 CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH SOME MORE FIRST APPEARANCES ARE MADE ON THE STAGE OF THESE ADVENTURES. Although the offices of Dombie and Son were within the liberties of the city of London, and within hearing of Bo Bells, when their clashing voices were not drowned by the uproar in the streets, yet were there hints of adventurous and romantic story to be observed in some of the adjacent objects. Gog and Magog held their state within ten minutes' walk. The royal exchange was close at hand. The Bank of England, with its vaults of gold and silver down among the dead men underground, was their magnificent neighbor. Just round the corner stood the rich East India house, dreaming with suggestions of precious stuffs and stones, tigers, elephants, hudas, hukas, umbrellas, palm trees, palinkins, and gorgeous princes of a brown complexion sitting on carpets, with their slippers very much turned up at the toes. Anywhere in the immediate vicinity, there might be seen pictures of ships speeding away full sail to all parts of the world, outfitting warehouses ready to pack off anybody anywhere, fully equipped in half an hour, and little timber midshipmen in obsolete naval uniforms, eternally employed outside the shop doors of nautical instrument makers in taking observations of the hackney coaches. Soul master and proprietor of one of these effigies, of that which might be called, familiarly, the woodnest of that which thrust itself out above the pavement, right leg foremost with a suavity the least endurable, and had the shoe buckles and flap waistcoat the least reconcilable to human reason, and bore at its right eye the most offensively disproportionate piece of machinery. Soul master and proprietor of that midshipmen, and proud of him too, an elderly gentleman in a Welsh wig had paid house rent, taxes and dues for more years than many a full grown midshipmen of flesh and blood has numbered in his life, and midshipmen who have attained a pretty green old age have not been wanting in the English Navy. The strock in trade of this old gentleman comprised chronometers, barometers, telescopes, compasses, charts, maps, sextants, quadrants and specimens of every kind of instrument used in the working of a ship's course, or the keeping of a ship's reckoning, or the prosecuting of a ship's discoveries. Objects in brass and glass were in his drawers and on his shelves, which none but the initiative could have found the top of, or guess the use of, or having once examined could have ever got back again into their mahogany nests without assistance. Everything was jammed into the tightest cases, fitted into the narrowest corners, fenced up behind the most impertinent cushions and screwed into the acutest angles to prevent its philosophical composure from being disturbed by the rolling of the sea. Such extraordinary precautions were taken in every instance to save room and keep the thing compact, and so much practical navigation was fitted and cushioned and screwed into every box, whether the box was a mere slab as some were, or something between a cocked hat and a starfish as others were, and those quite mild and modest boxes as compared with others, that the shop itself, partaking of the general infection seemed almost to become a snug, sea-going, ship-shaped concern wanting only good sea room in the event of an unexpected launch to work its way securely to any desert island in the world. Many minor incidents in the household life of the ship's instrument maker, who was proud of his little midshipman, assisted and bore out this fancy. His acquaintance lying chiefly among ship chandlers and so forth, he had always plenty of the veritable ship's biscuit on his table. It was familiar, with dried meats and tongues, possessing an extraordinary flavor of rope yarn. Pickles were produced upon it in great wholesale jars, with dealer in all kinds of ship's provisions on the label. Spirits were set forth in case bottles with no throats. Old prints of ships with alphabetical reference to their various mysteries hung in frames upon the walls. The tartar frigate underway was on the plates. Outlandish shells, seaweeds and mosses decorated the chimney piece. The little wainscotted back parlor was lighted by a skylight like a cabin. Here he lived, too, in skipper-like state, all alone with his nephew Walter, a boy of fourteen who looked quite enough like a midshipman to carry out the prevailing idea. But there it ended, for Solomon Gill's himself, more generally called Old Sal, was far from having a maritime appearance. To say nothing of his Welsh wig, which was as plain and stubborn a Welsh wig as ever was born, and in which he looked like anything but a rover, he was a slow, quiet-spoken, thoughtful, old fellow, with eyes as red as if they had been small suns looking at you through a fog, and a newly awakened manner, such as he might have acquired by having stared for three or four days successively through every optical instrument in his shop, and suddenly came back to the world again to find it green. The only change ever known in his outward man was from a complete suit of coffee-color cut very square and ornamented with glaring buttons to the same suit of coffee-color minus the inexpressibles, which were them of a pale nankine. He wore a very precise shirt-frill and carried a pair of first-rate spectacles on his forehead, and a tremendous chronometer in his fob, rather than doubt which precious possession he would have believed in a conspiracy against it on the part of all the clocks and watches in the city, and even of the very sun itself. Such as he was, such he had been in the shop and parlor behind the little midshipman for years upon years, going regularly aloft to bed every night in a howling garret remote from the lodgers, where, when gentlemen of England who lived below at ease had little or no idea of the state of the weather, it often blew great guns. It is half past five o'clock and an autumn afternoon when the reader and Solomon Gills become acquainted. Solomon Gills is in the act of seeing what time it is by the unimpeachable chronometer. The usual daily clearance has been making in the city for an hour or more, and the human tide is still rolling westward. The streets have thinned, as Mr. Gills says, very much. It threatens to be wet tonight. All the weatherglasses in the shop are in low spirits, and the rain already shines upon the cocked hat of the wooden midship. Where's Walter, I wonder, said Solomon Gills, after he had carefully put up the chronometer again. Here's dinner been ready half an hour and no Walter. Turning round upon his stool behind the counter, Mr. Gills looked out among the instruments in the window to see if his nephew might be crossing the road. No, he was not among the bobbing umbrellas, and he certainly was not the newspaper boy in the oil skin cap who was slowly working his way along the piece of brass outside, writing his name over Mr. Gills' name with his forefinger. If I didn't know he was too fond of me to make a run of it, and go and enter himself aboard ship against my wishes, I should begin to be fidgety, said Mr. Gills, tapping two or three weatherglasses with his knuckles. I really should, all in the down-say. Lots of moisture. Well, it's wanted. I believe, said Mr. Gills, blowing the dust off the glass top of a compass case, that you don't point more direct and due to the back parlor than the boy's inclination does after all. And the parlor couldn't bear straighter either, do north, not the twentieth part of a point, either way. Hello, Uncle Saul. Hello, my boy, cried the instrument-maker, turning briskly round. What? You are here, are you? A cheerful-looking merry boy, fresh with running home in the rain, fair-faced, bright-eyed and curly-haired. Well, Uncle, how have you got on without me all day? Is dinner ready? I'm so hungry. As to getting on, said Solomon, good-naturedly, it would be odd if I couldn't get on without a young dog like you a great deal better than with you. As to dinner being ready, it's been ready this half-hour and waiting for you. As to being hungry, I am. Come along, then, Uncle, cried the boy, hurrah for the admiral. Confound the admiral, returned Solomon Gills. You mean the Lord Mayor? No, I don't, cried the boy, hurrah for the admiral, hurrah for the admiral, forward. At this word of command, the Welsh wig and its wearer were born without