Chapter 11 Chapter Seven I Study at Salem School

The next day, the school officially started.I remember being impressed when Mr. Creakle came into the room after breakfast, and the hustle and bustle was suddenly dead silent, and he stood in the doorway, looking at us like a giant in a story looking at his captives. . Tun Ge stood beside Mr. Creeker.I don't think he had the chance to yell "Quiet!" because the classmates were so frightened that they didn't make a sound and didn't move. I could see that Mr. Creeker was talking, and heard Brother Tun say: "Hey students, it's a new term. In the new term, watch yourselves. Re-focus on your homework, because I will re-focus on punishment. I won't be soft. You don't use rubbing yourselves, You can't erase the marks I left on you. Well, everyone, the class begins."

After this dreadful prologue, Brother Tun turned away again, while Mr. Creeker came up to my seat, and said to me that if I was known to be a biter, so was he.He then showed me the stick and asked me how I felt about having it in place of my teeth.Are those teeth sharp, hey?Are those double teeth, hey?Bite deep, hey?Does it bite, hey?Does it bite, hey?When he asked a question, he used that thing to draw a scar on my body, which made me twist and turn.I soon, then, fully experienced the privileges of Salem's school (as Steerforth said), and soon began to cry. I'm not saying I'm the only one experiencing this.Quite the contrary, most students (especially the younger ones) were reminded of the same when Mr. Creeker made his rounds of the classroom.Before the class started that day, half of the students were writhing and crying.I really don't have the courage to recall how many people in the whole school writhed and cried before the class ended that day, otherwise I seem to be exaggerating.

I think there is no one who finds more enjoyment in his profession than Mr. Creaker.He took pleasure in beating his students, as if it could satisfy a burning desire in him.I'm convinced that he couldn't resist the idea of ​​beating fat students.There seems to be something so peculiar about that kind of student that he has to whip the scars out of this kind of student in a day to be at peace.I'm fat myself, so I know that, and I think of that fellow now with a sense of righteous indignation, even if I hadn't been bullied by him; Such great confidence is no more worthy of him than being admiral or commander-in-chief: but in either of the latter positions he is likely to be no less evil.

How low we are in his sight, like poor little redeemers bowed to a cruel idol.What a beginning it was in retrospect--so lowly, so lowly, before a man of such conduct! Now I seem to be sitting at my desk again, watching his eyes—meaningly watching his eyes.He was correcting arithmetic with a ruler for another victim whose hand was swollen from the same ruler and who was trying to wipe away the pain with a small handkerchief.I have a lot to do.I didn't just sit around and watch his gaze, I did it because I was morbidly attracted to it, and I wondered in horror what he was going to do next, whether it was my turn to suffer or someone else's.The row of schoolchildren in front of me watched his eyes with the same interest.I think he knows this too, though he pretends not to.It was terrible how he looked when he pointed at the arithmetic with the ruler; now he cast his eyes on our row, and we shivered and bowed our heads to the books.After a while we glanced at him again.An unfortunate prisoner, guilty of doing his homework badly, was ordered to come before him.The prisoner stammered for mercy and promised to do better tomorrow.Mr. Creeker told a joke before he hit him, and we all laughed--we all laughed like poor puppies, while we were all pale and scared out of our wits.

Now I seem to be sitting at my desk again.It was a drowsy summer afternoon, and there was a buzzing around me, and the students were like bluebottles.I feel the oiliness of lukewarm fat (the meal we had an hour or two ago) and my head sinks like a hunk of lead.I'd rather give up everything to sleep in another game.I sat there with my eyes fixed on Mr. Creeker, winking at him like a little owl; and for a moment I was overwhelmed by the Sandman, and in my sleep I still vaguely saw him pointing to his arithmetic with a ruler; I was dazed until he came softly behind me and left a red welt on my back to wake me up so I could see him better.

