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After tea we sat at the window until dusk, and shortly afterwards I was escorted up to a pleasant room at the top of the house. When I had said my prayers, and the candle had burnt out, I lay there yielding to a sensation of profound gratitude and rest, nestling in the snow white sheets, and I prayed that I might never be houseless any more, and might never forget the houseless.

At breakfast the following day, I found myself the object of my aunt’s most rigid scrutiny.

“Hallo!” she said, after a time to attract my attention, and when I looked up she told me that she had written Mr. Murdstone in regard to me, under which information I became heavy of heart, for I felt that some efforts would be made to force me to return to the warehouse, while the more I saw of my aunt, the more sure I felt that she was the one with whom I wished to stay; that with all her eccentricities and humours, she was one to be honoured and trusted in.

On the second day after my arrival, my Aunt gave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation I beheld Miss Murdstone ride over the sacred piece of green, and stop in front of the house.

“Go along with you!” cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist at the window. “You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Oh! you bold-faced thing!”

I hurriedly told her who the offender was, and that Mr. Murdstone was behind her, but Aunt Betsey was frantic, and cried, “I don’t care who it is–I won’t allow it! Go away! Janet, lead him off!” and from behind my aunt, I saw the donkey pulled round by the bridle, while Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on, and Miss Murdstone struck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys shouted vigorously. But my aunt suddenly discovering the donkey’s guardian to be one of the most inveterate offenders against her, rushed out and pounced upon him, while the Murdstones waited until she should be at leisure to receive them. She marched past them into the house, a little ruffled by the combat, and took no notice of them until they were announced by Janet.

“Shall I go away, aunt?” I asked trembling.

“No, sir,” said she. “Certainly not!” With which she pushed me into a corner, and fenced me in with a chair, as if it were a prison, and there I stayed. There were several sharp passages at arms between my aunt and the Murdstones, when my past, and my mother’s life came up for discussion. Finally Mr. Murdstone said:

“I am here to take David back, Miss Trotwood; to dispose of him as I think proper, and to deal with him as I think right. I am not here to make any promise to anybody. You may possibly have some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away, and in his complaints to you. Now, I must caution you, that if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all. I cannot trifle, or be trifled with. I am here, for the first and last time, to take him away. Is he ready to go? If you tell me he is not, it is indifferent to me on what pretence,–my doors are shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted are open to him.”

My aunt had listened with the closest attention, her hands folded on her knee, and looking grimly at the speaker. When he had finished, she turned to Miss Murdstone, and said:

“Well, ma’am, have you got anything to remark?”

As she had not, my aunt turned to me.

“And what does the boy say?” she said. “Are you ready to go, David?”

I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father’s sake.