resistance into the back parlor, as at the head of a boarding party of five hundred men. And Uncle Saul and his nephew were speedily engaged on a fried soul with a prospect of stake to follow. The Lord Mayor, Wally, said Solomon, forever, no more admirals. The Lord Mayor's your admiral. Oh, is he, though, said the boy, shaking his head. Why, the sword bearers better than him. He draws his sword sometimes. And a pretty figure he cuts with it for his veins, returned the Uncle. Listen to me, Wally. Listen to me. Look on the mantle shelf. Why, who has cocked my silver mug up there on a nail, exclaimed the boy. I have, said his Uncle. No more mugs now. We must begin to drink out of glasses today, Walter. We are men of business. We belong to the city. We started in life this morning. Well, Uncle, said the boy, I'll drink out of anything you like so long as I can drink to you. Here's to you, Uncle Saul, and hurrah for the Lord Mayor, interrupted the old man. For the Lord Mayor, sheriffs, common counsel and livery, said the boy, long life to him. The Uncle nodded his head with great satisfaction. And now he said, let's hear something about the firm. Oh, there's not much to be told about the firm, Uncle, said the boy, plying his knife and fork. It's a precious dark set of offices, and the room where I sit there's a high fender and an iron safe and some cards about ships that are going to sail and an almanac and some desks and stools and an ink bottle and some books and some boxes and a lot of cobwebs. And in one of them, just over my head, a shriveled up blue bottle that looks as if it had hung there ever so long. Nothing else, said the Uncle. No, nothing else, except an old birdcage. I wonder how that ever came there, and a coal scuttle. No bankers' books or checkbooks or bills or such tokens of wealth rolling in from day to day? Said old Saul, looking wistfully at his nephew out of the fog that always seemed to hang about him, and laying an unctuous emphasis upon the words. Oh, yes, plenty of that, I suppose, returned his nephew carelessly, but all that sort of things in Mr. Carker's room or Mr. Morphins or Mr. Dombe's. Has Mr. Dombe been there to-day, inquired the Uncle? Oh, yes, in and out all day. He didn't take any notice of you, I suppose? Yes, he did. He walked up to my seat. I wish he wasn't so solemn and stiff, Uncle, and said, Oh, you are the son of Mr. Gill's the ship's instrument maker. Nephew sir, I said. I said nephew boy, said he. But I could take my oath, he said son, Uncle. Your mistake and I dare say, it's no matter. No, it's no matter, but he needn't have been so sharp, I thought. There was no harm in it, though, he did say son. Then he told me that you had spoken to him about me, and that he had found me employment in the house accordingly, and that I was expected to be attentive and punctual, and then he went away. I thought he didn't seem to like me much. You mean, I suppose, observed the instrument maker, that you didn't seem to like him much. Well, Uncle, returned the boy laughing? Perhaps not, I never thought of that. Solomon looked a little graver as he finished his dinner, and glanced from time to time at the boy's bright face. When dinner was done and the cloth was cleared away, the entertainment had been brought from a neighboring eating-house. He lighted a candle and went down below into a little cellar, while his nephew, standing on the moldy staircase, dutifully held the light. After a moment's groping here and there, he presently returned with a very ancient-looking bottle, covered with dust and dirt. Why, Uncle Saul, said the boy, what are you about? That's the wonderful Madeira. There's only one more bottle. Uncle Saul nodded his head, implying that he knew very well what he was about, and, having drawn the cork in solemn silence, filled two glasses and set the bottle and a third clean glass on the table. You shall drink the other bottle, Wally, he said, when you come to good fortune, when you are a thriving, respected, happy man, when the start in life you have made today shall have brought you, as I pray, Heaven it may, to a smooth part of the course you have to run, my child, my love to you. Some of the fog that hung about old Saul seemed to have got into his throat, for he spoke huskily. His hand shook, too, as he clinked his glass against his nephews. But having once got the wine to his lips, he tossed it off like a man and smacked them afterwards. Dear Uncle said the boy, affecting to make light of it, while the tears stood in his eyes, for the honor you have done me, et cetera, et cetera, I shall now beg to propose Mr. Solomon Gill's, with three times three and one cheer more, et cetera, and you'll return thanks, Uncle, when we drink the last bottle together, won't you? They clinked their glasses again, and Walter, who was hoarding his wine, took a sip of it and held the glass up to his eye, with as critical an air as he could possibly assume. His Uncle sat looking at him for some time in silence. In their eyes at last met, he began at once to pursue the theme that had occupied his thoughts, allowed as if he had been speaking all the while. You see, Walter, he said, in truth this business is merely a habit with me. I am so accustomed to the habit that I could hardly live if I relinquished it, but there's nothing doing, nothing doing. And that uniform was worn pointing out towards the little midshipmen. Then indeed fortunes were to be made and were made, but competition, competition, new invention, new invention, alteration, alteration, the world's gone past me. I hardly know where I am myself, much less where my customers are. Never mind, Uncle. Since you came home from weekly boarding school at Peckham, for instance. And that's ten days, said Solomon. I don't remember more than one person that has come into the shop. Two, Uncle, don't you recollect? There was the man who came to ask for change for a sovereign. That's the one, said Solomon. Why, Uncle, don't you call the woman anybody who came to ask the way to Mile N Turnpike? Oh, it's true, said Solomon. I forgot her, two persons. To be sure, they didn't buy anything, cried the boy. No, they didn't buy anything, said Solomon quietly. Nor want anything, cried the boy. No, if they had, they'd have gone to another shop, said Solomon, in the same tone. But there were two of them, Uncle, cried the boy. As if that were a great triumph. You said only one. Well, Wally, resume the old man after a short pause. Not being like the savages who came on Robinson Crusoe's Island, we can't live on a man who asks for change for a sovereign and a woman who inquires the way to Mile N Turnpike. As I said just now, the world has gone past me. I don't blame it, but I no longer understand it. Tradesmen are not the same as they used to be. Apprentices are not the same. Business is not the same. Business commodities are not the same. Seven-eighths of my stock is old-fashioned. I am an old-fashioned man in an old-fashioned shop in a street that is not the same as I remember it. I have fallen behind the time and am too old to catch it again. Even the noise it makes a long way ahead confuses me. Walter was going to speak, but his uncle held up his hand. Therefore, Wally, therefore it is that I am anxious you should be early in the busy world and on the world's track. I am only the ghost of this business. Its substance vanished long ago, and when I die its ghost will be laid. As it is clearly no inheritance for you then, I have thought it best to use for your advantage almost the only fragment of the old connection that stands by me through long habit. Some people suppose me to be wealthy. I wish for your sake they were right, but whatever I leave behind me or whatever I can give you, you in such a house as Donby's are in the road to use well and make the most of it. Be diligent. Try to like it, my dear boy. Work for a steady independence and be happy. I'll do everything I can, uncle, to deserve your affection indeed I will, said the boy earnestly. I know it, said Solomon. I am sure of it, and he applied himself to a second glass of the old Madeira with increased relish as to the sea he pursued. That's well enough in fiction, Wally, but it won't do in fact, it won't do at all. It's natural enough that you should think about it, associating it with all these familiar things, but it won't do, it won't do. Solomon Gilles rubbed his hands with an air of