an impression upon me, which still survives.  It survives for many reasons.

One afternoon when we were all harassed into a state of dire confusion, and Mr Creakle was laying about him dreadfully, Tungay came in, and called out in his usual strong way 'visitors for Copperfield'

Mr Creaklele and Tungay exchanged some words, and decided the room where I should meet the visitors.  I was asked to get a clean frill before I go by back stairs.  These orders obeyed in a flutter, I returned to dining room.  It might be mama, I thought.  Until then my thoughts lingered on Mr and Miss Murdstone.  I drew my hand from the lock and stopped to have a sob before I went in.

At first I saw nobody, but feeling the pressure against the door, I looked around it, and there, to my amazement, were Peggotty and Ham, waving at me with their hats, and squeezing one another against the wall.  I could not help laughing; it was a pleasure to see them appeared there.  We shook hands in a cordial way, and laughed and laughed, until I pull out my pocket hand-kerchief, and wiped my eyes. Peggotty never shut his mouth during this visit.  He showed great concern when I wiped my eyes and nudged Ham to say something.  I was not crying at anything in particular, but somehow it made me cry to see old friends.  I asked after mama, Peggotty, little Emily, and Mrs Gummidge.  Both Peggotty and Ham told that I had grown.

There was silence. Peggotty to relieve it took two prodigious lobsters, and an enormous crab, and a large canvas bag of shrimps, and piled them up in Ham's arms.  Peggotty said that old Mrs Gummidge boiled them for David.  I expressed my thanks to them.  Peggotty said that the wind and tide were in their favor.  In one of their Yarmouth lugs they came to Gravesend.  My own Peggotty gave them the location of Salem House.

The unexpected coming of Steerforth broke their conversation. They were talking about little Emily when Steerforth came.

Steerforth, seeing me in a corner, and talking to two strangers, stopped in a song he was singing, and said 'I don't know you were here Mr Copperfield,' and crossed by us on his way out.

I am not sure, whether it was the pride of having such a friend like Steerforth or a desire to tell him, how I came to have such a friend as Mr Peggotty, I called out :

'Don't go Steerforth, if you please.  These are two Yarmouth boatmen, very kind good people, who are relations of my nurse Peggotty, and have come from Gravesend to meet me.'

'Aye, aye,' said Steerforth, returning, I am glad to see them, how are you both?'

There was an ease in his manner, his animal spirits, delightful voice, handsome face and figure, coupled with an inborn power of attraction, carried a spell and charm which not many persons could withstand.  I introduced Steerforth to Mr Peggotty and Ham.

'You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr Peggotty,' I said, 'when that letter is sent, that Steerforth is very kind to me, that I don't know what I should ever do here without him.'

'Nonsense, you mustn't tell them anything of the sort.' said Steerforth, laughing.

'And if Steerforth ever comes to Norfolk or Suffolk Mr Peggotty,' I said, 'While I am there you may depend upon it I shall bring him to Yarmouth, if he will let me to see your house. You never saw such a good house Steerforth, it's made out of a boat!'

'Made out of a boat, is it?, said Steerforth 'it's the right sort of house for such a thorough built boatman.'

Ham was very much impressed by this remark and he articulated in his dialect.  Peggotty was equally impressed.

'Well, sir, I thank you, I do my endeavour in my line of life. The best of men can do no more, Mr Peggotty,' said Steerforth.

Mr Peggotty offered warm welcome to Steerforth, if the latter would choose to come with Master Davy.  They parted happily.

We brought the lobster, crabs and other fish, unobserved to our room and had a great supper that evening.  I was almost tempted to tell Steerforth about pretty little Emily, but I was too timid of mentioning her name, and too much afraid of his laughing at me.

Traddles couldn't get happily out of supper.  He was taken ill in the night- because of crab- and after being drugged with black draughts and blue pills, received a caning and six chapters of Greek Testament for refusing to confess.

The rest of the half year was a jumble in my in my recollection of daily strife and struggle; of the waning summer and changing seasons; of the frosty morning when we were rung out of bed, and cold and cold smell of dark nights when we were rung into bed again; of the evening school room dimly lighted, and indifferently warmed, and the morning school room which was nothing but a shivering machine; of the alternation of boiled beef with roast beef, and boiled mutton with roast mutton, of bread and butter, dog-eared books, cracked slates, tear blotted copy books, caning, ruler-beating, hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, and so on.

I remember well how the distant idea of holidays after an immense time of stationary speck, come towards us, grow and grow.  How from counting months we came to weeks, and then to days, then I began to be afraid that I should not be sent for, when I learnt from Steerforth that I had been sent for, and was certainly go home, had a dim foreboding that I might break my leg first, then the breaking up day changed fast, from weeks to next week, to day after tomorrow, tomorrow, today, tonight- when I was in the Yarmouth mail, and going home. 

I had many broken sleep in the Yarmouth mail, and many an incoherent dream of all things.  When I awoke at intervals, the ground outside the widow was not the playground of Salem House, and the sound in my ears was not the sound of Mr Creakle giving it to Traddles, but the sound of coachman touching up horses.

The End