I seemed to be on the playground again, still fascinated by him, even though I couldn't see him at all.I looked at that window because I knew he was behind it and that window represented him.If his face was shown by the window, I immediately put on an expression of wretched resignation.If he looked out of the window, even the most daring student (except Steerforth) would stop screaming and pretend to be quiet.One day Traddles (the most unlucky student in the world) accidentally smashed the window with a ball.I still shudder at the thought of it now, and it seems to me that the ball hit Mr. Creeker's holy head.

Poor Traddles!He was the happiest of the students, with arms and legs that looked like sausages or pudding rolls in his narrow sky-blue suit.He was always caned--I think he was caned every day during that half-year, except one Monday, which was a holiday, when he had only two palms with a ruler--he always Wanted to write to his uncle about it, but never did.He rested his head on the desk.After a while, he became happy again, and before the tears dried, he had already painted skeletons all over the slate.At first I wondered: what comfort could Traddles get from painting these skulls?For a while, I regarded him as a man of self-cultivation, thinking that he used those symbols of death to remind himself that beatings would not last forever.But now I believe he did that only because skulls are easy to draw and they all look the same.

But he, Traddles, was a decent man; he always believed in the sacred duty of fellow students to help one another.He suffered several times for this; and once in church Steerforth laughed so much that the deacon, thinking it was Traddles, led him out.I now seem to see him being led out again, despised by the congregation.Although he was very sad about it the next day, and was locked up in the church yard for so many hours (he came out with a Latin dictionary full of skulls), he just didn't say who the real troublemakers.But he was rewarded: Steerforth said that there was nothing insidious in Traddles' mind, and we all took it as the highest compliment.For my part, I would have suffered all kinds of hardships (though I was far less courageous than Traddles's, and still less experienced than his), if I could get this reward.

One of the great sights I've ever seen in my life is to see Steerforth and Miss Creeker side by side, arm in arm, ahead of us on the way to church.I don't think Miss Creeker is as beautiful as Emily, nor do I love her (I dare not), but I believe she is a young lady of extraordinary attractiveness, which no one can Outshine her in style.When Steerforth, in his white trousers, held her parasol, I was proud to have known him; and I was convinced she could only adore him with all her heart.Mr. Sharp and Mr. Meyer are great men to me, but Steerforth is to them what the sun is to two stars.

Steerforth was a constant protector of me, and was a very useful friend; for no one dared offend anyone he liked.He couldn't—or he didn't, anyway—protect me from Mr. Creeker, who was very hard on me.Whenever I had been treated worse than usual, Steerforth said I lacked his courage, and that he would never bear it.I thought he was trying to encourage me by saying that, and took it as a kindness on his part.Mr. Creaker's harshness had an advantage too, the only one I know of, when he tried to hit me as he passed behind the bench I was sitting on and found the notice board in his way, and soon the notice board It was taken down and I never saw it again.