stealthy enjoyment as he talked of the sea, though, and looked on the seafaring objects about him with inexpressible complacency. Think of this wine, for instance, said old Saul, which has been to the East Indies and back. I'm not able to say how often and has been once round the world. Think of the pitch dark nights, the roaring winds and rolling seas. The thunder, lightning, rain, hail, storm of all kinds, said the boy. To be sure, said Solomon, that this wine has passed through. Think what a straining and creaking of timbers and masts. What a whistling and howling of the gale through ropes and rigging. What a clamoring aloft of men vying with each other who shall lie out first upon the yards to furl the icy sails while the ship rolls and pitches like mad, cried his nephew. Exactly so, said Solomon, has gone on over the old cask that held this wine. Why, when the charming Sally went down in the Baltic Sea in the dead of the night, five and twenty minutes past twelve, when the captain's watch stopped in his pocket, he lying dead against the main mast on the 14th of February, 1749, cried Walter with great animation. I, to be sure, cried Old Saul quite right. Then there were five hundred casks of such wine aboard and all hands, except the first mate, first lieutenant, two seamen and a lady in a leaky boat, going to work to stave the casks, got drunk and died drunk, singing Rule Britannia when she settled and went down and ending with one awful scream in chorus. But when the George II drove ashore on the coast of Cornwall in a dismal gale two hours before daybreak on the 4th of March, she had near two hundred horses aboard and the horses breaking loose down below early in the gale and tearing to and fro and trampling each other to death made such noises and set up such human cries that the crew believing the ship to be full of devil, some of the best men, losing heart and head, went overboard in despair and only two were left alive at last to tell the tale. And when, said Old Saul, when the polyphemous private West India trader burdened three hundred and fifty tons, Captain John Brown of Depford, owners, wigs and company, cried Walter. The same, said Saul, when she took fire four days sail with a fair wind out of Jamaica Harbor in the night, there were two brothers on board interposed his nephew speaking very fast and loud, and there not being room for both of them in the only boat that wasn't swamped, neither of them would consent to go, until the eldest took the younger by the waist and flung him in. And then the younger rising in the boat cried out, Dear Edward, think of your promised wife at home, I'm only a boy, no one waits at home for me, leap down into my place, and flung himself into the sea. The kindling eye and heightened color of the boy, who had risen from his seat in the earnestness of what he said and felt, seemed to remind Old Saul of something he had forgotten, or that his encircling mist had hitherto shut out. Instead of proceeding with any more anecdotes, as he had evidently intended but a moment before, he gave a short dry cough and said, Well, suppose we change the subject. The truth was that the simple-minded uncle in his secret attraction toured the marvelous and adventurous of which he was in some sort a distant relation by his trade had greatly encouraged the same attraction in the nephew, and that everything that had ever been put before the boy to deter him from a life of adventure had had the usual unaccountable effect of sharpening his taste for it. This is invariable. It would seem as if there never was a book written, or a story told expressly with the object of keeping boys on shore, which did not lure and charm them to the ocean, as a matter of course. But an addition to the little party now made its appearance in the shape of a gentleman in a wide suit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand attached to his right wrist, very bushy black eyebrows, and a thick stick in his left hand covered all over, like his nose, with knobs. He wore a loose black silk handkerchief round his neck and such a very large coarse shirt collar that it looked like a small sale. He was evidently the person for whom the spare wineglass was intended and evidently knew it for having taken off his rough outer coat and hung up on a particular peg. Behind the door such a hard glazed hat as a sympathetic person's head might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim round his own forehead as if he had been wearing a tight basin. He brought a chair to where the clean glass was and sat himself down behind it. He was usually addressed as captain, this visitor, and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateer's man, or all three perhaps, and was a very salt-looking man indeed. His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, brightened as he shook hands with uncle and nephew. But he seemed to be of a laconic disposition and merely said, How goes it? Ah, well, said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards him. He took it up, and having surveyed and smelt it, said with extraordinary expression, the, the returned the instrument maker. Upon that he whistled as he filled his glass and seemed to think they were making holiday indeed. Walter, he said, arranging his hair, which was thin, with his hook, and then pointing it at the instrument maker. Look at him, love, honor, and obey. Overhaul your catechism till you find that passage, and when found, turn the leaf down. Success, my boy! He was so perfectly satisfied, both with his quotation and his reference to it, that he could not help repeating the words again in a low voice and saying he had forgotten them these forty years. But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I didn't know where to lay my hand upon him, Gills. He observed, it comes of not wasting language as some do. The reflection perhaps reminded him that he had better, like young Norval's father, increase his store. At any rate he became silent and remained so until old Saul went out into the shop to light it up, when he turned to Walter and said, without any introductory remark, I suppose he could make a clock if he tried. I shouldn't wonder, Captain Cuddle, returned the boy. And it would go, said Captain Cuddle, making a species of serpent in the air with his hook. Lord, how that clock would go! For a moment or two he seemed quite lost in contemplating the pace of this ideal timepiece and sat looking at the boy as if his face were the dial. But he's chock-full of science, he observed, waving his hook toward the stock-in trade. Looky here, here's a collection of them, earth, air or water, it's all one. Only say where you'll have it. Up in a balloon, there you are, down in a bell, there you are. Do you want to put the North Star in a pair of scales and weigh it? He'll do it for you. It may be gathered from these remarks that Captain Cuddle's reverence for the stock of instruments was profound and that his philosophy knew little or no distinction between trading in it and inventing it. Aha! he said with a sigh. It's a fine thing to understand him, and yet it's a fine thing not to understand him. I hardly know which is best. It's so comfortable to sit here and feel that you might be weighted, measured, magnified, electrified, polarised, played the very devil with, and never know how. Nothing short of the wonderful Madeira, combined with the occasion, which rendered it desirable to improve and expand Walter's mind, could have ever loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance to this prodigious oration. He seemed quite amazed himself at the manner in which it opened up to view the sources of the taciturn delight he had had in eating Sunday dinners in that parlor for ten years. Becoming a sadder and wiser man, he mused and held his peace. Come! cried the subject of his admiration, returning. Before you have your glass of grog, Ned, we must finish the bottle. Stand by, said Ned, filling his glass. Give the boy some more. No more, thank you, uncle. Yes, yes, said Saul, a little more. We'll finish the bottle to the house, Ned, Walter's house. Why it may be his house one of these days in part. Who knows? Sir Richard Whittington married his master's daughter. Turn again, Whittington Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old, you will never depart from it. Interposed the captain. Walter, overhaul the book, my