The door of the boathouse stood open when I approached; and, on entering, I found it emptied of all its furniture, saving one of the old lockers, on which Mrs. Gummidge, with a basket on her knee, was seated, looking at Mr. Peggotty. He leaned his elbow on the rough chimneypiece, and gazed upon a few expiring embers in the grate; but he raised his head, hopefully, on my coming in, and spoke in a cheery manner.

“Come, according to promise, to bid farewell to ’t, eh, Mas’r Davy?” he said, taking up the candle. “Bare enough, now, an’t it?”

“Indeed you have made good use of the time,” said I.

“Why, we have not been idle, sir. Missis Gummidge has worked like a⁠—I doen’t know what Missis Gummidge an’t worked like,” said Mr. Peggotty, looking at her, at a loss for a sufficiently approving simile.