“No,” said Traddles. “Sarah’s the second. Sarah has something the matter with her spine, poor girl. The malady will wear out by and by, the doctors say, but in the meantime she has to lie down for a twelvemonth. Sophy nurses her. Sophy’s the fourth.”
“Is the mother living?” I inquired.
“Oh yes,” said Traddles, “she is alive. She is a very superior woman indeed, but the damp country is not adapted to her constitution, and—in fact, she has lost the use of her limbs.”
“Dear me!” said I.
“Very sad, is it not?” returned Traddles. “But in a merely domestic view it is not so bad as it might be, because Sophy takes her place. She is quite as much a mother to her mother, as she is to the other nine.”
I felt the greatest admiration for the virtues of this young lady; and, honestly with the view of doing my best to prevent the good-nature of Traddles from being imposed upon, to the detriment of their joint prospects in life, inquired how Mr. Micawber was?
“He is quite well, Copperfield, thank you,” said Traddles. “I am not living with him at present.”
“No?”
“No. You see the truth is,” said Traddles, in a whisper, “he had changed his name to Mortimer, in consequence of his temporary embarrassments; and he don’t come out till after dark—and then in spectacles. There was an execution put into our house, for rent. Mrs. Micawber was in such a dreadful state that I really couldn’t resist giving my name to that second bill we spoke of here. You may imagine how delightful it was to my feelings, Copperfield, to see the matter settled with it, and Mrs. Micawber recover her spirits.”