[Illustration: PAUL DOMBEY AND HIS SISTER.]
As Mrs. Dombey died when little Paul was born, upon Mr. Dombey--the
pompous head of the great firm Dombey and Son--fell the entire
responsibility of bringing up his two children, Florence, then eight years
of age, and the tiny boy, Paul. Of Florence he took little notice; girls
never seemed to him to be of any special use in the world, but Paul was
the light of his eyes, his pride and joy, and in the delicate child with
his refined features and dreamy eyes, Mr. Dombey saw the future
representative of the firm, and his heir as well; and he could not do
enough for the boy who was to perpetuate the name of Dombey after him. It
seemed to Mr. Dombey that any one so fortunate as to be born his son could
not but thrive in return for so great a favour. So it was a blow to him
that Paul did not grow into a burly, hearty fellow. All their vigilance
and care could not make him a sturdy boy.
He was a pretty little fellow, though there was something wan and wistful
in his small face. His temper gave abundant promise of being imperious in
after life; and he had as hopeful an apprehension of his own importance,
and the rightful subservience of all other things and persons to it as
heart could wish. He was childish and sportive enough at times, and not of
a sullen disposition; but he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way,
at other times of sitting brooding in his miniature arm-chair. At no time
did he fall into it so surely as when after dinner he sat with his father
by the fire. They were the strangest pair at such a time that ever
fire-light shone upon. Dombey so erect and solemn, gazing at the blaze;
Paul with an old, old face peering into the red perspective with the fixed
and rapt attention of a sage, the two so much alike and yet so monstrously
contrasted. On one of these occasions, when they had both been perfectly
quiet for a long time, little Paul broke the silence thus:
"Papa, what's money?"
The abrupt question took Mr. Dombey by surprise.
"What is money, Paul?" he answered, "Money?"
"Yes," said the child, laying his hands upon the elbows of his little
chair, and turning his face up towards Mr. Dombey. "What is money?"
Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would have liked to give him some
explanation, involving the terms, currency, bullion, rates of exchange,
etc., but he feared he might not be understood, so he answered:
"Gold and silver and copper. Guineas, shillings, halfpence. You know what
they are?"
"Oh yes, I know what they are," said Paul. "I don't mean that, papa. I
mean what is money after all?"
"What is money after all!"--said Mr. Dombey, backing his chair a little,
that he might the better gaze at the presumptuous atom who propounded such
an inquiry.
"I mean, papa, what can it do?" returned Paul.
Mr. Dombey patted him on the head. "You'll know better by-and-by, my man,"
he said. "Money, Paul, can do anything."
"Anything, papa?"
"Yes, anything--almost," said Mr. Dombey.
"Why didn't money save me my mama?" returned the child. "It isn't cruel,
is it?"
"Cruel?" said Mr. Dombey. "No. A good thing can't be cruel."
"If it's a good thing and can do anything," said the little fellow,
thoughtfully, as he looked back at the fire, "I wonder why it didn't save
me my mama."
He didn't ask the question of his father this time. Perhaps he had seen,
with a child's quickness, that it had already made his father
uncomfortable. But he repeated the thought aloud, as if it was quite an
old one to him, and had troubled him very much.
"It can't make me strong and quite well, either, papa; can it?" asked
Paul, after a short silence; rubbing his tiny hands.
"You are as strong and well as such little people usually are? Eh?" said
Mr. Dombey.
"Florence is older than I am, but I'm not as strong and well as Florence,
I know," returned the child; "I am so tired sometimes," said little Paul,
"and my bones ache so that I don't know what to do."
The unusual tone of that conversation so alarmed Mr. Dombey that the very
next day he began to inquire into the real state of Paul's health; and as
the doctor suggested that sea-air might be of benefit to the child, to
Brighton he was promptly sent, to remain until he should seem benefited.
He refused to go without Florence to whom he clung with a passion of
devotion which made Mr. Dombey both irritated and jealous to see, wishing
himself to absorb the boy's entire affection.
So to Brighton Paul and Florence went, in charge of Paul's nurse, Wickam.
They found board in the house of an old lady, Mrs. Pipchin by name, whose
temper was not of the best and whose methods of managing children were
rather peculiar.
At this exemplary old lady, Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
for any length of time. He never seemed to know what weariness was when he
was looking fixedly at Mrs. Pipchin. He was not fond of her, he was not
afraid of her, but she seemed to have a grotesque attraction for him.
Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about.
"You," said Paul, without the least reserve.
