“No,” laughed Mr. Peggotty, “not to look at, but to⁠—to consider on, you know. I doen’t care, bless you! Now I tell you. When I go a looking and looking about that theer pritty house of our Em’ly’s, I’m⁠—I’m Gormed,” said Mr. Peggotty, with sudden emphasis⁠—“theer! I can’t say more⁠—if I doen’t feel as if the littlest things was her, a’most. I takes ’em up and I put ’em down, and I touches of ’em as delicate as if they was our Em’ly. So ’tis with her little bonnets and that. I couldn’t see one on ’em rough used a purpose⁠—not fur the whole wureld. There’s a babby fur you, in the form of a great Sea Porkypine!” said Mr. Peggotty, relieving his earnestness with a roar of laughter.

Peggotty and I both laughed, but not so loud.