threepence。 Then； at a grocer’s shop； we bought an egg and a slice
of streaky bacon； which still left what I thought a good deal of
change； out of the second of the bright shillings； and made me
consider London a very cheap place。 These provisions laid in； we
went on through a great noise and uproar that confused my weary
head beyond description； and over a bridge which； no doubt； was
London Bridge （indeed I think he told me so； but I was half
asleep）； until we came to the poor person’s house； which was a
part of some alms…houses； as I knew by their look； and by an
inscription on a stone over the gate which said they were
established for twenty…five poor women。
The Master at Salem House lifted the latch of one of a number
of little black doors that were all alike； and had each a little
diamond…paned window on one side； and another little diamond…
paned window above； and we went into the little house of one of
these poor old women； who was blowing a fire to make a little
saucepan boil。 On seeing the master enter； the old woman stopped
with the bellows on her knee； and said something that I thought
sounded like ‘My Charley！’ but on seeing me come in too； she got
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
up； and rubbing her hands made a confused sort of half curtsey。
‘Can you cook this young gentleman’s breakfast for him； if you
please？’ said the Master at Salem House。
‘Can I？’ said the old woman。 ‘Yes can I； sure！’
‘How’s Mrs。 Fibbitson today？’ said the Master； looking at
another old woman in a large chair by the fire； who was such a
bundle of clothes that I feel grateful to this hour for not having sat
upon her by mistake。
‘Ah； she’s poorly；’ said the first old woman。 ‘It’s one of her bad
days。 If the fire was to go out； through any accident； I verily
believe she’d go out too； and never come to life again。’
As they looked at her； I looked at her also。 Although it was a
warm day； she seemed to think of nothing but the fire。 I fancied
she was jealous even of the saucepan on it； and I have reason to
know that she took its impressment into the service of boiling my
egg and broiling my bacon； in dudgeon； for I saw her； with my own
discomfited eyes； shake her fist at me once； when those culinary
operations were going on； and no one else was looking。 The sun
streamed in at the little window； but she sat with her own back
and the back of the large chair towards it； screening the fire as if
she were sedulously keeping it warm； instead of it keeping her
warm； and watching it in a most distrustful manner。 The
completion of the preparations for my breakfast； by relieving the
fire； gave her such extreme joy that she laughed aloud—and a very
unmelodious laugh she had； I must say。
I sat down to my brown loaf； my egg； and my rasher of bacon；
with a basin of milk besides； and made a most delicious meal。
While I was yet in the full enjoyment of it； the old woman of the
house said to the Master：
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
‘Have you got your flute with you？’
‘Yes；’ he returned。
‘Have a blow at it；’ said the old woman； coaxingly。 ‘Do！’
The Master； upon this； put his hand underneath the skirts of his
coat； and brought out his flute in three pieces； which he screwed
together； and began immediately to play。 My impression is； after
many years of consideration； that there never can have been
anybody in the world who played worse。 He made the most dismal
sounds I have ever heard produced by any means； natural or
artificial。 I don’t know what the tunes were—if there were such
things in the performance at all； which I doubt—but the influence
of the strain upon me was； first； to make me think of all my
sorrows until I could hardly keep my tears back； then to take away
my appetite； and lastly； to make me so sleepy that I couldn’t keep
my eyes open。 They begin to close again； and I begin to nod； as the
recollection rises fresh upon me。 Once more the little room； with
its open corner cupboard； and its square…backed chairs； and its
angular little staircase leading to the room above； and its three
peacock’s feathers displayed over the mantelpiece—I remember
wondering when I first went in； what that peacock would have
thought if he had known what his finery was doomed to come to—
fades from before me； and I nod； and sleep。 The flute becomes
inaudible； the wheels of the coach are heard instead； and I am on
my journey。 The coach jolts； I wake with a start； and the flute has
come back again； and the Master at Salem House is sitting with his
legs crossed； playing it dolefully； while the old woman of the house
looks on delighted。 She fades in her turn； and he fades； and all
fades； and there is no flute； no Master； no Salem House； no David
Copperfield； no anything but heavy sleep。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
I dreamed； I thought； that once while he was blowing into this
dismal flute； the old woman of the house； who had gone nearer