An accident which strengthened my friendship with Steerforth, gave me great pride and pride, though sometimes inconvenienced it.The thing is, once he was kind enough to stand on the playground and talk to me, I accidentally mentioned someone or something - now I forget what - as if in "Pelgreen Pickle" someone.He didn't say anything then, but at night when I went to bed he asked me if I had the book. I told him I hadn't, and explained how I had read that book, and mentioned some other books. "Do you remember them?" said Steerforth. "Oh, of course," I replied, I have a good memory, and I believe I remember them well. "Then I'll tell you, young Copperfield," said Steerforth, "tell me about the books. I don't go to bed very early at night, and wake up early in the morning. We read book by book. Talk. We can think of this as a daily 'Square talk'." This arrangement pleased me, and I have been carrying it out since that night.What injury I have done to my favorite authors in my telling I cannot tell, nor do I wish to know; To describe all that, this simple devotion lasted a long time in me. But the disadvantage was that I was sleepy at night, or unable to get up the energy to tell the story, and then the storytelling became a hard job, but I had to tell it, because there was no way to disappoint or displease Steerforth.Early in the morning, when I was listless and wanted to sleep another hour, it was a nuisance to be woken up like Princess Sheilazard to tell a long story before the wake-up bell rang.However, Steerforth insisted on it, and in return he gave me arithmetic and exercises, and everything that was difficult for me, so I was not at a disadvantage in the bargain.But, to be fair, I was not moved by selfish motives, nor by fear of him.I adore him, love him, and his approval is enough to reciprocate.Now, as I recall these trifles with aching heart, I feel how precious that approval was. -------- ① In "The Arabian Nights", the person who tells a story to save himself. Steerforth was considerate, too, and I doubt Traddles, or the others, were a little offended by this consideration, which he showed so desperately on one particular occasion.The letter Peggotty had promised to write--what a delightful letter it was! — came during the first few weeks of school; the letter came with a cake completely covered in oranges and two bottles of primrose.I laid the treasure at Steerforth's feet, as usual, and begged him to dispose of it. "Then I'll tell you what to do, young Copperfield," said he, "save the wine for your throat when you tell your stories." I blushed at the idea, and humbly begged him not to think so.But he said he had noticed that I had a hoarse voice at times - he used the phrase "a little squawk" - so every bit of the wine should be used for what he said.So the wine was locked in his case and he poured it into a carafe, telling me to take a sip from the reed in the cork every time he thought I needed to take care of it.Sometimes, to make it more effective, he kindly squeezed orange juice into it, and stirred in ginger, or dissolved mint in; though I cannot affirm that such experiments made the smell much better, or Let's just say it's the perfect potion for the stomach, but I drank it gratefully last thing every night and first thing in the morning, and felt deeply that he cared. I feel like we've been telling Pilgrim's story for months, and we've been telling other stories for months.I'm sure our group was never disappointed by not having a story, and the wine lasted almost as well as the story.Poor Traddles--just thinking of that student makes me feel strangely tempted to laugh and weep at the same time--in a word, he is a chorus all by himself; When the story mentioned some danger, he was terribly afraid again.This always makes me unable to speak.The funniest part is that I remember him pretending not to be able to help clicking his teeth whenever the important people involved in the adventures of Gil Blas were mentioned; When confronted by the bandit leader, the hapless buffoon assumed such terror that Mr. Creeker, who was surreptitiously patrolling the corridor, overheard him, and was given a severe beating on his back for disturbing the dormitories. . My romantic and dreamy moods were encouraged by so many stories told in the dark; and in this respect the errand was not very good for me.But since I have been regarded as the happy fruit of my dormitory, I also realized that although I am the