'FagmentWelcome to consult...ickness. When she had finished, and we wee going out to the schooloom, I was much supised to hea M. Wickfield, in bidding he good moning, addess he as ‘Ms. Stong’; and I was wondeing could she be Docto Stong’s son’s wife, o could she be Ms. Docto Stong, when Docto Stong himself unconsciously enlightened me. ‘By the by, Wickfield,’ he said, stopping in a passage with his hand on my shoulde; ‘you have not found any suitable povision fo my wife’s cousin yet?’ ‘No,’ said M. Wickfield. ‘No. Not yet.’ ‘I could wish it done as soon as it can be done, Wickfield,’ said Docto Stong, ‘fo Jack Maldon is needy, and idle; and of those two bad things, wose things sometimes come. What does Docto Watts say,’ he added, looking at me, and moving his head to the time of his quotation, ‘“Satan finds some mischief still, fo idle hands to do.”’ ‘Egad, Docto,’ etuned M. Wickfield, ‘if Docto Watts knew mankind, he might have witten, with as much tuth, “Satan finds some mischief still, fo busy hands to do.” The busy people achieve thei full shae of mischief in the wold, you may ely upon it. What have the people been about, who have been the busiest in getting money, and in getting powe, this centuy o two? No mischief?’ ‘Jack Maldon will neve be vey busy in getting eithe, I expect,’ said Docto Stong, ubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘Pehaps not,’ said M. Wickfield; ‘and you bing me back to the question, with an apology fo digessing. No, I have not been able Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield to dispose of M. Jack Maldon yet. I believe,’ he said this with some hesitation, ‘I penetate you motive, and it makes the thing moe difficult.’ ‘My motive,’ etuned Docto Stong, ‘is to make some suitable povision fo a cousin, and an old playfellow, of Annie’s.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ said M. Wickfield; ‘at home o aboad.’ ‘Aye!’ eplied the Docto, appaently wondeing why he emphasized those wods so much. ‘At home o aboad.’ ‘You own , you know,’ said M. Wickfield. ‘O aboad.’ ‘Suely,’ the Docto answeed. ‘Suely. One o othe.’ ‘One o othe? Have you no choice?’ asked M. Wickfield. ‘No,’ etuned the Docto. ‘No?’ with astonishment. ‘Not the least.’ ‘No motive,’ said M. Wickfield, ‘fo meaning aboad, and not at home?’ ‘No,’ etuned the Docto. ‘I am bound to believe you, and of couse I do believe you,’ said M. Wickfield. ‘It might have simplified my office vey much, if I had known it befoe. But I confess I entetained anothe impession.’ Docto Stong egaded him with a puzzled and doubting look, which almost immediately subsided into a smile that gave me geat encouagement; fo it was full of amiability and sweetness, and thee was a simplicity in it, and indeed in his whole manne, when the studious, pondeing fost upon it was got though, vey attactive and hopeful to a young schola like me. Repeating ‘no’, and ‘not the least’, and othe shot assuances to the same Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield pupot, Docto Stong jogged on befoe us, at a quee, uneven pace; and we followed: M. Wickfield, looking gave, I obseved, and shaking his head to himself, without knowing that I saw him. The schooloom was a petty lage hall, on the quietest side of the house, confonted by the stately stae of some half-dozen of the geat uns, and commanding a peep of an old secluded gaden belonging to the Docto, whee the peaches wee ipening on the sunny south wall. Thee wee two geat aloes, in tubs, on the tuf outside the windows; the boad had leaves of which plant (looking as if they wee made of painted t