"And what are you thinking about me?" asked Mrs. Pipchin.
"I'm thinking how old you must be," said Paul.
"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the dame.
"Why not?" asked Paul.
"Because it's not polite," said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.
"Not polite?" said Paul.
"No."
"It's not polite," said Paul innocently, "to eat all the mutton-chops and
toast, Wickam says."
"Wickam," retorted Mrs. Pipchin colouring, "is a wicked, impudent,
bold-faced hussy."
"What's that?" inquired Paul.
"Never you mind, sir," retorted Mrs. Pipchin. "Remember the story of the
little boy that was gored to death by a mad bull for asking questions."
"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did he know that the boy had asked
questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don't
believe that story."
"You don't believe it, sir?" repeated Mrs. Pipchin, amazed.
"No," said Paul.
"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
said Mrs. Pipchin.
As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
to be put down for the present. But he sat turning it over in his mind
with such an obvious intention of fixing Mrs. Pipchin presently, that even
that hardy old lady deemed it prudent to retreat until he should have
forgotten the subject.
From that time Mrs. Pipchin appeared to have something of the same odd
kind of an attraction towards Paul as Paul had towards her. She would make
him move his chair to her side of the fire, instead of sitting opposite,
and there he would remain studying every line of Mrs. Pipchin's face,
while the old black cat lay coiled up on the fender purring and winking at
the fire, and Paul went on studying Mrs, Pipchin and the cat and the fire,
night after night, as if they were a history of necromancy in three
volumes.
At the end of a week, as Paul was no stronger, though he looked much
healthier in the face, a little carriage was got for him, in which he
could be wheeled down to the seaside. Consistent in his odd tastes, the
child set aside a ruddy faced lad, who was proposed as the drawer of this
carriage, and selected instead, his grandfather, Glubb by name, a weazen,
old, crab-faced man, in a suit of battered oilskins, who smelt like a
weedy sea-beach when the tide is out. With this notable attendant to pull
him along and Florence always by his side, he went down to the margin of
the ocean every day; and there he would sit or lie in his carriage for
hours together, never so distressed as at the company of children.
He had even a dislike at such times to the company of nurse Wickham, and
was well pleased when she strolled away. His favourite spot was quite a
lonely one, far away from most loungers, and with Florence sitting by his
side at work, or reading to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the
water coming up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.
For a year the children stayed at Brighton, going home but twice during
that time for a few days, but every Sunday Mr. Dombey spent with them at
the Brighton Hotel.
During the year Paul had grown strong enough to give up his carriage,
though he still looked thin and delicate, and still remained the same
dreamy, quiet child that he had been when consigned to Mrs. Pipchin's
care.
At length, on a Saturday afternoon, Mr. Dombey appeared with the news that
he was thinking of removing Paul to the school of one Doctor Blimber, also
at Brighton.
"I have had some communication with the doctor, Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr.
Dombey, "and he does not think Paul at all too young for his purposes. My
son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin, really he is getting on."
"Six years old!" said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth. "Dear me! six
will be changed to sixteen before we have time to look about us; and there
is no doubt, I fear, that in his studies he is behind many children of his
age--or his youth," said Mr. Dombey--"his youth is a more appropriate
expression.
"Now, Mrs. Pipchin, instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to be
before them, far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to mount
on. There is nothing of chance or doubt before my son. The education of
such a young gentleman must not be delayed. It must not be left imperfect.
It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, Mrs. Pipchin."
"Well, sir," said Mrs. Pipchin, "I can say nothing to the contrary." And
so to Doctor Blimber's Paul was sent.
The doctor's was a mighty fine house fronting the sea. Upon its doorstep
one day Paul stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand
in his father's. His other hand was locked in that of Florence. The doctor
was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each knee, books all
round him, Homer over the door and Minerva on the mantel-shelf.
Paul being somewhat too small to be seen from where the doctor sat, over
the books on his table, the doctor made several futile attempts to get a
view of him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, relieved the
doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul up in his arms, and sitting
him on another little table in the middle of the room.
"Ha!" said the doctor, leaning back in his chair. "Now I see my little
friend. How do you do, my little friend?"
"V-ery well, I thank you, sir," returned Paul.
"Ha!" said Doctor Blimber. "Shall we make a man of him?"
"Do you hear, Paul?" added Mr. Dombey, Paul being silent.
"I had rather be a child," replied Paul.
"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Why?"
The child made no audible answer, and Doctor Blimber continued, "You would
wish my little friend to acquire----?"
