’twill be, and better so. The last you see on him—the very last—will you give him the lovingest duty and thanks of the orphan as he was ever more than a father to?”
This I also promised, faithfully.
“I thank’ee again, Sir,” he said, heartily shaking hands. “I know wheer you’re a-going. Good-bye!”
With a slight wave of his hand, as though to explain to me that he could not enter the old place, he turned away. As I looked after his figure, crossing the waste in the moonlight, I saw him turn his face towards a strip of silvery light upon the sea, and pass on, looking at it, until he was a shadow in the distance.
The door of the boat-house stood open when I approached; and, on entering, I found it emptied of all its furniture, saving one of the old lockers, on which Mrs. Gummidge, with a basket on her knee, was seated, looking at Mr. Peggotty. He leaned his elbow on the rough chimney-piece, and gazed upon a few expiring embers in the grate; but he raised his head, hopefully, on my coming in, and spoke in a cheery manner.
“Come, according to promise, to bid farewell to’t, eh, Mas’r Davy?” he said, taking up the candle. “Bare enough now, an’t it?”
“Indeed you have made good use of the time,” said I.
“Why we have not been idle, Sir. Missis Gummidge has worked like a—I doen’t know what Missis Gummidge an’t worked like,” said Mr. Peggotty, looking at her, at a loss for a sufficiently approving simile.
Mrs. Gummidge, leaning on her basket, made no observation.
“Theer’s the very locker that you used to sit on, ’long with Em’ly!” said Mr. Peggotty, in a whisper. “I’m a-going to carry it away with me, last of all. And heer’s your old little bedroom, see, Mas’r Davy! A’most as bleak to-night as ’art could wish!”
In truth, the wind, though it was low, had a solemn sound, and crept around the deserted house with a whispered wailing that was very mournful. Everything was gone, down to the little mirror with the oyster- shell frame. I thought of myself, lying here, when that first great change was being wrought at home. I thought of the blue-eyed child who had enchanted me. I thought of Steerforth: and a foolish, fearful fancy came upon me of his being near at hand, and liable to be met at any turn.
“ ’Tis like to be long,” said Mr. Peggotty, in a low voice, “afore the boat finds new tenants. They look upon’t, down heer, as being unfort’nate now!”
“Does it belong to anybody in the neighbourhood?” I asked.
“To a mast-maker up town,” said Mr. Peggotty. “I’m a-going to give the key to him to-night.”
We looked into the other little room, and came back to Mrs. Gummidge, sitting on the locker, whom Mr. Peggotty, putting the light on the chimney-piece, requested to rise, that he might carry it outside the door before extinguishing the candle.
“Dan’l,” said Mrs. Gummidge, suddenly deserting her basket, and clinging to his arm, “my dear Dan’l, the parting words I speak in this house is, I mustn’t be left behind. Doen’t ye think of leaving me behind, Dan’l! Oh, doen’t ye ever do it!”
Mr. Peggotty, taken aback, looked from Mrs. Gummidge to me, and from me to Mrs. Gummidge, as if he had been awakened from a sleep.