ed, had long been fastened upon
Peggotty. He took her to a nice little home, and there she showed me a
room which she said would be mine whenever I chose to occupy it. I felt
the constancy of my dear old nurse, and thanked her as well as I could,
but the next day I was obliged to go back to the Murdstones. Peggotty made
the journey with me, and no words can express my forlorn and desolate
feelings when the cart took her away again, and I was left alone in the
place where I used to be so happy.

And now I fell into a state of neglect, apart from other boys of my own
age, and apart from all friendly faces. What would I not have given to
have been sent to school! I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straightened
at that time, and there was no mention of Salem House or of any other
school. I was not beaten or starved, only coldly neglected. Peggotty I was
seldom allowed to visit, but once a week she either came to see me or met
me somewhere, and that, and the dear old books were my only comfort.

One day Mr. Quinion, a visitor at the house, took pains to ask me some
questions about myself, and afterwards Mr. Murdstone called me to him, and
said:

"I suppose you know, David, that I am not rich. You have received some
considerable education already. Education is costly; and even if I could
afford it, I am of opinion that it would not be at all advantageous to you
to be kept at a school. There is before you a fight with the world; and
the sooner you begin it the better. You may have heard of the counting
house of Murdstone and Grinby, in the wine trade? Mr. Quinion manages the
business, and he suggests thit it gives employment to some other boys, and
that he sees no reason why it shouldn't give employment to you. You will
earn enough to provide for your eating, and drinking, and pocket money.
Your lodging will be paid by me. So will your washing. Your clothes will
be looked after for you, too," said Mr. Murdstone, "as you will not be
able, yet awhile, to get them for yourself. So you are now going to
London, David, to begin the world on your own account."

Behold me, on the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, with a crape
band round it, a black jacket, and stiff corduroy trousers! Behold me so
attired, and with my little worldly all in a small trunk, sitting, a lone,
lorn child, in the post-chaise, journeying to London with Mr. Quinion!
Behold me at ten years old, a little labouring hind in Murdstone and
Grinby's warehou