"_Everything_, if you please, doctor," returned Mr. Dombey, firmly.
"Yes," said the doctor. "Yes, exactly. Ha! We shall impart a great variety
of information to our little friend, and bring him quickly forward."
At this moment Mrs. Blimber entered, followed by her daughter, and they
were duly presented to the Dombeys. There was no light nonsense about Miss
Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp and wore spectacles.
Mrs. Blimber, her mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to be,
and that did quite as well. She said at evening parties, that if she could
have known Cicero, she thought she could have died content. It was the
steady joy of her life to see the doctor's young gentlemen go out walking,
in the largest possible shirt-collars and the stiffest possible cravats.
It was so classical, she said.
After the introductions were accomplished, Mrs. Blimber took Mr. Dombey
upstairs to inspect the dormitories. While they were gone Paul sat upon
the table, holding Florence by the hand, and glancing timidly from the
doctor round and round the room, while the doctor held a book from him at
arm's length and read.
Presently Mr. Dombey and Mrs. Blimber returned.
"I hope, Mr. Dombey," said the doctor laying down his book, "that the
arrangements meet with your approval?"
"They are excellent, sir," said Mr. Dombey, and added, "I think I have
given all the trouble I need, and may now take my leave. Paul my child,
good-bye."
"Good-bye, papa."
The limp and careless little hand, that Mr. Dombey took in his, was
singularly out of keeping with the wistful little face. But he had no part
in its sorrowful expression. It was not addressed to him. No, no! To
Florence, all to Florence.
"I shall see you soon, Paul," said Mr. Dombey, bending over to kiss the
child. "You are free on Saturdays and Sundays, you know."
"Yes, papa," returned Paul, looking at his sister. "On Saturdays and
Sundays."
"And you'll try and learn a great deal here and be a clever man," said Mr.
Dombey; "won't you?"
"I'll try," said the boy, wearily, and then after his father had patted
him on the head, and pressed his small hand again, and after he had one
last long hug from Florence, he was left with the globes, the books, blind
Homer and Minerva, while Doctor Blimber saw Mr. Dombey to the door.
After the lapse of some minutes, Doctor Blimber came back, and the doctor
lifting his new pupil off the table delivered him over to Miss Blimber's
care. Miss Blimber received his young ward from the doctor's hands; and
Paul, feeling that the spectacles were surveying him, cast down his eyes.
"How much of your Latin Grammar do you know, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber.
"None of it," answered Paul. Feeling that the answer was a shock to Miss
Blimber's sensibility he added:
"I haven't been well. I have been a weak child. I couldn't learn a Latin
Grammar when I was out every day with old Glubb. I wish you would tell old
Glubb to come and see me, if you please."
"What a dreadful low name," said Mrs. Blimber. "Unclassical to a degree!
Who is the monster, child?"
"What monster!" inquired Paul.
"Glubb," said Mrs. Blimber.
"He's no more a monster than you are," returned Paul.
"What!" cried the doctor, in a terrible voice. "Aye, aye, aye? Aha! What's
that?"
Paul was dreadfully frightened, but still he made a stand for the absent
Glubb, though he did it trembling.
"He's a very nice old man, ma'am," he said. "He used to draw my couch; he
knows all about the deep sea and the fish that are in it, and though old
Glubb don't know why the sea should make me think of my mama that's dead,
or what it is that it is always saying,--always saying, he knows a great
deal about it."
"Ha!" said the doctor, shaking his head: "this is bad, but study will do
much. Take him round the house, Cornelia, and familiarise him with his new
sphere. Go with that young lady, Dombey."
Dombey obeyed, giving his hand to Cornelia, who took him first to the
school-room. Here were eight young gentlemen in various stages of mental
prostration, all very hard at work and very grave indeed. Toots, the
oldest boy in the school, to whom Paul had previously been introduced, had
a desk to himself in one corner, and a magnificent man of immense age, he
looked in Paul's eyes behind it.
The appearance of a new boy did not create the sensation that might have
been expected. Mr. Feeder, B.A., gave him a bony hand and told him he was
glad to see him, and then Paul, instructed by Miss Blimber shook hands
with all the eight young gentlemen, at work against time. Then Cornelia
led Paul upstairs to the top of the house: and there, in a front room
looking over the wild sea, Cornelia showed him a nice little white bed
with white hangings, close to the window, on which there was already
written on a card in round text DOMBEY; while two other little bedsteads
in the same room, were announced through the same means as belonging to
BRIGGS and TOZER.
