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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 76/820
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‘
Isn
’
t
what
a
dog
?
’
‘
That
’
s
to
be
taken
care
of
,
sir
;
that
bites
.
’
‘
No
,
Copperfield
,
’
says
he
,
gravely
,
‘
that
’
s
not
a
dog
.
That
’
s
a
boy
.
My
instructions
are
,
Copperfield
,
to
put
this
placard
on
your
back
.
I
am
sorry
to
make
such
a
beginning
with
you
,
but
I
must
do
it
.
’
With
that
he
took
me
down
,
and
tied
the
placard
,
which
was
neatly
constructed
for
the
purpose
,
on
my
shoulders
like
a
knapsack
;
and
wherever
I
went
,
afterwards
,
I
had
the
consolation
of
carrying
it
.
What
I
suffered
from
that
placard
,
nobody
can
imagine
.
Whether
it
was
possible
for
people
to
see
me
or
not
,
I
always
fancied
that
somebody
was
reading
it
.
It
was
no
relief
to
turn
round
and
find
nobody
;
for
wherever
my
back
was
,
there
I
imagined
somebody
always
to
be
.
That
cruel
man
with
the
wooden
leg
aggravated
my
sufferings
.
He
was
in
authority
;
and
if
he
ever
saw
me
leaning
against
a
tree
,
or
a
wall
,
or
the
house
,
he
roared
out
from
his
lodge
door
in
a
stupendous
voice
,
‘
Hallo
,
you
sir
!
You
Copperfield
!
Show
that
badge
conspicuous
,
or
I
’
ll
report
you
!
’
The
playground
was
a
bare
gravelled
yard
,
open
to
all
the
back
of
the
house
and
the
offices
;
and
I
knew
that
the
servants
read
it
,
and
the
butcher
read
it
,
and
the
baker
read
it
;
that
everybody
,
in
a
word
,
who
came
backwards
and
forwards
to
the
house
,
of
a
morning
when
I
was
ordered
to
walk
there
,
read
that
I
was
to
be
taken
care
of
,
for
I
bit
,
I
recollect
that
I
positively
began
to
have
a
dread
of
myself
,
as
a
kind
of
wild
boy
who
did
bite
.
There
was
an
old
door
in
this
playground
,
on
which
the
boys
had
a
custom
of
carving
their
names
.
It
was
completely
covered
with
such
inscriptions
.
In
my
dread
of
the
end
of
the
vacation
and
their
coming
back
,
I
could
not
read
a
boy
’
s
name
,
without
inquiring
in
what
tone
and
with
what
emphasis
HE
would
read
,
‘
Take
care
of
him
.
He
bites
.
’
There
was
one
boy
—
a
certain
J
.
Steerforth
—
who
cut
his
name
very
deep
and
very
often
,
who
,
I
conceived
,
would
read
it
in
a
rather
strong
voice
,
and
afterwards
pull
my
hair
.
There
was
another
boy
,
one
Tommy
Traddles
,
who
I
dreaded
would
make
game
of
it
,
and
pretend
to
be
dreadfully
frightened
of
me
.
There
was
a
third
,
George
Demple
,
who
I
fancied
would
sing
it
.
I
have
looked
,
a
little
shrinking
creature
,
at
that
door
,
until
the
owners
of
all
the
names
—
there
were
five
-
and
-
forty
of
them
in
the
school
then
,
Mr
.
Mell
said
—
seemed
to
send
me
to
Coventry
by
general
acclamation
,
and
to
cry
out
,
each
in
his
own
way
,
‘
Take
care
of
him
.
He
bites
!
’
It
was
the
same
with
the
places
at
the
desks
and
forms
.
It
was
the
same
with
the
groves
of
deserted
bedsteads
I
peeped
at
,
on
my
way
to
,
and
when
I
was
in
,
my
own
bed
.
I
remember
dreaming
night
after
night
,
of
being
with
my
mother
as
she
used
to
be
,
or
of
going
to
a
party
at
Mr
.
Peggotty
’
s
,
or
of
travelling
outside
the
stage
-
coach
,
or
of
dining
again
with
my
unfortunate
friend
the
waiter
,
and
in
all
these
circumstances
making
people
scream
and
stare
,
by
the
unhappy
disclosure
that
I
had
nothing
on
but
my
little
night
-
shirt
,
and
that
placard
.
In
the
monotony
of
my
life
,
and
in
my
constant
apprehension
of
the
re
-
opening
of
the
school
,
it
was
such
an
insupportable
affliction
!
I
had
long
tasks
every
day
to
do
with
Mr
.
Mell
;
but
I
did
them
,
there
being
no
Mr
.
and
Miss
Murdstone
here
,
and
got
through
them
without
disgrace
.
Before
,
and
after
them
,
I
walked
about
—
supervised
,
as
I
have
mentioned
,
by
the
man
with
the
wooden
leg
.
How
vividly
I
call
to
mind
the
damp
about
the
house
,
the
green
cracked
flagstones
in
the
court
,
an
old
leaky
water
-
butt
,
and
the
discoloured
trunks
of
some
of
the
grim
trees
,
which
seemed
to
have
dripped
more
in
the
rain
than
other
trees
,
and
to
have
blown
less
in
the
sun
!
At
one
we
dined
,
Mr
.
Mell
and
I
,
at
the
upper
end
of
a
long
bare
dining
-
room
,
full
of
deal
tables
,
and
smelling
of
fat
.
Then
,
we
had
more
tasks
until
tea
,
which
Mr
.
Mell
drank
out
of
a
blue
teacup
,
and
I
out
of
a
tin
pot
.
All
day
long
,
and
until
seven
or
eight
in
the
evening
,
Mr
.
Mell
,
at
his
own
detached
desk
in
the
schoolroom
,
worked
hard
with
pen
,
ink
,
ruler
,
books
,
and
writing
-
paper
,
making
out
the
bills
(
as
I
found
)
for
last
half
-
year
.
When
he
had
put
up
his
things
for
the
night
he
took
out
his
flute
,
and
blew
at
it
,
until
I
almost
thought
he
would
gradually
blow
his
whole
being
into
the
large
hole
at
the
top
,
and
ooze
away
at
the
keys
.
