" What are you doing here? " asked my Guardian.
" Trying to learn myself to read and write," said Krook.
" And how do you get on? "
" Slow. Bad," returned the old man, impatiently. " It's hard at my time of life."
" It would be easier to be taught by some one," said my Guardian.
" Aye, but they might teach me wrong ! " returned the old man, with a wonderfully suspicious flash of his eye. "I don't know what I may have lost, by not being learnd afore. I wouldn't like to lose anything by being learnd wrong now."
" Wrong ? " said my Guardian, with. his good-humoured smile. " Who do you suppose would teach you wrong ? "
" I don't know, Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House ! " replied the old man, turning up his spectacles on his forehead, and rubbing his hands. " I don't suppose as anybody would—but I'd rather trust my own self than another ! "
These answers, and his manner, were strange enough to cause my Guardian to enquire of Mr. Woodcourt, as we all walked across Lincoln's Inn together, whether Mr. Krook were really, as his lodger represented him, deranged? The young surgeon replied, no, he had seen no reason to think so. He was exceedingly distrustful, as ignorance usually was, and he was always more or less under the influence of raw gin : of which he drank great quantities, and of which he and his back-shop, as we might have observed, smelt strongly; but he did not think him mad, as yet.
On our way home, I so conciliated Peepy's affections by buying him a windmill and two flour-sacks, that he would suffer nobody else to take off his hat and gloves, and would sit nowhere at dinner but at my side. Caddy sat upon the other side of me, next to Ada, to whom we imparted the whole history of the engagement as soon as we got back. We made much of Caddy, and Peepy too; and Caddy brightened exceedingly ; and my Guardian was as merry as we were ; and we were all very happy indeed ; until Caddy went home at night in a hackney-coach, with Peepy fast asleep, but holding tight to the windmill.
I have forgotten to mention—at least I have not mentioned—that Mr. Woodcourt was the same dark young surgeon whom we had met at Mr. Badger's. Or, that Mr. Jarndyce invited him to dinner that day. Or, that he came. Or, that when they were all gone, and I said to Ada, " Now, my darling, let us have a little talk about Richard ! " Ada laughed and said
But, I don't think it matters what my darling said. She was always merry.