lad. And although Mr. Domby hasn't a daughter, Saul began. Yes, yes, he has, uncle, said the boy, reddening and laughing. Has he? cried the old man. Indeed, I think he has, too. Oh, I know he has, said the boy. Some of him were talking about it in the office today, and they do say, uncle, and Captain Cuddle, lowering his voice, that he's taken a dislike to her, and that she's left unnoticed among the servants, and that his mind so set all the while upon having his son in the house, that although he's only a baby now, he is going to have balances struck oftener than formerly, and the books kept closer than they used to be, and has even been seen, when he thought he wasn't, walking in the docks, looking at his ships and property and all that, as if he was exulting like over what he and his son will possess together. That's what they say. Of course, I don't know. He knows all about her already, you see, said the instrument maker. Nonsense, uncle, cried the boy, still reddening and laughing boylike. How can I help hearing what they tell me? The son's a little in our way at present, I'm afraid, Ned, said the old man, humoring the joke. Very much, said the captain. Nevertheless, we'll drink him, pursued Saul. So here's to Dombie and son. Oh, very well, uncle, said the boy merrily, since you have introduced the mention of her, and have connected me with her, and have said that I know all about her, I shall make bold to amend the toast. So here's to Dombie and son and daughter. End of chapter four. Chapter five of Dombie and son. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dombie and son by Charles Dickens. Chapter five, polls, progress and christening. Little Paul, suffering no contamination from the blood of the toodles, grew stouter and stronger every day. Every day, too, he was more and more ardently cherished by Miss Tox, whose devotion was so far appreciated by Mr. Dombie that he began to regard her as a woman of great natural good sense, whose feelings did her credit and deserved encouragement. He was so lavish of this condescension that he not only bowed to her in a particular manner on several occasions, but even entrusted such stately recognitions of her to his sister as, pray tell your friend Louisa that she is very good, or mention to Miss Tox Louisa that I am obliged to her specialties which made a deep impression on the lady just distinguished. Miss Tox was often in the habit of assuring Mrs. Chick that nothing could exceed her interest in all connected with the development of that sweet child. And an observer of Miss Tox's proceedings might have inferred so much without declaratory confirmation. She would preside over the innocent repasts of the young heir with ineffable satisfaction, almost with an heir of joint proprietorship with Richards in the entertainment. At the little ceremonies of the bath and toilette, she assisted with enthusiasm. The administration of infantile doses of physics awakened all the active sympathy of her character, and being on one occasion secreted in a cupboard with her she had fled in modesty when Mr. Dambi was introduced into the nursery by his sister to behold his son in the course of preparation for bed, taking a short walk uphill over Richards gown in a short and airy linen jacket. Miss Tox was so transported beyond the ignorant present as to be unable to refrain from crying out, is he not beautiful, Mr. Dambi? Is he not a cupid, sir? And then almost sinking behind the closet door with confusion and blushes. Louisa said Mr. Dambi one day to his sister, I really think I must present your friend with some little token on the occasion of Paul's christening. She has exerted herself so warmly in the child's behalf from the first and seems to understand her position so thoroughly. A very rare merit in this world, I am sorry to say, that it would really be agreeable to me to notice her. Let it be no detraction from the merits of Miss Tox to hint that in Mr. Dambi's eyes, as in some others that occasionally see the light, they only achieved that mighty piece of knowledge, the understanding of their own position, who showed a fitting reverence for his. It was not so much their merit that they knew themselves as that they knew him and bowed low before him. My dear Paul returned his sister, you do Miss Tox but justice, as a man of your penetration was sure I knew to do. I believe if there are three words in the English language for which she has a respect amounting almost to veneration, those words are Dambi and Son. Well said Mr. Dambi, I believe it, it does Miss Tox credit. And as to anything in the shape of a token, my dear Paul, pursuit his sister. All I can say is that anything you give Miss Tox will be hoarded and prized, I am sure, like a relic. But there is a way, my dear Paul, of showing your sense of Miss Tox's friendliness in a still more flattering and acceptable manner if you should be so inclined. How is that? asked Mr. Dambi. Godfathers, of course, continued Mrs. Chick, are important in point of connection and influence. I don't know why they should be, to my son, said Mr. Dambi coldly. Very true, my dear Paul retorted Mrs. Chick with an extraordinary show of animation to cover the suddenness of her conversion. And spoken like yourself, I might have expected nothing else from you. I might have known that such would have been your opinion. Perhaps. Here Mrs. Chick flattered again, as not quite comfortably feeling her way. Perhaps that is a reason why you might have the less objection to allowing Miss Tox to be godmother to the dear thing, if it were only as deputy and proxy for someone else. That it would be received as a great honour and distinction, Paul, I need not say. Louisa, said Mr. Dambi after a short pause. Is it not to be supposed? Certainly not, cried Mrs. Chick, hastening to anticipate a refusal. I never thought it was. Mr. Dambi looked at her impatiently. Don't flurry me, my dear Paul, said his sister. For that destroys me. I am far from strong. I have not been quite myself since poor dear Fanny departed. Mr. Dambi glanced at the pocket handkerchief which his sister applied to her eyes and resumed. It is not to be supposed, I say. And I say, Mermaid Mrs. Chick, that I never thought it was. Good heavens, Louisa, said Mr. Dambi. No, my dear Paul, she remonstrated with tearful dignity. I must really be allowed to speak. I am not so clever or so reasoning or so eloquent or so anything as you are. I know that very well. So much the worse for me. But, if they were the last words I had to utter, and last words should be very solemn to you and me, Paul, after poor dear Fanny, I should still say I never thought it was. And what is more, added Mrs. Chick with increased dignity, as if she had withheld her crushing argument until now. I never did think it was. Mr. Dambi walked to the window and back again. It is not to be supposed, Louisa, he said. Mrs. Chick had nailed her colours to the mast and repeated. I know it isn't. But he took no notice of it. But that there are many persons who, supposing that I recognised any claim at all in such a case, have a claim upon me superior to Miss Toxes. But I do not. I recognise no such thing. Paul and myself will be able, when the time comes, to hold our own. The house, in other words, will be able to hold its own and maintain its own and hand down its own of itself and without any such commonplace aids. The kind of foreign help which people usually seek for their children I can afford to despise, being above it, I hope. So that Paul's infancy and childhood pass away well and I see him becoming qualified without waste of time for the career on which he is destined to enter, I am satisfied. He will make what powerful friends he pleases in afterlife when he is actively maintaining and extending, if that is possible, the dignity and credit of the firm. Until then, I am enough for him, perhaps, and all in all. I have no wish that people should step in between us. I would much rather show my sense of the obliging conduct of a deserving person like your friend. Therefore, let it be so, and your husband and myself will do well enough for the other sponsor, I dare say. In the course of these remarks delivered with great majesty and grandeur, Mr. Dombie had revealed the secret feeling of his breast and indescribable distrust of anybody stepping in between himself and his son, a haughty dread of having any rival or partner in the