youngest, because my story has been widely spread among my classmates, I have attracted a lot of attention to me, so this in turn motivates me to work hard. work hard.In a school governed solely by cruelty, whether the governing man is a jerk or not, nothing can be learned.I am convinced that the pupils in our school are as ignorant as those in other schools at that time; The same as doing things, students can't study hard.I was promoted by my petty vanity and by Steerforth's help; and though I was not less punished, I was an exception among my fellow students--I kept picking up bits and pieces of knowledge. . In this I was greatly helped by Mr Meyer, who liked me, and I remember it with gratitude, seeing Steerforth so tempted to speak ill of him, and almost never missing an opportunity of inciting others or himself to do so. It often pains me to hurt Mr. Mel.For a considerable time I was particularly distressed, for I told Steerforth shortly afterward that Mr. Meyer had taken me to see the two old ladies.I could no more hide such a secret from Steerforth than I could hide a pie or anything concrete from Steerforth.I have often been afraid that Steerforth would tell the story, or use it to mock Mr Meyer. I am sure that none of us, as I ate my breakfast that first morning and fell asleep to the sound of the flute in the shadow of peacock feathers, imagined what would happen if I were taken to the workhouse as an insignificant being. such consequences.The consequences of that visit were unpredictable and kind of harmful. One day Mr. Creeker did not show up because he was unwell, which certainly made the atmosphere light and cheerful, although the morning classes were still very noisy.The students were so happy with their liberation that they became uncontrollable; although the dreadful Tung came in two or three times with a wooden leg, and took down the name of the chief troublemaker, nothing happened. Because the students know that there will always be trouble tomorrow, so they think that it is undoubtedly the best policy to have fun. It was a half-holiday, to be exact, because it was a Saturday.As the noise in the playground disturbed Mr. Creeker, and the weather was not suitable for a walk, we were ordered to remain in the classroom that afternoon and to do the work which was designed for the situation and which required less effort than usual. much.It was also the day when Mr. Sharp went out to curl his wig every week, so Mr. Mel, who had always been a drudgery, ran the school. If I could associate a bull or a bear with anyone as docile as Mr. Mel.Then that afternoon, when the noise was at its loudest, I'd think of him as one of those two animals mobbed by a thousand dogs.I remember him leaning over his desk, resting his aching head on his bony hand, desperately trying to get on with his troubles amidst the din that would make the speaker of the House of Commons dizzy. work.The students ran up and down from their seats and played "competing for seats" together. This is a group of laughing students, singing students, talking students, jumping students, shouting students, these students circled around him, Grinting his teeth, making fun of him behind him or in front of him: his poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother, everything they noticed belonged to him, they made fun of. "Be quiet!" cried Mr. Mell, standing up, rapping his book on the table. "What does this mean! It's unbearable. It's driving you crazy. How can you do this to me, students?" The book he used to knock on the table was mine; I stood beside him and followed his gaze around the classroom. I saw the students stop, some suddenly startled, some a little awed, some perhaps I feel ashamed. Steerforth's seat was at the end of the room, just across the long room.He stood leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, laughing, and when Mr. Mel looked at him, he pursed his mouth like a whistle. "Be quiet, Mr Steerforth!" said Mr Meyer. "Be quiet yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. "Who are you talking to?" "Sit down," said Mr. Mel. "Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "mind your own business." There was a murmur of laughter and some applause, but Mr. Mell's face was so pale that it soon fell silent again; a student who had meant to spring up behind him to imitate his mother changed his mind and pretended to mend his pen. look. "If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Meyer, "I didn't know you had the power to manipulate the minds of anyone here."