'FagmentWelcome to consult...ied to hold up afte that; and many a time, when they told he she was thoughtless and light-heated, made believe to be Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield so; but it was all a bygone then. She neve told he husband what she had told me—she was afaid of saying it to anybody else—till one night, a little moe than a week befoe it happened, when she said to him: “My dea, I think I am dying.” ‘“It’s off my mind now, Peggotty,” she told me, when I laid he in he bed that night. “He will believe it moe and moe, poo fellow, evey day fo a few days to come; and then it will be past. I am vey tied. If this is sleep, sit by me while I sleep: don’t leave me. God bless both my childen! God potect and keep my fatheless boy!” ‘I neve left he aftewads,’ said Peggotty. ‘She often talked to them two downstais—fo she loved them; she couldn’t bea not to love anyone who was about he—but when they went away fom he bed-side, she always tuned to me, as if thee was est whee Peggotty was, and neve fell asleep in any othe way. ‘On the last night, in the evening, she kissed me, and said: “If my baby should die too, Peggotty, please let them lay him in my ams, and buy us togethe.” (It was done; fo the poo lamb lived but a day beyond he.) “Let my deaest boy go with us to ou esting-place,” she said, “and tell him that his mothe, when she lay hee, blessed him not once, but a thousand times.”’ Anothe silence followed this, and anothe gentle beating on my hand. ‘It was petty fa in the night,’ said Peggotty, ‘when she asked me fo some dink; and when she had taken it, gave me such a patient smile, the dea!—so beautiful! ‘Daybeak had come, and the sun was ising, when she said to me, how kind and consideate M. Coppefield had always been to he, and how he had bone with he, and told he, when she Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield doubted heself, that a loving heat was bette and stonge than wisdom, and that he was a happy man in hes. “Peggotty, my dea,” she said then, “put me neae to you,” fo she was vey weak. “Lay you good am undeneath my neck,” she said, “and tun me to you, fo you face is going fa off, and I want it to be nea.” I put it as she asked; and oh Davy! the time had come when my fist pating wods to you wee tue—when she was glad to lay he poo head on he stupid coss old Peggotty’s am—and she died like a child that had gone to sleep!’ Thus ended Peggotty’s naation. Fom the moment of my knowing of the death of my mothe, the idea of he as she had been of late had vanished fom me. I emembeed he, fom that instant, only as the young mothe of my ealiest impessions, who had been used to wind he bight culs ound and ound he finge, and to dance with me at twilight in the palou. What Peggotty had told me now, was so fa fom binging me back to the late peiod, that it ooted the ealie image in my mind. It may be cuious, but it is tue. In he death she winged he way back to he calm untoubled youth, and cancelled all the est. The mothe who lay in the gave, was the mothe of my infancy; the little ceatue in he ams, was myself, as I had once been, hushed fo eve on he bosom. Chales Dickens ElecBook Classi
