The Beginning of a Longer Journey
It was yet early in the morning of the following day, when, as I was walking in my garden with my aunt (who took little other exercise now, being so much in attendance on my dear Dora), I was told that Mr. Peggotty desired to speak with me. He came into the garden to meet me halfway, on my going towards the gate; and bared his head, as it was always his custom to do when he saw my aunt, for whom he had a high respect. I had been telling her all that had happened overnight. Without saying a word, she walked up with a cordial face, shook hands with him, and patted him on the arm. It was so expressively done, that she had no need to say a word. Mr. Peggotty understood her quite as well as if she had said a thousand.
“I’ll go in now, Trot,” said my aunt, “and look after Little Blossom, who will be getting up presently.”
“Not along of my being heer, ma’am, I hope?” said Mr. Peggotty. “Unless my wits is gone a bahd’s neezing”—by which Mr. Peggotty meant to say, bird’s-nesting—“this morning, ’tis along of me as you’re a-going to quit us?”
“You have something to say, my good friend,” returned my aunt, “and will do better without me.”
“By your leave, ma’am,” returned Mr. Peggotty, “I should take it kind, pervising you doen’t mind my clicketten, if you’d bide heer.”
“Would you?” said my aunt, with short good-nature. “Then I am sure I will!”