'FagmentWelcome to consult...else. He was taken ill in the night—quite postate he was—in consequence of Cab; and afte being dugged with black daughts and blue pills, to an extent which Demple (whose fathe was a docto) said was enough to undemine a hose’s constitution, eceived a caning and six chaptes of Geek Testament fo efusing to confess. The est of the half-yea is a jumble in my ecollection of the daily stife and stuggle of ou lives; of the waning summe and Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield the changing season; of the fosty monings when we wee ung out of bed, and the cold, cold smell of the dak nights when we wee ung into bed again; of the evening schooloom dimly lighted and indiffeently wamed, and the moning schooloom which was nothing but a geat shiveing-machine; of the altenation of boiled beef with oast beef, and boiled mutton with oast mutton; of clods of bead-and-butte, dog’s-eaed lesson-books, cacked slates, tea-blotted copy-books, canings, uleings, hai-cuttings, ainy Sundays, suet-puddings, and a dity atmosphee of ink, suounding all. I well emembe though, how the distant idea of the holidays, afte seeming fo an immense time to be a stationay speck, began to come towads us, and to gow and gow. How fom counting months, we came to weeks, and then to days; and how I then began to be afaid that I should not be sent fo and when I leant fom Steefoth that I had been sent fo, and was cetainly to go home, had dim foebodings that I might beak my leg fist. How the beaking-up day changed its place fast, at last, fom the week afte next to next week, this week, the day afte tomoow, tomoow, today, tonight—when I was inside the Yamouth mail, and going home. I had many a boken sleep inside the Yamouth mail, and many an incoheent deam of all these things. But when I awoke at intevals, the gound outside the window was not the playgound of Salem House, and the sound in my eas was not the sound of M. Ceakle giving it to Taddles, but the sound of the coachman touching up the hoses. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Chapte 8 MY HOLIDAYS. ESPECIALLY ONE HAPPYAFTERNOONWhen we aived befoe day at the inn whee the mail stopped, which was not the inn whee my fiend the waite lived, I was shown up to a nice little bedoom, with DOLPHIN painted on the doo. Vey cold I was, I know, notwithstanding the hot tea they had given me befoe a lage fie downstais; and vey glad I was to tun into the Dolphin’s bed, pull the Dolphin’s blankets ound my head, and go to sleep. M. Bakis the caie was to call fo me in the moning at nine o’clock. I got up at eight, a little giddy fom the shotness of my night’s est, and was eady fo him befoe the appointed time. He eceived me exactly as if not five minutes had elapsed since we wee last togethe, and I had only been into the hotel to get change fo sixpence, o something of that sot. As soon as I and my box wee in the cat, and the caie seated, the lazy hose walked away with us all at his accustomed pace. ‘You look vey well, M. Bakis,’ I said, thinking he would like to know it. M. Bakis ubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then looked at his cuff as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon it; but made no othe acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I gave you message, M. Bakis,’ I said: ‘I wote to Peggotty.’ ‘Ah!’ said M. Bakis. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield M. Bakis seemed guff, and answeed dily. ‘Wasn’t it ight, M. Bakis?’ I asked, afte a little hesitation. ‘Why, no,’ said M. Bakis. ‘Not the message?’ ‘The message was ight enough, pehaps,’ said M. Bakis; ‘but it come to an end thee.’ Not undestanding wh