—he put his hands (I suppose) on my head—unconsciously— "Or, if you think that I can't see in a few minutes that you are driving those younger students to insult me ​​in various ways, then you are wrong." "I won't bother you," said Steerforth coldly, "so I haven't really done anything wrong." "You take advantage of your favored position here, sir," continued Mr. Mell, his lips trembling violently, "to insult a man of standing—" "A what?—where is he?" said Steerforth. "Shame on you, Jay Steerforth! It's too bad!" it was Cradle; Mr. Mell stopped him and told him to say nothing more. —"Insulting a man of ill fortune, sir, who has never offended you, you are old and wise enough to know many reasons why he should not be insulted," said Mr. Mell, his lips quivering still more. "You've done it vilely. You may sit or stand in your seat if you like, sir. Copperfield, read on. " "Little Copperfield," said Steerforth, going to this end of the room, "stop a moment, and I tell you the truth, Mr. Mel. You call me mean or mean, or something like that." You were a brazen beggar yourself when you said that. You've always been a beggar, and you knew it; but you were a brazen beggar when you said that." I still don't know whether he was going to hit Mr. Mell or Mr. Meyer was going to hit him, or both.I saw everyone froze as if turned to stone, and I also found Mr. Creakle among us, with Brother Tun beside him, and Mrs. and Miss Creakle standing in the doorway as if terrified. Look into the house.Mr. Meier sat motionless, with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. "Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creeker, shaking Mr. Mell's arm; Mr. Creakle's murmur was now audible enough that Tung felt no need to repeat it, "I hope, You haven't forgotten your identity, have you?" "No, sir, no," replied the instructor, showing his face, shaking his head and rubbing his hands in great unease, "no, sir, no. I remember who I am, and I--haven't, Kerry. Mr. Kerr, I haven't forgotten who I am, I—I've always remembered who I am, sir—I—I wish you had remembered who I was, Mr. Creaker. —that—it would be kinder too, sir, more just, sir. That would always save me something, sir." Mr. Creeker, looking sternly at Mr. Mell, sat down at the table with one hand on Tungo's shoulder, and put his feet on the bench beside it.He sat on the throne and looked at Mr. Mell, who was still shaking his head and rubbing his hands in extreme agitation.Then, turning to Steerforth, Mr Creeker said: "Well, sir, if he doesn't bother to tell me, what's the matter?" Steerforth evaded the question for a moment without answering, but looked at his opponent with contempt and anger and remained silent.I remember, just in that situation, that I couldn't help thinking what a gentleman he looked like, and how mediocre Mr. Mel was compared to him. "Then what does he mean by favor?" said Steerforth at last. "Favoured?" Creeker repeated, and the veins on his forehead immediately popped up. "Who says you are favored?" "He said it," said Steerforth. "Please tell me what you mean by that, sir?" asked Mr. Creeker, turning angrily to his assistant. "I mean, Mr. Creeker," he replied in a low voice, "as I say: no student can take advantage of his favored position to insult me." "To insult you?" said Mr. Creeker. "My God! But please allow me to ask you, what is your surname?" hugged him to his chest, and knit his brows so hard that those small eyes almost