boy's respect and deference, a sharp misgiving recently acquired that he was not infallible in his power of bending and binding human wills, as sharp a jealousy of any second check or cross. These were, at that time, the master keys of his soul. In all his life he had never made a friend. His cold and distant nature had neither sought one nor found one. And now, when that nature concentrated its whole force so strongly on a partial scheme of parental interest and ambition, it seemed as if its icy current, instead of being released by this influence and running clear and free, had thawed for but an instant to admire its burden and then frozen with it into one unyielding block. Elevated thus to the god-mothership of little Paul in virtue of her insignificance, Miss Tox was from that hour chosen and appointed to office, and Mr. Dombie further signified his pleasure that the ceremony already long delayed should take place without further postponement. His sister, who had been far from anticipating so signaler success, withdrew as soon as she could to communicate it to her best of friends, and Mr. Dombie was left alone in his library. He had already laid his hand upon the bell-rope to convey his usual summons to Richards when his eye fell upon a writing-desk belonging to his deceased wife, which had been taken, among other things, from a cabinet in her chamber. It was not the first time that his eye had lighted on it. He carried the key in his pocket, and he brought it to his table and opened it now, having previously locked the room door with a well-accustomed hand. From beneath a leaf of torn and canceled scraps of paper he took one letter that remained entire, involuntarily holding his breath as he opened this document, and, baiting in the stealthy action something of his arrogant demeanor, he sat down, resting his head upon one hand, and read it through. He read it slowly and attentively, with a nice particularity in every syllable. Otherwise, then, as his great deliberation seemed unnatural, and perhaps the result of an effort equally great, he allowed no sign of emotion to escape him. When he had read it through, he folded it and refolded it slowly several times, and tore it carefully into fragments. Checking his hand in the act of throwing these away, he put them in his pocket as if unwilling to trust them, even to the chances of being reunited and deciphered. And instead of ringing, as usual, for little Paul, he sat solitary all the evening in his cheerless room. There was anything but solitude in the nursery, for there Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox were enjoying a social evening, so much to the disgust of Miss Susan Nipper, that that young lady embraced every opportunity of making rye faces behind the door. Her feelings were so much excited on the occasion that she found it indispensable to afford them this relief, even without having the comfort of any audience or sympathy, whatever. As the night errands of old relieved their minds by carving their mistress's name in deserts and wildernesses, and other savage places where there was no probability of there ever being anybody to read them, so did Miss Susan Nipper curl her snub nose into drawers and wardrobes, put away winks of disparagement in cupboards, shed derisive squints into stone pitchers, and contradict and call names out in the passage. The two interlopers, however, blissfully unconscious of the young lady's sentiments, saw little Paul safe through all the stages of undressing, airy exercise, supper and bed, and then sat down to tea before the fire. The two children now lay through the good offices of Polly in one room, and it was not until the ladies were established at their tea table that happening to look towards the little beds they thought of Florence. How sound she sleeps, said Miss Tox. Why, you know, my dear, she takes a great deal of exercise in the course of the day, returned Mrs. Chick, playing about little Paul so much. She is a curious child, said Miss Tox. My dear, retorted Mrs. Chick in a low voice. Her mama all over. Indeed, said Miss Tox. Ah, dear me. A tone of most extraordinary compassion, Miss Tox said it in, though she had no distinct idea why, except that it was expected of her. Florence will never, never, never be a domby, said Mrs. Chick. Not if she lives to be a thousand years old. Miss Tox elevated her eyebrows and was again full of commiseration. I quite fret and worry myself about her, said Mrs. Chick, with a sigh of modest merit. I really don't see what is to become of her when she grows older or what position she is to take. She don't gain on her papa in the least. How can one expect she should when she is so very unlike a domby? Miss Tox looked as if she saw no way out of such a cogent argument as that at all. And the child you see, said Mrs. Chick, in deep confidence, has poor fanny's nature. She'll never make an effort in afterlife. I'll venture to say never. She'll never wind and twine herself about her papa's heart like the ivy, suggested Miss Tox. Like the ivy, Mrs. Chick ascended, never. She'll never glide and nestle into the bosom of her papa's affections, like the startled fawn, suggested Miss Tox. Like the startled fawn, said Mrs. Chick, never, poor fanny, yet how I loved her. You must not distress yourself, my dear, said Miss Tox in a soothing voice. Now really, you have too much feeling. We have all our faults, said Mrs. Chick, weeping and shaking her head. I dare say we have. I never was blind to hers. I never said I was, far from it, yet how I loved her. What a satisfaction it was to Mrs. Chick, a commonplace piece of folly enough, compared with whom her sister-in-law had been a very angel of womanly intelligence and gentleness, to patronize and be tender to the memory of that lady, in exact pursuance of her conduct to her in her lifetime, and to thoroughly believe herself and take herself in and make herself uncommonly comfortable on the strength of her toleration. What a mighty pleasant virtue toleration should be when we are right to be so very pleasant when we are wrong and quite unable to demonstrate how we come to be invested with the privilege of exercising it. Mrs. Chick was yet drying her eyes and shaking her head when Richards made bold to caution her that Miss Florence was awake and sitting in her bed. She had risen, as the nurse said, and the lashes of her eyes were wet with tears. But no one saw them glistening save Polly. No one else leaned over her and whispered soothing words to her, or was near enough to hear the flutter of her beating heart. Oh, dear nurse, said the child looking earnestly up in her face, let me lie by my brother. Why, my pet, said Richards, oh, I think he loves me, cried the child wildly. Let me lie by him, pray do. Mrs. Chick interposed with some motherly words about going to sleep like a deer, but Florence repeated her supplication with a frightened look and in a voice broken by sobs and tears. I'll not wake him, she said, covering her face and hanging down her head. I'll only touch him with my hand and go to sleep. Oh, pray, pray, let me lie by my brother tonight, for I believe he's fond of me. Richards took her without a word and carrying her to the little bed in which the infant was sleeping laid her down by his side. She crept as near him as she could without disturbing his rest and stretching out one arm so that it timidly embraced his neck and hiding her face on the other, over which her damp and scattered hair fell loose, lay motionless. Poor little thing, said Miss Tox. She has been dreaming, I dare say. Dreaming perhaps of loving tones forever silent, of loving eyes forever closed, of loving arms again wound round her and relaxing in that dream within the dream which no tongue can relate. Seeking perhaps in dreams some natural comfort for a heart deeply and sorely wounded, though so young a child and finding it perhaps in dreams if not in waking cold, substantial truth. This trivial incident had so interrupted the current of conversation that it was difficult of resumption, and Mrs. Chick, moreover, had been so affected by the contemplation of her own tolerant nature that she was not in spirits. The two friends accordingly soon made an end of their tea, and a servant was dispatched to fetch a hackney cabriolet for Miss Tox. Miss Tox had great experience in hackney cabs, and her starting in one was generally a work of time as she