only going and laying her cheek against his rough whisker. That was my opinion, at least, when I saw her do it; and I held Mr. Peggotty to be thoroughly in the right. But she was so affectionate and sweet-natured, and had such a pleasant manner of being both sly and shy at once, that she captivated me more than ever.
She was tenderhearted, too; for when, as we sat round the fire after tea, an allusion was made by Mr. Peggotty over his pipe to the loss I had sustained, the tears stood in her eyes, and she looked at me so kindly across the table, that I felt quite thankful to her.
“Ah!” said Mr. Peggotty, taking up her curls, and running them over his hand like water, “here’s another orphan, you see, sir. And here,” said Mr. Peggotty, giving Ham a backhanded knock in the chest, “is another of ’em, though he don’t look much like it.”
“If I had you for my guardian, Mr. Peggotty,” said I, shaking my head, “I don’t think I should feel much like it.”
“Well said, Mas’r Davy bor’!” cried Ham, in an ecstasy. “Hoorah! Well said! Nor more you wouldn’t! Hor! Hor!”—Here he returned Mr. Peggotty’s backhander, and little Em’ly got up and kissed Mr. Peggotty. “And how’s your friend, sir?” said Mr. Peggotty to me.
“Steerforth?” said I.
“That’s the name!” cried Mr. Peggotty, turning to Ham. “I knowed it was something in our way.”
“You said it was Rudderford,” observed Ham, laughing.
“Well!” retorted Mr. Peggotty. “And ye steer with a rudder, don’t ye? It ain’t fur off. How is he, sir?”
“He was very well indeed when I came away, Mr. Peggotty.”