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people standing about； which were not always complimentary； but
my aunt drove on with perfect indifference； and I dare say would
have taken her own way with as much coolness through an
enemy’s country。
At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out over
the road； a house with long low lattice…windows bulging out still
farther； and beams with carved heads on the ends bulging out too；
so that I fancied the whole house was leaning forward； trying to
see who was passing on the narrow pavement below。 It was quite
spotless in its cleanliness。 The old…fashioned brass knocker on the
low arched door； ornamented with carved garlands of fruit and
flowers； twinkled like a star； the two stone steps descending to the
door were as white as if they had been covered with fair linen； and
all the angles and corners； and carvings and mouldings； and
quaint little panes of glass； and quainter little windows； though as
old as the hills； were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon the
hills。
When the pony…chaise stopped at the door； and my eyes were
intent upon the house； I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small
window on the ground floor （in a little round tower that formed
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
one side of the house）； and quickly disappear。 The low arched door
then opened； and the face came out。 It was quite as cadaverous as
it had looked in the window； though in the grain of it there was
that tinge of red which is sometimes to be observed in the skins of
red…haired people。 It belonged to a red…haired person—a youth of
fifteen； as I take it now； but looking much older—whose hair was
cropped as close as the closest stubble； who had hardly any
eyebrows； and no eyelashes； and eyes of a red…brown； so
unsheltered and unshaded； that I remember wondering how he
went to sleep。 He was high…shouldered and bony； dressed in
decent black； with a white wisp of a neckcloth； buttoned up to the
throat； and had a long； lank； skeleton hand； which particularly
attracted my attention； as he stood at the pony’s head； rubbing his
chin with it； and looking up at us in the chaise。
‘Is Mr。 Wickfield at home； Uriah Heep？’ said my aunt。
‘Mr。 Wickfield’s at home； ma’am；’ said Uriah Heep； ‘if you’ll
please to walk in there’—pointing with his long hand to the room
he meant。
We got out； and leaving him to hold the pony； went into a long
low parlour looking towards the street； from the window of which
I caught a glimpse； as I went in； of Uriah Heep breathing into the
pony’s nostrils； and immediately covering them with his hand； as if
he were putting some spell upon him。 Opposite to the tall old
chimney…piece were two portraits： one of a gentleman with grey
hair （though not by any means an old man） and black eyebrows；
who was looking over some papers tied together with red tape； the
other； of a lady； with a very placid and sweet expression of face；
who was looking at me。
I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah’s picture； when；
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
a door at the farther end of the room opening； a gentleman
entered； at sight of whom I turned to the first…mentioned portrait
again； to make quite sure that it had not come out of its frame。 But
it was stationary； and as the gentleman advanced into the light； I
saw that he was some years older than when he had had his
picture painted。
‘Miss Betsey Trotwood；’ said the gentleman； ‘pray walk in。 I was
engaged for a moment； but you’ll excuse my being busy。 You know
my motive。 I have but one in life。’
Miss Betsey thanked him； and we went into his room； which
was furnished as an office； with books； papers； tin boxes； and so
forth。 It looked into a garden； and had an iron safe let into the
wall； so immediately over the mantelshelf； that I wondered； as I sat
down； how the sweeps got round it when they swept the chimney。
‘Well； Miss Trotwood；’ said Mr。 Wickfield； for I soon found that
it was he； and that he was a lawyer； and steward of the estates of a
rich gentleman of the county； ‘what wind blows you here？ Not an
ill wind； I hope？’
‘No；’ replied my aunt。 ‘I have not come for any law。’
‘That’s right； ma’am；’ said Mr。 Wickfield。 ‘You had better come
for anything else。’ His hair was quite white now； though his
eyebrows were still black。 He had a very agreeable face； and； I
thought； was handsome。 There was a certain richness in his
complexion； which I had been long accustomed； under Peggotty’s
tuition； to connect with port wine； and I fancied it was in his voice
too； and referred his growing corpulency to the same cause。 He
was very cleanly dressed； in a blue coat； striped waistcoat； and
nankeen trousers； and his fine frilled shirt and cambric neckcloth
looked unusually soft and white； reminding my strolling fancy （I
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
call to mind） of the plumage on the breast of a swan。
‘This is my nephew；’ said my aunt。
‘Wasn’t aware you had one； Miss Trotwood；’ said Mr。 Wickfield。
‘My grand…nephew； that is to say；’ observed my aunt。
‘Wasn’t aware you had a grand…nephew； I give you my word；’
said Mr。 Wickfield。
‘I have adopted him；’ said my aunt； with a wave of her hand；
importing that his knowledge and his ignorance were all one to
her； ‘and I have brought him here； to put to a school where he may
be thoroughly well taught； and well treated。 Now tell me where
that school is； and what it is； and all about it。’
‘Before I can advise you properly；’ said Mr。 Wickfield—‘the old
question； you know。 What’s your motive in this？’
‘Deuce take the man！’ exclaimed my aunt。 ‘Always fishing for
motives； when they’re on the surface！ Why； to make the child
happy and useful。’
‘It must be a mixed motive； I think；’ said Mr。 Wickfield； shaking
his head and smiling incredulously。
‘A mixed fiddlestick；’ returned my aunt。 ‘You claim to have one
plain motive in all you do yourself。 You don’t suppose； I hope； that
you are the only plain dealer in the world？’
‘Ay； but I have only one motive in life； Miss Trotwood；’ he
rejoined； smiling。 ‘Other people have dozens； scores； hundreds。 I
have only one。 There’s the difference。 However； that’s beside the
question。 The best school？ Whatever the motive； you want the
best？’
My aunt nodded assent。
‘At the best we have；’ said Mr。 Wickfield； considering； ‘your
nephew couldn’t board just now。’
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
‘But he could board somewhere else； I suppose？’ suggested my
aunt。
Mr。 Wickfield thought I could。 After a little discussion； he
proposed to take my aunt to the school； that she might see it and
judge for herself； also； to take her； with the same object； to two or
three houses where he thought I could be boarded。 My aunt
embracing the proposal； we were all three going out together；
when he stopped and said：
‘Our little friend here might have some motive； perhaps； for
objecting to