was systematic in the preparatory arrangements. Have the goodness, if you please, Talenson, said Miss Tox, first of all, to carry out a pen and ink and take his number legibly. Yes, Miss, said Talenson. Then, if you please, Talenson, said Miss Tox, have the goodness to turn the cushion, which, said Miss Tox, apart to Mrs. Chick, is generally damp, my dear. Yes, Miss, said Talenson. I'll trouble you also, if you please, said Miss Tox, with this card and this shilling. He is to drive to the card, and is to understand that he will not on any account have more than the shilling. No, Miss, said Talenson. And, I'm sorry to give you so much trouble, Talenson, said Miss Tox, looking at him pensively. Not at all, Miss, said Talenson. Mention to the man, then, if you please, Talenson, said Miss Tox, that the lady's uncle is a magistrate, and that if he gives her any of his impertinence, he will be punished terribly. You can pretend to say that, if you please, Talenson, in a friendly way, and because you know it was done to another man, who died. Certainly, Miss, said Talenson. And now, good night to my sweet, sweet Godson, said Miss Tox, with a soft shower of kisses at each repetition of the adjective. And, Louisa, my dear friend, promise me to take a little something warm before you go to bed, and not to distress yourself. It was with extreme difficulty that Nipper, the black-eyed, who looked on steadfastly, contained herself at this crisis, and until the subsequent departure of Mrs. Chick. But, the nursery being at length free of visitors, made herself some recompense for her late restraint. You might keep me in a straight waistcoat for six weeks, said Nipper, and when I got it off, I'd only be more aggravated. Who ever heard the like of them two griffins, Mrs. Richard? And then, to talk of having been dreaming, poor dear, said Polly. Oh, you beauties! cried Susan Nipper, affecting to salute the door by which the ladies had departed. Never be a donby, won't she? It's to be hoped she won't. We don't want any more such ones enough. Don't wake the children, Susan dear, said Polly. I'm very much beholden to you, Mrs. Richards, said Susan, who was not by any means discriminating in her wrath, and really feel it as an honor to receive your commands, being a black slave and a mulater. Mrs. Richards, if there's any other orders you can give me, pray mention them. Nonsense! Orders, said Polly. Oh, bless your heart, Mrs. Richards, cried Susan. Temporaries always order permanencies here. Didn't you know that? Why, wherever was you born, Mrs. Richards? But wherever you was born, Mrs. Richards pursued spitfire, shaking her head resolutely. And whenever and however, which is best known to yourself, you may bear in mind, please, that it's one thing to give orders and quite another to take them. A person may tell a person to dive off a bridge, head foremost into five and forty feet of water, Mrs. Richards, but a person may be very far from diving. There now, said Polly, you're angry because you're a good little thing and fond of Miss Florence, and yet you turn round on me because there's nobody else. It's very easy for some to keep their tempers and be soft-spoken, Mrs. Richards. Return Susan, slightly mollified, when their child's made as much of as a prince and is petted and padded till it wishes its friends further. But when a sweet young pretty innocent that never ought to have a crossword spoken to or of it is run down, the case is very different indeed. My goodness gracious me, Miss Floyd, you naughty sinful child, if you don't shut your eyes this minute, I'll call in them hobgoblins that lives in the cock-loft, come and eat you up alive. Here, Miss Nipper made a horrible lowing, supposed to issue from a conscientious goblin of the bull species, impatient to discharge the severe duty of his position. Having further composed her young charge by covering her head with the bedclothes and making three or four angry dabs at the pillow, she folded her arms and screwed up her mouth and sat looking at the fire for the rest of the evening. Though little Paul was said, in nursery phrase, to take a deal of notice for his age, he took as little notice of all this as of the preparations for his christening on the next day but one, which nevertheless went on about him, as to his personal apparel and that of his sister and the two nurses, with great activity. Neither did he on the arrival of the appointed morning show any sense of its importance, being on the contrary, unusually inclined to sleep and unusually inclined to take it ill in his attendance that they dressed him to go out. It happened to be an iron-gray autumnal day with a shrewd east wind blowing, a day in keeping with the proceedings. Mr. Dambi represented himself the wind, the shade, and the autumn of the christening. He stood in his library to receive the company as hard and cold as the weather and when he looked out through the glass room at the trees in the little garden their brown and yellow leaves came fluttering down as if he blighted them. They were black, cold rooms and seemed to be in mourning like the inmates of the house. The books, precisely matched as to size and drawn up in line, like soldiers, looked in their cold, hard, slippery uniforms as if they had but one idea among them and that was a freezer. The bookcase, glazed and locked, repudiated all familiarities. Mr. Pitt in bronze on the top with no trace of his celestial origin about him guarded the unobtainable treasure like an enchanted moor. A dusty urn at each high corner dug up from an ancient tomb preached desolation and decay as from two pulpits and the chimney glass reflecting Mr. Dambi and his portrait at one blow seemed fraught with melancholy meditations. The stiff and stark fire irons appeared to claim a nearer relationship than anything else there to Mr. Dambi with his button coat, his white cravat his heavy gold watch chain and his creaking boots but this was before the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Chick, his lawful relatives and presented themselves. My dear Paul, Mrs. Chick murmured as she embraced him the beginning, I hope, of many joyful days. Thank you, Louisa, said Mr. Dambi grimly. How do you do, Mr. John? How do you do, sir, said Chick? He gave Mr. Dambi his hand as if he feared it might electrify him. Mr. Dambi took it as if it were a fish or seaweed or some such clammy substance and immediately returned it to him with exalted politeness. Perhaps Louisa, said Mr. Dambi slightly turning his head in his cravat as if it were a socket. You would have preferred a fire. Oh, my dear Paul, no, said Mrs. Chick who had much ado to keep her teeth from chattering. Not for me. Mr. John, said Mr. Dambi, you are not sensible of any chill? Mr. John, who had already got both his hands in his pockets over the wrists and was on the very threshold of that same canine chorus which had given Mrs. Chick so much offence on a former occasion, protested that he was perfectly comfortable. He added in a low voice with my tittle told her rule when he was providentially stopped by Talinson who announced, Miss Talks, and enter that fair enslaver with a blue nose and indescribably frosty face, referable to her being very thinly clad in a maze of fluttering odds and ends to do honor to the ceremony. How do you do, Miss Talks, said Mr. Dambi. Miss Talks, in the midst of her spreading gauzes, went down altogether like an opera glass shutting up. She curtsied so low in acknowledgment of Mr. Dambi's advancing a step or two to meet her. I can never forget this occasion, sir, said Miss Talks softly. Tis impossible, my dear Louisa. I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses. If Miss Talks could believe the evidence of one of her senses, it was a very cold day. That was quite clear. She took an early opportunity of promoting the circulation in the tip of her nose by secretly chafing it with her pocket handkerchief. Lest, by its very low temperature, it should disagreeably astonish the baby when she came to kiss it. The baby soon appeared carried in great glory by Richards, while Florence, in custody of that active young constable, Susan Nipper, brought up the rear. Though the whole nursery party were dressed by this time in lighter mourning than at first, there was enough in the appearance of the bereaved children to make the day no brighter. The baby, too. It might have been Miss Talks's