David Copperfield

Chapter 36 Restarting (1)
Chapter 15 Restart(1)
Mr. Dick soon became my best friend, and we often went kite-flying together when he had finished his day's work.He spent a long time at his desk every day to write a statement. Although he worked very hard, there was no improvement, because Charles I would get involved sooner or later, so he had to throw it away and start a new one. His setbacks; he always faced the inappropriateness of the Charles I incident with a moderate attitude; he was always unable to get rid of the shadow left by Charles I, and Charles I always destroyed his submissions, all of which were in my mind left a deep impression.What would happen to Mr. Dick, if the papers were written, and what effect would he think the papers should have? I don't think he knew any more about that than anyone else.He also needn't have troubled himself with these questions at all, because, if there was a truth, it would be true that the petition would not have been written.

It was moving to watch him fly the kite as it flew high into the sky.He told me once, in his bedroom, that he thought the kite would spread what was posted on it (which was nothing more than aborted submissions), which he sometimes thought was an illusion; but when he After coming out, looking at the kite in the air and seeing it pulling and pulling in his hand at the same time, it is no longer a fantasy.His appearance has never been so peaceful.Every evening, sitting on the green hillside, seeing him looking at the tall kite in the air, I often imagined that the kite sent his confused thoughts into the sky (that was my naive idea).Later, when he retrieved the line, the kite gradually lowered in the setting sun, and finally fell to the ground, lying there like a dead thing, and he seemed to wake up from a dream bit by bit.At that time, I saw him pick up the kite, look around as if he was lost, and it seemed to fall down like a kite. My heart was filled with pity.

My friendship with Mr. Dick was further developed, and my aunt, his faithful friend, I distinguished myself to the favor of her.In a short time she took such a liking to me that she shortened my Trowood surname to "Tro" and even made me hope that, if I would be consistent, I would soon be with my sister Bessie Trowood. De holds an equal place in her favour.

"Tro," said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon board was laid out as usual for Mr. Dick and me, "we ought to care about your education."

It was the only thing I worried about anxiety about, and it made me happy when she mentioned it.

"Send you to Canterbury School, will you?" my aunt said.

I replied, very good, because it is not far from her.

"Okay," said my aunt, "let's go tomorrow!"

Because I am too familiar with my aunt's vigorous and decisive attitude, I was not surprised by it, so I said, "Okay."

"Well," continued my aunt, "Jenny, hire the little gray horse and cart at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and now get Master Trowood's clothes ready."

My aunt's order made me very happy.But when I saw the effect of these orders on Mr. Dick, I felt guilty for my selfishness.Because Mr. Dick, knowing we were going to part, was depressed, and couldn't play backgammon very well.After my aunt reminded him a few times with the dice cylinder, she closed the plate and it was over.However, when he heard from my aunt that I would come back sometimes on Saturdays, and that he could see me on Wednesdays, Mr. Dick cheered up and promised to make another kite that was even bigger.In the morning, he was in a bad mood again, and in order to cheer himself up, he gave me all the valuable things on his body.At last his aunt stopped him and offered five shillings at most, but after his repeated entreaties, the amount was increased to ten shillings.We bid farewell at the gate of the courtyard, and he did not enter until the house was out of sight.

My aunt didn't care what anyone said, and she drove the gray horse past the Buddha with great skill.She straightened up and sat there, like a decent coachman. No matter which direction the horse went, her eyes always stayed on the horse, and she would not let the horse move freely no matter what.She let it loose, however, when we hit the country road; and, looking round, asked me if I was happy.

"I'm glad, thank you, Auntie," I said.

She is very satisfied.Because she occupied both hands, she patted my head with the whip.

"Is that a big school, Auntie?" I asked.

"I-I don't know," said my aunt. "Let's go and see Mr. Wakefield first."

"Is he in charge?" I asked.

"No, Troy," said my aunt, "he's got an office."