Then Miss Blimber said to Dombey that dinner would be ready in a quarter
of an hour, and perhaps he had better go into the school-room among his
"friends." So Dombey opened the school-room door a very little way and
strayed in like a lost boy.
His "friends," were all dispersed about the room. All the boys (Toots
excepted) were getting ready for dinner--some newly tying their
neckcloths, and others washing their hands or brushing their hair in an
adjoining room. Young Toots, who was ready beforehand, and had therefore
leisure to bestow upon Dombey, said with heavy good-nature,----
"Sit down, Dombey."
"Thank you, sir," said Paul.
His endeavouring to hoist himself on to a very high window-seat, and his
slipping down again, prepared Toots' mind for the reception of a
discovery.
"You're a very small chap," said Mr. Toots.
"Yes, sir, I'm small," returned Paul. "Thank you, sir." For Toots had
lifted him into the seat, and done it kindly too.
"Who's your tailor?" inquired Toots, after looking at him for some
moments.
"It's a woman that has made my clothes as yet," said Paul "My sister's
dressmaker."
"My tailor's Burgess and Co.," said Toots. "Fash'nable but very dear."
Paul had wit enough to shake his head, as if he would have said it was
easy to see that.
"Your father's regularly rich, ain't he?" inquired Mr. Toots.
"Yes, sir," said Paul. "He's Dombey and Son."
"And which?" demanded Toots.
"And son, sir," replied Paul.
By this time the other pupils had gathered round, and after a few minutes
of general conversation the gong sounded, which caused a general move
towards the dining-room. Paul's chair at the table was next to Miss
Blimber, but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows were not
much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were brought, on which
he was elevated, and on which he always sat from that time, carrying them
in and out himself on after occasions, like a little elephant and castle.
Grace having been said by the doctor, dinner began. There was some nice
soup, also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every
young gentleman had a massive silver fork and a napkin, and all the
arrangements were stately and handsome. There was a butler too, in a blue
coat and brass buttons.
Nobody spoke unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and
Miss Blimber. Only once during dinner was there any conversation that
included the young gentlemen. It happened when the doctor, having hemmed
twice or thrice; said:----
"It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans----"
At this mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every
young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the doctor, with an assumption of
the deepest interest. One of the number happened to be drinking, and when
he caught the doctor's eye glaring at him through the side of his tumbler,
he left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, and in the
sequel ruined Doctor Blimber's point, for at the critical part of the
Roman tale, Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst into such an
overwhelming fit of coughing that, although both his immediate neighbours
thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of water to
his lips, and the butler walked him up and down several times between his
own chair and the sideboard, like a sentry, it was full five minutes
before he was moderately composed, and then there was a profound silence.
"Gentlemen," said Doctor Blimber, "rise for Grace! Cornelia, lift Dombey
down. Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before breakfast,
without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first chapter of Saint
Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr. Feeder, in
half-an-hour."
The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Through the rest of the day's
routine of work Paul sat in a corner wondering whether Florence was
thinking of him and what they were about at Mrs. Pipchin's.
In the confidence of their own room that night Briggs said his head ached
ready to split. Tozer didn't say much, but he sighed a good deal, and told
Paul to look out for his turn would come to-morrow. And Tozer was right.
The next morning Miss Blimber called Dombey to her and gave him a great
pile of books.
"These are yours, Dombey," said Miss Blimber.
"All of 'em, ma'am?" said Paul.
"Yes," returned Miss Blimber; "and Mr. Feeder will look you out some more
very soon if you are as studious as I expect you will be, Dombey."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Paul.
"Now, don't lose time, Dombey," continued Miss Blimber, "for you have none
to spare, but take them downstairs and begin directly."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Paul.
There were so many of them that, although Paul put one hand under the
bottom book and his other hand and his chin on the top book and hugged
them all closely, the middle book slipped out before he reached the door,
and then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss Blimber said, "Oh,
Dombey, Dombey, this is really very careless," and piled them up afresh
for him; and this time by dint of balancing them with great nicety, Paul
got out of the room and down a few stairs before two of them escaped
again. But he held the rest so tight that he only left one more on the
first floor and one in the passage; and when he had got the main body down
into the school-room, he set off upstairs again to collect the stragglers.
Having at last amassed the whole library and climbed into his place he
fell to work, encouraged by a remark from Tozer to the effect that he was
in for it now; which was the only interruption he received until breakfast
time, for which meal he had no appetite, and when it was finished, he
followed Miss Blimber upstairs.