nose began to cry, thereby, as it happened, preventing Mr. Chick from the awkward fulfillment of a very honest purpose he had, which was to make much of Florence. For this gentleman insensible to the superior claims of a perfect Dombie, perhaps on account of having the honour to be united to a Dombie himself and being familiar with excellence, really liked her and showed that he liked her and was about to show it in his own way now when Paul cried and stopped him short. Now Florence's child set her aunt briskly. What are you doing, love? Show yourself to him. Engage his intention, my dear. The atmosphere became or might have become colder and colder when Mr. Dombie stood frigidly watching his little daughter, who, clapping her hands and standing on tiptoe before the throne of his son and heir, lured him to bend down from his highest state and look at her. Some honest act of Richard's may have aided the effect, but he did look down and held his peace. As his sister hid behind her nurse, he followed her with his eyes and when she peeped out with a merry cry to him, he sprang up and crowed lustily, laughing outright when she ran in upon him and seemed to fondle her curls with his tiny hands while she smothered him with kisses. Was Mr. Dombie pleased to see this? He testified no pleasure by the relaxation of a nerve, but outward tokens of any kind of feeling were unusual with him. If any sunbeam stole into the room to light the children at their play, it never reached his face. He looked on so fixedly and coldly that the warm light vanished even from the laughing eyes of little Florence when at last they happened to meet his. It was a dull grey autumn day indeed and in a minute's pause and silence that took place, the leaves fell sorrowfully. Mr. John, said Mr. Dombie, referring to his watch and assuming his hat and gloves, take my sister, if you please. My arm today is Miss Toxes. You had better go first with Master Paul Richards. Be very careful. In Mr. Dombie's carriage, Dombie and son, Miss Tox, Mrs. Chick, Richards and Florence. In a little carriage following it, Susan Nipper and the owner, Mr. Chick. Susan, looking out of window without intermission as a relief from the embarrassment of confronting the large face of that gentleman and thinking whenever anything rattled was putting up in paper an appropriate pecuniary compliment for herself. Once upon the road to church, Mr. Dombie clapped his hands for the amusement of his son, at which instance of parental enthusiasm, Miss Tox was enchanted. But exclusive of this incident, the chief difference between the christening party and a party in a morning coach was limited in the colors of the carriage and horses. Arrived at the church steps, they were received by a portentous beetle. Mr. Dombie dismounting first to help the ladies out and standing near him at the church door looked like another beetle, a beetle less gorgeous but more dreadful, the beetle of private life, the beetle of our business Miss Tox's hand trembled as she slipped it through Mr. Dombie's arm and felt herself escorted up the steps, preceded by a cocked hat and a Babylonian collar. It seemed for a moment like that other solemn institution. Will thou have this man Lucretia? Yes, I will. Pleased to bring the child in quick out of the air there, whispered the beetle, holding open the inner door of the church. Little Paul might have asked with Hamlet into my grave so chill and earthy was the place, the tall shrouded pulpit and reading desk, the dreary perspective of empty pews stretching away under the galleries and empty benches mounting to the roof and lost in the shadow of the great grim organ, the dusty matting and cold stone slabs, the grisly free seats in the aisles and the damp corner by the bell rope where the black trestles used for funerals were stowed away along with some shovels and baskets and a coil or two of deadly looking rope, the strange, unusual uncomfortable smell and the cadaverous light were all in unison. It was a cold and dismal scene. There's a wedding just on, sir, said the beetle, but it'll be over directly if you walk into the vestry here. Before he turned again to say, he gave Mr. Dombie a bow and a half smile of recognition importing that he, the beetle, remembered to have had the pleasure of attending on him when he buried his wife and hoped he had enjoyed himself since. The very wedding looked dismal as they passed in front of the altar. The bride was too old and the bridegroom too young and her superannuated bow with one eye and an eyeglass stuck in its blank companion was giving away the lady while the friends were shivering. In the vestry the fire was smoking and an overaged and overworked an underpaid attorney's clerk making a search was running his forefinger down the parchment pages of an immense register, one of a long series of volumes gorged with burials. Over the fireplace was a ground plan of the vaults underneath the church and Mr. Chick skimming the literary portion of it allowed by way of enlivening the company read the reference to Mrs. Dombie's tomb in full before he could stop himself. After another cold interval a wheezy little pew-opener afflicted with an asthma appropriate to the churchyard if not to the church summoned them to the font. Here they waited some little time while the marriage party enrolled themselves and meanwhile the wheezy little pew-opener partly in consequence of her infirmity and partly that the marriage party might not forget her went about the building coughing like a grumpus. Presently the Clark the only cheerful looking object there and he was an undertaker came up with a jug of warm water and said something as he poured it into the font about taking the chill off which millions of gallons boiling hot could not have done for the occasion. Then the clergyman an amiable and mild looking young curate but obviously afraid of the baby appeared like the principal character in a ghost story a tall figure all in white at sight of whom Paul rent the air with his cries and never left off again till he was taken out black in the face. Even when that event had happened to the great relief of everybody he was heard under the portico during the rest of the ceremony now fainter now louder now hushed now bursting forth again with an irrepressible sense of his wrongs. This so distracted the attention of the two ladies that Mrs. Chick was constantly deploying into the center aisle to send out messages by the pew opener while Miss Tux kept her prayer book open at the gunpowder plot and responses from that service. During the whole of these proceedings Mr. Dombie remained as impassive and gentlemanly as ever and perhaps assisted in making it so cold that the young curate smoked at the mouth as he read the only time that he unbent his visage in the least was when the clergyman in delivering effectively and simply the closing exhortation relative to the future examination of the child by the sponsors happened to rest his eye on Mr. Chick and then Mr. Dombie might have been seen to express by a majestic look that he would like to catch him at it. It might have been well for Mr. Dombie if he had thought of his own dignity a little less and had thought of the great origin and purpose of the ceremony in which he took so formal and so stiff apart a little more. His arrogance contrasted strangely with its history. When it was all over he again gave his arm to Miss Tux and conducted her to the vestry where he informed the clergyman how much pleasure it would have given him who have solicited the honor of his company at dinner but for the unfortunate state of his household affairs. The register signed and the fees paid and the pew opener whose cough was very bad again, remembered and the beetle gratified and the sexton who was accidentally on the doorsteps looking with great interest at the weather not forgotten, they got into the carriage again and drove home in the same bleak fellowship. There they found Mr. Pitt turning up his nose at a cold collation set forth in a cold pump of glass and silver and looking more like a dead dinner lying in state than a social refreshment. On their arrival Miss Tux produced a mug for her godson and Mr. Chick fork and spoon in a case. Mr. Dombie also produced a bracelet for Miss Tux and on the receipt of this token Miss Tux was tenderly affected. Mr. John said Mr. Dombie will you take the bottom of the table if