disappeared; "When you talk about favors, should you also take into account your respect for me? Well, sir," said Mr. Creeker, stretching his head towards Mr. Mell and then withdrawing it immediately, "the head of the school here is also your employer." "That was inappropriate, sir, I admit with all my heart," said Mr. Meyer. "I would not have said it if I had had my level head." At this moment Steerforth intervened. "At that time, he still said I was mean and mean, so I called him a beggar. If I had a cool head, I would not have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am willing to bear all the consequences." Maybe I didn't consider whether there would be any consequences to bear. At that time, I felt that these words were too dignified.This remark had an effect on the other students as well, for there was a little excitement among them, although no one said anything. "I am astonished, Steerforth—though your confession is admirable," said Mr. Creeker, "admirable, of course—I am astonished, Steerforth, I must say, Steerforth, you would put such a nickname on anyone employed by the Salem School, sir." Steerforth laughed. "That is not an answer to what I have said," said Mr. Creeker. "I look forward to hearing more from you, Steerforth." If Mr. Mel seemed to me mediocre in the presence of the handsome student, Mr. Creeker was indescribably vulgar. "Let him deny it," said Steerforth. "Denying that he's a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Creeker. "What's the matter? Where did he beg?" "If he isn't a beggar himself, and a close relative of him is," said Steerforth, "it's the same." He glanced at me, and Mr. Mel patted me on the shoulder.I was ashamed, and my face was hot, and I looked up, but Mr. Mel was staring at Steerforth.He continued to pat me on the shoulder, but his eyes were on Steerforth. "Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth, "and say what I mean--I must say this: his mother lived in the workhouse living on handouts." Mr. Mel was still looking at him, still patting me on the shoulder.If I heard me right, he murmured to himself, "Yes, I have thought of that." Mr. Creeker turned to his assistant, frowning gravely, in a desperate effort to appear polite. "Well, you heard what this gentleman said, Mr. Mel. Please correct him in front of all the students anyway." "He's right, sir, and needs no correction," replied Mr. Mell in the dead silence. "He's telling the truth." "Then, please announce it publicly," said Mr. Creeker, tilting his head to one side, and turning his eyes to all the students, "did I know nothing about it before this?" "I'm sure you didn't know directly," he replied. "Well, you said I didn't know," said Creeker, "did you, you say?" "I'm sure you never thought my situation was very good," replied his assistant. "You know what my position with you has been and is." "If you say that, I'm sure," said Mr. Creeker, the veins on his brow swollen thicker than ever, "that you're in a totally inappropriate place here, and you're mistaking it for a charity school. Mister Mel, please let us part. The sooner the better." "It's never been better," said Mr. Mel, rising. "Go ahead, sir!" said Mr. Creeker. "I bid you farewell, Mr. Creeker, and all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing around the room, and again patting me lightly on the shoulder. "James Steerforth, I wish nothing more than this for you: that one day you will be ashamed of what you have done today. At this moment I would never think of you as my friend, nor as A friend to anyone I care about." He put his hand on my shoulder again, then took out the flute and some books from his desk, left the key in the desk for his successor, and walked out of the school with those possessions under his arm.Mr. Creeker then delivered a speech through Tungo in which he thanked Steerforth for preserving (perhaps too strongly) the independence and dignity of Salem School; Steerforth closed the speech with a handshake, and we applauded three