Behold me, on the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, with a crape band round it, a black jacket, and stiff corduroy trousers!  Behold me so attired, and with my little worldly all in a small trunk, sitting, a lone, lorn child, in the post-chaise, journeying to London with Mr. Quinion!  Behold me at ten years old, a little labouring hind in Murdstone and Grinby’s warehouse on the waterside at Blackfriars!  It was a crazy old house with a wharf of its own, but rotting with dirt and age.  Their trade was among many kinds of people, chiefly supplying wines and spirits to certain packet ships.  My work was pasting labels on full bottles, or fitting corks to them, or sealing the corks, and the work was not half so distasteful as were my companions, far below me in birth and education.  The oldest of the regular boys was named Mick Walker, and another boy in my department, on account of his complexion, was called Mealy Potatoes.  No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this companionship, and thought sadly of Traddles, Steerforth, and those other boys, whom I felt sure would grow up to be great men.

I lodged with a Mr. Micawber who lived in Windsor Terrace.  My pay at the warehouse was six shillings a week.  I provided my own breakfast and kept bread and cheese to eat at night.  Also, child that I was,—­sometimes I could not resist pastry cakes and puddings in the shop windows, all of which made a large hole in my six shillings.  From Monday to Saturday I had no advice, no encouragement or help of any kind.  I worked with common men and boys, a shabby child.  I lounged about the streets, insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed.  But for the mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a little robber or a little vagabond.  Yet they were kind to me at the warehouse and that I suffered and was miserably unhappy, no one noticed.  I concealed the fact even from Peggotty (partly for love of her, and partly for shame).

I did my work not unskilfully, and though perfectly familiar with my companions, my conduct and manner placed a space between us and I was usually spoken of as the “little Gent.”  In my desolate condition, I became really attached to the Micawbers, and when they experienced reverses of fortune, and Mr. Micawber was carried off to the Debtors’ Prison, I did all that I could for them, and remained with Mrs. Micawber in lodgings near the prison.  But I plainly saw that a parting was near at hand, as it was the Micawbers’ intention to leave London as soon as Mr. Micawber could free himself.  So keen was my dread of lodging with new people, added to the misery of my daily life at the warehouse, that I could not endure the thought, and finally I made a resolution.  I would run away!