I stopped asking about Mr. Wakefield because she didn't want to say more, so we talked about other things and came to Canterbury. Among the carts, baskets, vegetables, peddler's wares, steer the little gray horse.We took a turn at a leisurely pace, causing different comments from passers-by, and those comments were often unkind.But my aunt paid no heed, and I thought she would have passed straight through the enemy's country with the same indifference.

We then stopped in front of an old house.The house had long, low pane windows with heads carved into the end beams, so I imagined that if one stood leaning forward in the house, one would know who was passing on the narrow sidewalk below.The house is clean and clean.On the low bow door, the old-fashioned door knocker, carved with flowers and fruits, shone.The stone steps leading down to the gate of the house, two steps down, seem to be covered with a layer of fine white sackcloth; those protruding corners and sunken corners, carved and carved, and the strange little windows, though as old as the mountains, are as clean as the snow that has fallen on them. snow white.

I gazed intently at the house as the carriage pulled up in front of the door.A deadly face flashed for a moment at the small window on the ground floor (in the little cupola forming one side of the house).Then the low bowed door opened, and the face was revealed again.The face was exactly as dead as it had been seen from the window, but with the redness that is common in redheaded skin.The youth was about 15 years old, I guess.But much older--his hair was short, like stubble; Thin, wearing a passable black suit and a white scarf, the collar is straight, and the hands are slender and thin.He stood next to the horse's head, rubbed his chin with his hand, and raised his head to face us in the car.

"Is Mr. Wakefield there, Julia Heep?" said my aunt.

"Yes, ma'am," said Julia Heep, "come in."

So he guarded the horse, and we entered a long, low drawing-room facing the street.When I went into the living room, I saw from the living room window Julia Heep blowing on the horse and immediately covering it with his hand, as if he were doing magic to the horse.Opposite the tall old mantelpiece hung two portraits, one of a gentleman with white hair and dark eyebrows (but not an old man), looking at some papers bound with red tape; the other of a woman, The expression on her face was peaceful and lovely, and she was looking at me.

I think I was looking around for a picture of Yulia when a door at the end of the room opened and a gentleman came out and as soon as I saw him I turned to the first picture and confirmed that Has it come out of the frame.However, the portrait is still there, and by the light, it can be seen that he is a few years older than he was in the portrait.

"Miss Bessie Trowood," said the man, "come in. I have something to attend to. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. You know my motives. I have only one in my life."

Miss Bessie thanked him, and we went together into his room.There are books, files, tin boxes, etc. in that room, which is exactly the model of an office.Opposite was a garden, and there was an iron safe built into the wall of the house, above the mantelpiece.When I sat down, I wondered how to turn the broom when sweeping the chimney.

"Well, Miss Trowood," said Mr. Wickfield (I soon found out he was Mr. Wickfield, a lawyer, and a wealthy property manager in the county), "how did you come to me Here! I hope it’s not the unfavorable wind, right?”

My aunt said: "I didn't come here because of the lawsuit."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Wakefield, "something else would be best."

His hair was already gray, but his eyebrows were still thick and black.His countenance looked pleasing, without any sense of boredom.He had a ruddy complexion, which I had learned, under Peggotty's tutelage, to be associated with red wine.At the time I thought it was in his voice too, and maybe his weight came from that too.His attire was decent, blue jacket, striped vest, and cotton trousers, and his lacy shirt and white cotton scarf resembled the breast feathers of a swan.

"He is my nephew," said the aunt.

"You have a nephew, Miss Trowood?" said Mr. Wickfield.

"That is to say, my grandson," explained the aunt.

"I never heard of you having a grandson," said Mr. Wakefield.

"I kept him," my aunt waved her hand, indicating that she didn't care about Wakefield's reaction. "Now I hope to find him a school where he can receive a really good education. What can you tell me?" Is there such a school in the local area, and is there any information about this school?"

"Before I give you advice," said Mr. Wakefield, "you know what your object is?"

"What a fool you are!" cried my aunt. "The object is obvious, of course, to make the boy happy and useful."

(End of this chapter)