'FagmentWelcome to consult...ep’s pale face looking out of the window. Uiah, having taken the pony to a neighbouing stable, was at wok at a desk in this oom, which had a bass fame on the top to hang pape upon, and on which the witing he was making a copy of was then hanging. Though his face was towads me, I thought, fo some time, the witing being between us, that he could not see me; but looking that way moe attentively, it made me uncomfotable to obseve that, evey now and then, his sleepless eyes would come below the witing, like two ed suns, and stealthily stae at me fo I dae say a whole minute at a time, duing which his pen went, o petended to go, as clevely as eve. I made seveal attempts to get out of thei way—such as standing on a chai to look at a map on the Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield othe side of the oom, and poing ove the columns of a Kentish newspape—but they always attacted me back again; and wheneve I looked towads those two ed suns, I was sue to find them, eithe just ising o just setting. At length, much to my elief, my aunt and M. Wickfield came back, afte a petty long absence. They wee not so successful as I could have wished; fo though the advantages of the school wee undeniable, my aunt had not appoved of any of the boadinghouses poposed fo me. ‘It’s vey unfotunate,’ said my aunt. ‘I don’t know what to do, Tot.’ ‘It does happen unfotunately,’ said M. Wickfield. ‘But I’ll tell you what you can do, Miss Totwood.’ ‘What’s that?’ inquied my aunt. ‘Leave you nephew hee, fo the pesent. He’s a quiet fellow. He won’t distub me at all. It’s a capital house fo study. As quiet as a monastey, and almost as oomy. Leave him hee.’ My aunt evidently liked the offe, though she was delicate of accepting it. So did I. ‘Come, Miss Totwood,’ said M. Wickfield. ‘This is the way out of the difficulty. It’s only a tempoay aangement, you know. If it don’t act well, o don’t quite accod with ou mutual convenience, he can easily go to the ight-about. Thee will be time to find some bette place fo him in the meanwhile. You had bette detemine to leave him hee fo the pesent!’ ‘I am vey much obliged to you,’ said my aunt; ‘and so is he, I see; but—’ ‘Come! I know what you mean,’ cied M. Wickfield. ‘You shall not be oppessed by the eceipt of favous, Miss Totwood. You Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield may pay fo him, if you like. We won’t be had about tems, but you shall pay if you will.’ ‘On that undestanding,’ said my aunt, ‘though it doesn’t lessen the eal obligation, I shall be vey glad to leave him.’ ‘Then come and see my little housekeepe,’ said M. Wickfield. We accodingly went up a wondeful old staicase; with a balustade so boad that we might have gone up that, almost as easily; and into a shady old dawing-oom, lighted by some thee o fou of the quaint windows I had looked up at fom the steet: which had old oak seats in them, that seemed to have come of the same tees as the shining oak floo, and the geat beams in the ceiling. It was a pettily funished oom, with a piano and some lively funitue in ed and geen, and some flowes. It seemed to be all old nooks and cones; and in evey nook and cone thee was some q