"Now, Dombey, how have you got on with those books?" asked Miss Blimber.
They comprised a little English, and a deal of Latin, names of things,
declensions of articles and nouns, exercises thereon, and preliminary
rules; a trifle of orthography, a glance at ancient history, a wink or two
at modern ditto, a few tables, two or three weights and measures, and a
little general information. When poor Paul had spelt out number two, he
found he had no idea of number one, fragments whereof obtruded themselves
into number three, which slided into number four, which grafted itself on
to number two. So that whether twenty Romuluses made a Remus, or hic,
haec, hoc, was troy weight, or a verb always agreed with an ancient
Briton, or three times four was Taurus, a bull, were open questions with
him.
"Oh, Dombey, Dombey!" said Miss Blimber, "this is very shocking!"
"If you please," said Paul, "I think if I might sometimes talk a little
with old Glubb, I should be able to do better."
"Nonsense, Dombey," said Miss Blimber, "I couldn't hear of it; and now
take away the top book, if you please, Dombey, and return when you are
master of the theme."
From that time Paul gave his whole mind to the pursuit of knowledge and
acquitted himself very well, but it was hard work, and only on Saturdays
did he have time to draw a free breath.
Oh Saturdays, happy Saturdays, when Florence, still at Mrs. Pipchin's,
came at noon; they made up for all the other days!
It did not take long for the loving sister to discover that Paul needed
help with the lessons over which he plodded so patiently, and so,
procuring the books which he used, she kept pace with him in his studies,
and every Saturday was able to assist him with his next week's work, and
thus he was kept from sinking underneath the burden which Cornelia Blimber
piled upon his back.
It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Doctor
Blimber meant to bear too heavily upon the young gentlemen in general, but
comforted by the applause of the young gentlemen's nearest relatives, and
urged on by their blind vanity and ill-considered haste, it would have
been strange if Doctor Blimber had discovered his mistake. Thus in the
case of Paul. When Doctor Blimber said he made great progress and was
naturally clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced
and crammed.
Such spirits as he had in the outset Paul soon lost. But he retained all
that was strange and old and thoughtful in his character. The only
difference was that he kept his character to himself. He grew more
thoughtful and reserved every day. He loved to be alone; and in those
short intervals when he was not occupied with his books, he liked nothing
so well as wandering about the house by himself, or sitting on the stairs
listening to the great clock in the hall.
They were within some two or three weeks of the holidays when one day
Cornelia called Dombey to her to hear the analysis of his character that
she was about to send to his father.
"_Analysis_," said Miss Blimber, "of the character of P. Dombey. It may be
generally observed of Dombey," said Miss Blimber, reading in a loud voice,
and at every second word directing her spectacles towards the little
figure before her, "that his abilities and inclinations are good, and that
he has made as much progress as under the circumstances could have been
expected. But it is to be lamented of this young gentleman that he is
singular (what is usually termed old-fashioned) in his character and
conduct, and that he is often very unlike other young gentlemen of his age
and social position. Now, Dombey," said Miss Blimber, laying down the
paper, "do you understand? This analysis, you see, Dombey," Miss Blimber
continued, "is going to be sent home to your respected parent. It will
naturally be very painful to him to find that you are singular in your
character and conduct. It is naturally very painful to us, for we can't
like you, you know, Dombey, as well as we could wish."
She touched the child upon a tender point. He had secretly become more
solicitous from day to day that all the house should like him. He could
not bear to think that they would be quite indifferent to him when he was
gone, and he had even made it his business to conciliate a great, hoarse,
shaggy dog, who had previously been the terror of his life, that even he
might miss him.
This poor tiny Paul set forth to Miss Blimber as well as he could and
begged her, in spite of the official analysis, to have the goodness to try
to like him. To Mrs. Blimber, who had joined them, he preferred the same
petition; and when she gave her oft-repeated opinion that he was an odd
child, Paul told her that he was sure that she was quite right; that he
thought it must be his bones, but he didn't know, and he hoped she would
overlook it, for he was fond of them all.
"Not so fond," said Paul, with a mixture of frankness and timidity which
was one of the most peculiar and engaging qualities of his, "not so fond
as I am of Florence, of course; that could never be. You couldn't expect
that, could you, ma'am?"
"Oh, the old-fashioned little soul!" cried Mrs. Blimber, in a whisper.
"But I like everybody here very much," pursued Paul, "and I should grieve
to go away and think that any one was glad I had gone, or didn't care."