times—I don't know why, but I guess it was for Steerforth, and I joined in the applause enthusiastically, though I was still sad .Mr. Creeker then beat him up for finding Traddles crying instead of applauding for Mr. Mell's departure.And then Mr. Creeker went back to his couch, or bed, or whatever else he'd been on. Now, we were the only students left there, and I remember we looked at each other blankly.My own guilt and remorse in connection with what has just happened, I should have wept, too, had it not been for the fear that Steerforth, who looked at me from time to time, would say that I was not friendly; but I expressed my pain. Finally, he will be very upset, I have to hold back.He was very angry with Traddles, and said he was happy that Traddles had been beaten. Poor Traddles had given up resting his head on the table, and now he was doing what he usually did when he gave himself away--drawing a lot of skeletons.He said he didn't care about himself and that Mr Meyer had been treated unfairly. "Who treated him unfairly? You little girl?" said Steerforth. "Of course you are," replied Traddles. "What have I done?" said Steerforth. "What did you do?" retorted Traddles, "hurt him, and take his place." "His feelings!" repeated Steerforth contemptuously. "It won't take long for him to recover, I can assure you. His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. As for his position-- That's a big deal, isn't it?—don't you think I won't write to ask the family to send him some money, girl?" We think Steerforth is noble in thinking so.His mother was a wealthy widow, and it was said that she did almost anything he asked of her.We were all delighted to see Traddles so countered, and spoke highly of Steerforth, especially when he had the audacity to tell us that it was done for us and for our good; In doing so, we have been greatly favored. But I must say that more than once that night, while I was telling stories in the dark, Mr. Mell's flute seemed to me to ring dismally in my ears; Where the flute is being sounded so mournfully, I am terribly distressed. I soon forgot Mr. Meyer because I was drawn to Steerforth.Steerforth did some of his lessons until the new teacher was found, Steerforth didn't even need the books, it was all light play (I think he remembered everything), the new teacher was from a Latin school , before taking office, was introduced to Steerforth during a meal in the living room one day.Steerforth spoke highly of him.Said to us he was a "brick".Although I don't know what kind of a degree it is, I respect him very much for it; and though he never did anything for me—not that I was much of a man—as Mr. Meyer did, I respect his Higher learning never had the slightest doubt. In the daily life of those six months, there is only one other incident that left an impression on me that I have never forgotten.I can't forget it for many reasons. One afternoon, we were all scrambled to the point of bewilderment, and Mr. Creeker was punching all around.At this moment, Brother Tun came in and shouted in his usual rough voice: "Someone is looking for Copperfield!" "Who are they, and what room are they taking them to?" He exchanged some words with Mr. Creeker on this; and then—as was the custom—when my name was called I rose and shuddered. ——I was told to go down the back stairs to change into clean clothes before going to the dining room.I carried out this order with a nervousness never felt in my young age, and when I reached the drawing-room door it occurred to me that perhaps it was my mother who had come - until then I had always thought it was Mr Murdstone and Mrs. Mademoiselle—I withdrew my hand and stopped crying for a moment before opening the door. At first, I didn't see anyone, but felt a push behind the door.I looked behind the door, and was surprised to see Mr. Peggotty and Ham.They stood against the wall and tipped their hats to me.I couldn't help laughing, but I laughed more because I was happy seeing them than just being amused by the way they acted.We shook hands affectionately; I laughed and laughed until I got out my little handkerchief to wipe my eyes. Mr. Peggotty (whose mouth was never shut during that visit, I remember) showed great interest in seeing me do that, and pushed Ham with his arms, to make the latter say something. "Be happy, Master Wei!" said Ham, in his silly way, "My God, you've grown so much!" "Have I grown?