her. Peggotty wrote, enclosing the
half-guinea, and saying she only knew Miss Trotwood lived near Dover,
but whether in that place itself, or at Folkestone, Sandgate, or Hythe,
she could not tell. Hearing that all these places were close together, I
made up my mind to start. As I had received my week's wages in advance,
I waited till the following Saturday, thinking it would not be honest to
go before. I went out to look for someone to carry my box to the coach
office, and unfortunately hired a wicked young man who not only ran off
with the box, but robbed me of my half-guinea, leaving me in dire
distress. In despair, I started off to walk to Dover, and was forced to
sell my waistcoat to buy some bread. The first night I found my way to
my old school at Blackheath, and slept on a haystack close by, feeling
some comfort in the thought of the boys being near. I knew Steerforth
had left, or I would have tried to see him.

On I trudged the next day and sold my jacket at Chatham to a dreadful
old man, who kept me waiting all day for the money, which was only one
shilling and fourpence. I was afraid to buy anything but bread or to
spend any money on a bed or a shelter for the night, and was terribly
frightened by some rough tramps, who threw stones at me when I did not
answer to their calls. After six days, I arrived at Dover, ragged,
dusty, and half-dead with hunger and fatigue. But here, at first, I
could get no tidings of my aunt, and, in despair, was going to try some
of the other places Peggotty had mentioned, when the driver of a fly
dropped his horsecloth, and as I was handing it up to him, I saw
something kind in the man's face that encouraged me to ask once more if
he knew where Miss Trotwood lived.

The man directed me towards some houses on the heights, and thither I
toiled. Going into a little shop, I by chance met with Miss Trotwood's
maid, who showed me the house, and went in leaving me standing at the
gate, a forlorn little creature, without a jacket or waistcoat, my white
hat crushed out of shape, my shoes worn out, my shirt and trousers torn
and stained, my pretty curly hair tangled, my face and hands sunburnt
and covered with dust. Lifting my eyes to one of the windows above, I
saw a pleasant-faced gentleman with gray hair, who nodded at me several
times, then shook his head and went away. I was just turning away to
think what I should do, when a tall, erect elderly lady, with a
gardening apron on and a kn