“Davy,” she said at length.
“Yes, Peggotty?”
“I have tried, my dear, all ways I could think of—all the ways there are, and all the ways there ain’t, in short—to get a suitable service here, in Blunderstone; but there’s no such a thing, my love.”
“And what do you mean to do, Peggotty,” says I, wistfully. “Do you mean to go and seek your fortune?”
“I expect I shall be forced to go to Yarmouth,” replied Peggotty, “and live there.”
“You might have gone farther off,” I said, brightening a little, “and been as bad as lost. I shall see you sometimes, my dear old Peggotty, there. You won’t be quite at the other end of the world, will you?”
“Contrary ways, please God!” cried Peggotty, with great animation. “As long as you are here, my pet, I shall come over every week of my life to see you. One day, every week of my life!”
I felt a great weight taken off my mind by this promise: but even this was not all, for Peggotty went on to say:
“I’m a-going, Davy, you see, to my brother’s, first, for another fortnight’s visit—just till I have had time to look about me, and get to be something like myself again. Now, I have been thinking that perhaps, as they don’t want you here at present, you might be let to go along with me.”
If anything, short of being in a different relation to everyone about me, Peggotty excepted, could have given me a sense of pleasure at that time, it would have been this project of all others. The idea of being again surrounded by those honest faces, shining welcome on me; of renewing