nager, dressed in a shabby little white hat with black
crape round it for my mother, a black jacket, and hard, stiff corduroy
trousers, a little fellow of ten years old, to fight my own battles with
the world!

My place, I found, was one of the lowest in the firm of Murdstone &
Grinby, with boys of no education and in quite an inferior station to
myself--my duties were to wash the bottles, stick on labels, and so on.
I was utterly miserable at being degraded in this way, when I thought of
my former companions, Steerforth and Traddles, and my hopes of becoming
a learned and famous man, and shed bitter tears, as I feared I would
forget all I had learnt at school. My lodging, one bare little room, was
in the house of some people named Micawber, shiftless, careless,
good-natured people, who were always in debt and difficulties. I felt
great pity for their misfortunes and did what I could to help poor Mrs.
Micawber to sell her books and other little things she could spare, to
buy food for herself, her husband, and their four children. I was too
young and childish to know how to provide properly for myself, and often
found I was obliged to live on bread and slices of cold pudding at the
end of the week. If I had not been a very innocent-minded, good little
boy, I might easily have fallen into bad ways at this time. But God took
care of me and kept me from harm. I would not even tell Peggotty how
miserable I was, for fear of distressing her.

The troubles of the Micawbers increased more and more, until at last
they were obliged to leave London. I was very sad at this, for I had
been with them so long that I felt they were my friends, and the
prospect of being once more utterly alone and having to find a lodging
with strangers, made me so unhappy that I determined to endure this sort
of life no longer. The last Sunday the Micawbers were in town I dined
with them. I had bought a spotted horse for their little boy and a doll
for the little girl, and had saved up a shilling for the poor
servant-girl. After I had seen them off the next morning by the coach, I
wrote to Peggotty to ask her if she knew where my aunt, Miss Betsy
Trotwood, lived, and to borrow half-a-guinea; for I had resolved to run
away from Murdstone & Grinby's, and go to this aunt and tell her my
story. I remembered my mother telling me of her visit when I was a baby,
and that she fancied Miss Betsy had stroked her hair gently, and this
gave me courage to appeal to