and nearer to him in her ecstatic admiration； leaned over the back
of his chair and gave him an affectionate squeeze round the neck；
which stopped his playing for a moment。 I was in the middle state
between sleeping and waking； either then or immediately
afterwards； for； as he resumed—it was a real fact that he had
stopped playing—I saw and heard the same old woman ask Mrs。
Fibbitson if it wasn’t delicious （meaning the flute）； to which Mrs。
Fibbitson replied； ‘Ay； ay！ yes！’ and nodded at the fire： to which； I
am persuaded； she gave the credit of the whole performance。
When I seemed to have been dozing a long while； the Master at
Salem House unscrewed his flute into the three pieces； put them
up as before； and took me away。 We found the coach very near at
hand； and got upon the roof； but I was so dead sleepy； that when
we stopped on the road to take up somebody else； they put me
inside where there were no passengers； and where I slept
profoundly； until I found the coach going at a footpace up a steep
hill among green leaves。 Presently； it stopped； and had come to its
destination。
A short walk brought us—I mean the Master and me—to Salem
House； which was enclosed with a high brick wall； and looked very
dull。 Over a door in this wall was a board with SALEM HOUSE
upon it； and through a grating in this door we were surveyed when
we rang the bell by a surly face； which I found； on the door being
opened； belonged to a stout man with a bull…neck； a wooden leg；
overhanging temples； and his hair cut close all round his head。
‘The new boy；’ said the Master。
The man with the wooden leg eyed me all over—it didn’t take
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
long； for there was not much of me—and locked the gate behind
us； and took out the key。 We were going up to the house； among
some dark heavy trees； when he called after my conductor。 ‘Hallo！’
We looked back； and he was standing at the door of a little
lodge； where he lived； with a pair of boots in his hand。
‘Here！ The cobbler’s been；’ he said； ‘since you’ve been out； Mr。
Mell； and he says he can’t mend ’em any more。 He says there ain’t
a bit of the original boot left； and he wonders you expect it。’
With these words he threw the boots towards Mr。 Mell； who
went back a few paces to pick them up； and looked at them （very
disconsolately； I was afraid）； as we went on together。 I observed
then； for the first time； that the boots he had on were a good deal
the worse for wear； and that his stocking was just breaking out in
one place； like a bud。
Salem House was a square brick building with wings； of a bare
and unfurnished appearance。 All about it was so very quiet； that I
said to Mr。 Mell I supposed the boys were out； but he seemed
surprised at my not knowing that it was holiday…time。 That all the
boys were at their several homes。 That Mr。 Creakle； the
proprietor； was down by the sea…side with Mrs。 and Miss Creakle；
and that I was sent in holiday…time as a punishment for my
misdoing； all of which he explained to me as we went along。
I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me； as the
most forlorn and desolate place I had ever seen。 I see it now。 A
long room with three long rows of desks； and six of forms； and
bristling all round with pegs for hats and slates。 Scraps of old
copy…books and exercises litter the dirty floor。 Some silkworms’
houses； made of the same materials； are scattered over the desks。
Two miserable little white mice； left behind by their owner； are
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
running up and down in a fusty castle made of pasteboard and
wire； looking in all the corners with their red eyes for anything to
eat。 A bird； in a cage very little bigger than himself； makes a
mournful rattle now and then in hopping on his perch； two inches
high； or dropping from it； but neither sings nor chirps。 There is a
strange unwholesome smell upon the room； like mildewed
corduroys； sweet apples wanting air； and rotten books。 There
could not well be more ink splashed about it； if it had been roofless
from its first construction； and the skies had rained； snowed；
hailed； and blown ink through the varying seasons of the year。
Mr。 Mell having left me while he took his irreparable boots
upstairs； I went softly to the upper end of the room； observing all
this as I crept along。 Suddenly I came upon a pasteboard placard；
beautifully written； which was lying on the desk； and bore these
words： ‘Take care of him。 He bites。’
I got upon the desk immediately； apprehensive of at least a
great dog underneath。 But； though I looked all round with anxious
eyes； I could see nothing of him。 I was still engaged in peering
about； when Mr。 Mell came back； and asked me what I did up
there？
‘I beg your pardon； sir；’ says I； ‘if you please； I’m looking for the
dog。’
‘Dog？’ he says。 ‘What dog？’
‘Isn’t it a dog； sir？’
‘Isn’t what a dog？’
‘That’s to be t