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.I don't know exactly why I cry, but I cry when I see old friends. "Has it grown, Master Wei? Hasn't he grown?" Ham said. "It's not growing!" said Mr. Peggotty. They laughed at each other, which made me laugh again.So we laughed again, until I was about to cry again. "Do you know how mother is, Mr. Peggotty?" I said. "And my dear, dear old Peggotty?" "Very well," said Mr. Peggotty. "Where's little Emily? And Mrs. Gummidge?" "Very well," said Mr. Peggotty. Everyone fell silent.To break the silence, Mr. Peggotty drew from his pocket two very large lobsters, a gigantic crab, and a large canvas bag of prawns, which he heaped into Ham's bosom. "You see," said Mr. Peggotty, "when you lived with us I knew you liked this little seafood, so we took the liberty of bringing these. The old mother made them, and she It's Mrs. Gummidge's. That's right." Mr. Peggotty said slowly, and I thought he might not be ready to say anything else to stick to the subject. "Mrs. Gummidge, I can assure you. , she cooked these." I thank you.于是，皮果提先生看了看不好意思在傻笑的汉姆一眼，也没帮他什么就又说道： “我们是，你知道，风平浪静地乘一只雅茅斯的帆船到格雷夫森德的。我妹妹把这个地方的地名写给了我，并写信给我说，如果我来格雷夫森德，一定要来找卫少爷，替她卑谦地请安，并转告一家人都非常好。小爱米丽，你知道，我一回去她就会写信给我妹妹，告诉她我见了你，你非常好，这样我们做了一个兜圈子的游戏。” 我想了想，才明白皮果提用这个比喻来指消息将传一个圈。于是，我很诚挚地感谢他。我还说，我相信小爱米丽也和我们当时在海滩上拾贝壳石子时相比有些变化了；说这话时，我觉得我脸都红了。 “她要变成一个大人了，她就要变成那样了，”皮果提先生说，“问他吧。” 他指的是汉姆。汉姆对一大袋的小虾笑咪咪地表示此乃事实。 “她漂亮的脸蛋哟！”皮果提先生说着，他的脸也像灯一样亮亮的了。 “她的学问哟！”汉姆说道。 “她写的字哟！”皮果提先生说，“天哪，那字一个个黑得像玉！一个个那么大，不管在哪你都能看清它。” 看到皮果提先生怀着那种热情提到他宠爱的人时真让人愉快。他仿佛又站在我面前了，他那毛乎乎的大脸上洋溢着快乐的爱心和骄傲而发光，我没法形容这一切。他诚实的眼睛冒着火花而亮闪闪的，好像它们的深处被什么灿烂的东西撩动着。他宽广的胸膛因为高兴而一起一伏。由于热诚，他两只有力的大手握在一起，为了加重他说的，他又挥动着右臂（在我这个小人儿看来，那就像把大锤子）。 汉姆和他一样热诚。要不是斯梯福兹冷不丁地进了屋而使他们不好意思，我敢说他俩还会说许多关于小爱米丽的话。见我站在屋角和生人说着话，斯梯福兹本正在唱歌也不唱了，并说：“我不知道你们在这儿，小科波菲尔！”（因为一般这不是做会客室用的）于是他就从我们身旁经过往外面走。 我不能确定，当时是因为有一个斯梯福兹这样的朋友自豪，还是迫切想解释我如何有皮果提先生这样的朋友，反正在他往外走时我叫住了他。天哪，过了这么久，我还记得那么清楚——我礼貌有加地对他说： “不要走，斯梯福兹，对不起。这两位是雅茅斯的船家——非常善良的好人——他们是我保姆的亲戚，从格雷夫森德来看我的。” “哦，哦！”斯梯福兹转过身说，“很高兴能见到他们。你们二位好。” 他举止里有种潇洒，那是快乐优雅的举止而不是傲慢，我仍然相信他举止中还有种魅力。由于他的这种举止，由于他旺盛的活力，他悦耳的声音，他英俊的脸和好看的身材，还有他与生俱来的吸引力（我想很少人有这种吸引力），他有一种魅力，我相信；而人的天性中的弱点正是向这种魅力屈服。没什么人能抗拒这种魅力。所以，我看到他俩多么高兴能和他在一起，而且很快就对他敞开了心怀。 “请你一定让她们在家里的知道，皮果提先生，”我说，“在信上告诉她们说斯梯福兹先生对我很好，如果没有他，我在这里真不知道该怎么办呢。” “胡说！”斯梯福兹笑着说，“千万别告诉她们这种事。” “如果斯梯福兹先生到了诺弗克或萨弗克，皮果提先生，”我说，“只要我在那地方，你放心好了，我一定带他去雅茅斯看你的那所房子，只要他愿意去。斯梯福兹，你决不曾看过那样好的房子。那是用一条真正的船做的！” “用一条船做的，真的？”斯梯福兹说，“对这样地地道道的船家来说，那真是再好不过的房子了。” “是这样的，先生，是这样的，先生，”汉姆咧嘴笑着说，“你说对了，年轻的先生。卫少爷，先生说得对，地地道道的船家！嗬嗬，他也真地地道道呀！” 皮果提先生的高兴劲不下于他的侄子的，不过出于谦虚他没这么大叫大嚷地表示出来罢了。 “好吧，先生，”他鞠了一躬，边笑着把领巾往怀里掖边说，“谢谢你，先生。谢谢你！在我们那一行里，我是卖力干的，先生。” “最棒的人也不过如此了。皮果提先生，”斯梯福兹说。他已经知道他的姓了。 “我敢说，你自己也是这样的人，先生，”皮果提摇摇头说，“你干得真好——好极了！谢谢你，先生，我感谢你对我们的热情。我是个粗人，先生，可我直爽——至少，我希望我直爽，你明白。我的房子没什么好看的，先生，不过如果你和卫少爷一起来看它的话，那完全可以由你支配。我真是一只卧妞，是的，”皮果提先生想说的是蜗牛，比喻他走得很慢，因为他每次说完一句话就想走，却不知怎么地又回来了，“不过，我巴不得你俩都好，我巴不得你俩都快乐！” 汉姆应了那句客气话，于是我们用最热情的方式和他们分手了。那天晚上，我差点忍不住要向斯梯福兹谈起漂亮的小爱米丽，可我太不好意思去提到她的名字，也怕遭他讥笑。我记得，我很不安地把皮果提先生那句“她要变成一个大人了”想了好久，不过我最后断定那话是没什么意思的。 我们乘人不注意，把那些介类，或像皮果提先生那么谦虚地称作“海味”的东西转运进寝室，那天晚上大吃了一顿。可是特拉德尔没福气消受，他太不幸了，连和别人一样平安吃下这顿晚饭都不成。半夜他病了——他太软弱了——病因是螃蟹；吃下黑药水和蓝药丸后（据父亲行医的丹普尔说那药力足以破坏一匹马的体力），他又挨了一顿棍子并被罚背六章希腊文圣经，因为他不肯招供。 那半年的其它日子在我记忆中是一片混沌，只记得是日复一日为我们的小命挣扎努力；夏天逝去，季节转换，严寒的早晨，我们被铃声唤起床；夜晚，在那清冷清冷的气息中我们就寝；晚上的教室灯光黯淡，炉火无温，早上的教室则像一个巨大的颤抖着的机器，总是那样依次变来变去的炖牛肉和烤牛肉，炖羊肉和烤羊肉；一块块的黄油面包；卷了角的课本，开了裂的石板，泪水打湿了的抄本，挨棍子，挨界尺，剪头发，下雨的星期天，板油夹的布丁，还有无处不在的那脏兮兮的墨迹。 可我记得很清楚，经过一段好长的日子后，放假的日子不再是一个固定的小黑点而是一点点朝我们走近，变得越来越大。我们先计算月份，继而计算星期，再而计算日子；我于是怕会不让我回家。当我听斯梯福兹说已来通知让我回家了。我又怀上一种在动身前摔断腿的朦胧不安。终于，放假的日子由下下个星期而下星期，又由后天而明天而今天而今晚。那天晚上，我上了雅茅斯的邮车，我回家去了。 在雅茅斯的邮车里，我时睡时醒，并做了许多关于这一切的梦。但每次醒来，窗外的地面已不是萨伦学校的操场了，耳边响起的也不是克里克尔先生对特拉德尔发出的声音，而是车夫吆喝马的声音呢。