“What does that mean?” I asked him.  He smiled and patted me on the head in reply, but somehow I didn’t like him, and I shrank away, jealous that his hand should touch my mother’s in touching me—­although my mother’s gentle chiding made me ashamed of the involuntary motion, and of my dislike for this new friend of hers, but from chance words which I heard Peggotty utter, I knew that she too felt as I did.

From that time the gentleman with black whiskers, Mr. Murdstone by name, was at our house constantly, and gradually I became used to seeing him, but I liked him no better than at first.  The sight of him filled me with a fear that something was going to happen, and time proved that I was right in my apprehension.  One night when my mother, as usual, was out, Peggotty asked me,

“Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a fortnight at my brother’s at Yarmouth?  Wouldn’t that be a treat?”

“Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?” I inquired, provisionally.

“Oh what an agreeable man he is!” cried Peggotty, holding up her hands.  “Then there’s the sea; and the boats; and the fishermen; and the beach; and ’Am to play with——­”

Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.

I was flushed with her summary of delights, and replied that it would indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?

But Peggotty was sure that I would be allowed to go, and so it proved.  My mother did not seem nearly so much surprised as I expected, and arranged at once for my visit.

The day soon came for our going.  I was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid that an earthquake might stop the expedition, but soon after breakfast we set off, in a carrier’s cart, and the carrier’s lazy horse shuffled along, carrying us towards Yarmouth.  We had a fine basket of refreshments, and we ate a good deal, and slept a good deal, and finally arrived in Yarmouth, where at the public-house we found Ham waiting for us.  He was a huge, strong fellow of six feet, with a simpering boy’s face and curly light hair, and he insisted on carrying me on his back, as well as a small box of ours under his arm.  We turned down lanes, and went past gas-works, boat-builders’ yards, and riggers’ lofts, and presently Ham said,

“Yon’s our house, Mas’r Davy!”

I looked over the wilderness, and away at the sea, and away at the river, but no house could I make out.  There was a black barge not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel for a chimney, and smoking very cosily.

“That’s not it?” said I.  “That ship-looking thing?”

“That’s it, Mas’r Davy,” returned Ham.