you please? What have you got there Mr. John? I have got a cold fillet of veal here sir replied Mr. Chick rubbing his nubbed hands hard together. What have you got there sir? This, returned Mr. Dombie is some cold preparation of calf's head I think. I see cold fowls ham, patties, salad lobster, Miss Tux will you do me the honor of taking some wine champagne to Miss Tux. There was a toothache in everything. It was so cold that it forced a little scream from Miss Tux which she had great difficulty in turning into a hum. The veal had come from such an airy pantry that the first taste of it had struck a sensation as of cold lead to Mr. Chick's extremities. Mr. Dombie alone remained unmoved. He might have been hung up there as a specimen of a frozen gentleman. The prevailing influence was too much even for his sister. She made no effort at flattery or small talk and directed all her efforts to looking as warm as she could. Well sir said Mr. Chick making a desperate plunge after a long silence and filling a glass of sherry I shall drink this if you'll allow me, sir to little Paul. Bless him! murmured Miss Tux taking a sip of wine. Dear little Dombie! murmured Mrs. Chick Mr. John! said Mr. Dombie with severe gravity my son would feel and express himself oblige to you. I have no doubt he will prove in time to come I trust equal to any responsibility that the obliging disposition of his relations and friends in private or the onerous nature of our position in public may impose upon him. The tone in which this was said admitting of nothing more Mr. Chick relapsed into low spirits and silence. Not so Miss Tux who having listened to Mr. Dombie with even a more emphatic attention than usual and with a more expressive tendency of her head to one side now leant across the table and said to Mrs. Chick softly Louisa! my dear! said Mrs. Chick onerous nature of our position in public may I have forgotten the exact term expose him to said Mrs. Chick pardon me my dear return Miss Tux I think not it was more rounded and flowing obliging disposition of relations and friends in private or onerous nature of position in public may impose upon him impose upon him to be sure said Mrs. Chick Miss Tux struck her delicate hands together lightly in triumph and added casting up her eyes eloquence indeed Mr. Dombie in the meanwhile had issued orders for the attendance of Richards who now entered curtsying but without the baby Paul being asleep after the fatigues of the morning Mr. Dombie having delivered a glass of wine to this vassal addressed her in the following words Miss Tux previously settling her head on one side and making other little arrangements for engraving them on her heart during the six months or so Richards which have seen you an inmate of this house you have done your duty desiring to connect some service to you with this occasion I considered how I could best effect that object and I also advised with my sister Mrs. Chick interposed the gentleman of that name oh hush if you please said Miss Tux I was about to say to you Richards resume Mr. Dombie with an appalling glance at Mr. John that I was further assisted in my decision by the recollection of a conversation I held with your husband in this room on the occasion of your being hired when he disclosed to me the melancholy fact that your family himself at the head were sunk and steeped in ignorance Richards quailed under the magnificence of the reproof I am far from being friendly pursued Mr. Dombie to what is called by persons of leveling sentiments general education but it is necessary that the inferior classes should continue to be taught to know their position and to conduct themselves properly so far I approve of schools having the power of nominating a child on the foundation of an ancient establishment called from a worship company the charitable grinders where not only is a wholesome education bestowed upon the scholars but where a dress and badge is likewise provided for them I have first communicating through Mrs. Chick with your family nominated your eldest son to an existing vacancy and he has this day I am informed assumed the habit the number of her son I believe said Mr. Dombie turning to his sister and speaking of the child as if he were a hackney coach is 147 Louisa you can tell her 147 said Mrs. Chick the dress Richards is a nice warm blue bays tailed coat and cap turned up with orange colored binding red stockings and very strong leather small clothes one might wear the articles oneself said Mrs. Chick with enthusiasm and be grateful there Richards said miss talks now indeed you may be proud the charitable grinders I am sure I am very much obliged sir returned Richards faintly and take it very kind that you should remember my little ones at the same time a vision of Byler as a charitable grinder with his very small legs encased in the surfacible clothing described by Mrs. Chick swam before Richards eyes and made them water I am very glad to see you have so much feeling Richards said miss talks it makes one almost hope it really does said Mrs. Chick who prided herself on taking trustful views of human nature that there may yet be some faint spark of gratitude and right feeling in the world Richards deferred to these compliments by and murmuring her thanks but finding it quite impossible to risk cover her spirits from the disorder into which they had been thrown by the image of her son in his precocious nether garments she gradually approached the door and was heartily received leave to escape by it such temporary indications of a partial thought that had appeared with her vanished with her frost set in again as cold and hard as ever Mr. Chick was twice heard to hum a tune at the bottom of the table but on both occasions it was a fragment of the dead march in Saul the party seemed to get colder and colder and to be gradually resolving itself into a congealed and solid state like the collation round was assembled at length Mrs. Chick looked at Miss Tox and Miss Tox returned the look and they both rose and said it was really time to go Mr. Dombie receiving this announcement with perfect equanimity they took leave of that gentleman and presently departed under the protection of Mr. Chick who when they had turned their backs upon the house and left its master in his usual solitary state put his hands in his pockets threw himself back in the carriage and whistled with a hey ho Chevy all through conveying into his face as he did so an expression of such gloomy and terrible defiance that Mrs. Chick dared not protest or in any way molest him Richards though she had little Paul on her lap could not forget her own firstborn she felt it was ungrateful but the influence of the day fell even on the charitable grinders and she could hardly help regarding his pewter badge number 147 as somehow a part of his formality and sternness she spoke to in the nursery of his blessed legs and was again troubled by his specter in uniform I don't know what I wouldn't give said Polly to see the poor little deer before he gets used to them why then I tell you what Mrs. Richards retorted Nipper who had been admitted to her confidence see him and make your mind easy Mr. Dombie wouldn't like it said Polly oh wouldn't he Mrs. Richards reported Nipper he'd like it very much I think when he was asked you wouldn't ask him I suppose at all said Polly no Mrs. Richards quite contrary returned Susan and them two inspectors talks and Chick not intending to be on duty tomorrow as I heard him say we'll go along with you tomorrow morning and welcome Mrs. Richards if you like for we may as well walk there as up and down a street and better too Polly rejected the idea pretty stoutly at first but by little and little she began to entertain it as she entertained more and more distinctly the forbidden pictures of her children and her own home at length arguing that there could be no great harm in calling for a moment at the door she yielded to the Nipper proposition the matter being settled thus little Paul began to cry most piteously as if he had a foreboding that no good would come of it what's the matter with the child asked Susan he's cold I think said Polly to him to and fro and hushing him it was a bleak autumnal afternoon indeed and as she walked and hushed and glancing through the dreary windows pressed the little fellow closer to her breast the withered leaves came showering down end of chapter 5