We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him welcome enough; and as I began to listen to his old familiar voice, I could have fancied he was still pursuing his long journey in search of his darling niece.

“It’s a mort of water,” said Mr. Peggotty, “fur to come across, and on’y stay a matter of fower weeks. But water (’specially when ’tis salt) comes nat’ral to me; and friends is dear, and I am heer.⁠—Which is verse,” said Mr. Peggotty, surprised to find it out, “though I hadn’t such intentions.”

“Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon?” asked Agnes.