Mrs. Blimber was now sure that Paul was the oddest child in the world, and
when she told the doctor what had passed, he did not controvert his wife's
opinion.
And Paul's wish was gratified. His purpose was to be a gentle, helpful,
quiet little fellow, and though he was often to be seen at his old post on
the stairs, or watching the waves or the clouds from his solitary window,
he was oftener found too, among the other boys, modestly rendering them
some little voluntary service. Thus it came to pass that Paul was an
object of general interest: a fragile little plaything that they all
liked, and that no one would have thought of treating roughly. But he
could not change his nature, and so they all agreed that Dombey was
old-fashioned.
There were some immunities, however, attaching to the character enjoyed by
no one else. They could have better spared a newer-fashioned child, and
that alone was much. When the others only bowed to Doctor Blimber and
family when retiring, Paul would stretch his morsel of a hand, and boldly
shake the doctor's, also Mrs. Blimber's, also Cornelia's; and if any one
was to be begged off from impending punishment, Paul was always the
delegate.
One evening, when the holidays were very near, Paul was in Toots' room
watching Mr. Feeder and Toots fold, seal, and direct, the invitations for
the evening party with which the term was to close. Paul's head, which had
long been ailing more or less, and was sometimes very heavy and painful,
felt so uneasy that night that he was obliged to support it on his hand.
And it dropped so that by little and little it sunk on Mr. Toots' knee,
and rested there.
That was no reason why he should be deaf; but he must have been, he
thought, for by and by he heard Mr. Feeder calling in his ear, and gently
shaking him to rouse his attention. And when he raised his head, quite
scared, he found that Doctor Blimber had come into the room, and that the
window was open, and that his forehead was wet with sprinkled water.
"Ah! Come, come, that's well. How is my little friend now?" said Doctor
Blimber.
"Oh, quite well, thank you, sir," said Paul.
But there seemed to be something the matter with the floor, for he
couldn't stand upon it steadily; and with the walls too, for they were
inclined to turn round and round.
It was very kind of Mr. Toots to carry him to the top of the house so
tenderly, and Paul told him that it was. But Mr. Toots said he would do a
great deal more than that if he could; and, indeed, he did more as it was,
for he helped Paul to undress and helped him to bed in the kindest manner
possible, and then sat down by the bedside and chuckled very much, while
Mr. Feeder leaning over the bottom of the bedstead set all the little
bristles on his head, bolt upright with his bony hands, and then made
believe to spar at Paul, with great science, on account of his being all
right again, which was so funny and kind, too, in Mr. Feeder, that Paul,
not being able to make up his mind whether to laugh or cry, did both at
once.
Everything that could minister to Paul's comfort was done for him, and in
those days just before the holidays when the other young gentlemen were
labouring for dear life, Paul was such a privileged pupil as had never
been seen in that house before. He could hardly believe it himself, but
his liberty lasted from hour to hour, from day to day; and little Dombey
was caressed by every one.
At last, the great night of the reception arrived.
When Paul was dressed, which was very soon done, for he felt unwell and
drowsy and not able to stand about it very long, he went down into the
drawing-room. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Blimber appeared, looking lovely,
Paul thought, and Miss Blimber came down soon after her mama. Mr. Toots
and Mr. Feeder were the next arrivals. Each of these gentlemen brought his
hat in his hand as if he lived somewhere else; and when they were
announced by the butler. Doctor Blimber said, "Aye, aye, aye! God bless my
soul!" and seemed extremely glad to see them. Mr. Toots was one blaze of
jewellery and buttons, and all the other young gentlemen were tightly
cravatted, curled, and pumped, and all came in with their hats in their
hands at separate times and were announced and introduced. Soon Paul
slipped down from the cushioned corner of a sofa, and went downstairs into
the tearoom to be ready for Florence. Presently she came; looking so
beautiful in her simple ball-dress, with her fresh flowers in her hand,
that when she knelt down, to take Paul round the neck and kiss him, he
could hardly make up his mind to let her go again, or to take away her
bright and loving eyes from his face.
"But what is the matter, Floy?" asked Paul, almost sure that he saw a tear
there.
"Nothing, darling, nothing," returned Florence.
Paul touched her cheek gently with his finger, and it _was_ a tear.
"We'll go home together, and I'll nurse you, love," said Florence.
"Nurse me?" echoed Paul.
"Floy," said Paul, holding a ringlet of her dark hair in his hand. "Tell
me, dear. Do you think I have grown old-fashioned?"