As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great knife.  I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother had often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.

“Go away!” said Miss Betsey, shaking her head.  “Go along!  No boys here!”

I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.

“If you please, ma’am—­if you please, aunt, I am your nephew.”

“Oh, Lord!” said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.

“I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came when I was born.  I have been very unhappy since my mother died.  I have been taught nothing and put to work not fit for me.  It made me run away to you, and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since I began the journey.”

Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of crying.

Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me into the parlour.

The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles down my throat.  I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing.  Then she put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking, grey-headed gentleman, whom she called “Mr. Dick,” heated a bath for me.  After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick, tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.

That was the beginning of my aunt’s adoption of me.  She wrote to Mr. Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were routed by my aunt.

Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally, and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut against me henceforth.

“And what does the boy say?” said my aunt.  “Are you ready to go, David?”

I answered “No,” and entreated her not to let me go.  I begged and prayed my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father’s sake.

“Mr. Dick,” said my aunt, “what shall I do with this child?”

Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, “Have him measured for a suit of clothes directly!”

“Mr. Dick,” said my aunt, “give me your hand, for your commonsense is invaluable.”  She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, “You can go when you like; I’ll take my chance with the boy!”

When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood Copperfield.

Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about me.

My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer, Mr. Wickfield.