‘How are the two poor little Minders?’
asked Mrs Boffin.
‘Striking right out, mum, and coming round beautiful.’
Mrs Boffin looked on the other three members of Council,
and then said, beckoning with her finger:
‘Sloppy.’
‘Yes, mum.’
‘Come forward, Sloppy. Should you like
to dine here every day?’
’Off of all four on ’em, mum? O mum!’
Sloppy’s feelings obliged him to squeeze his
hat, and contract one leg at the knee.
’Yes. And should you like to be always
taken care of here, if you were industrious and deserving?’
‘Oh, mum!—But there’s Mrs Higden,’
said Sloppy, checking himself in his raptures, drawing
back, and shaking his head with very serious meaning.
’There’s Mrs Higden. Mrs Higden goes
before all. None can ever be better friends to
me than Mrs Higden’s been. And she must
be turned for, must Mrs Higden. Where would Mrs
Higden be if she warn’t turned for!’ At
the mere thought of Mrs Higden in this inconceivable
affliction, Mr Sloppy’s countenance became pale,
and manifested the most distressful emotions.
‘You are as right as right can be, Sloppy,’
said Mrs Boffin ’and far be it from me to tell
you otherwise. It shall be seen to. If Betty
Higden can be turned for all the same, you shall come
here and be taken care of for life, and be made able
to keep her in other ways than the turning.’
‘Even as to that, mum,’ answered the ecstatic
Sloppy, ’the turning might be done in the night,
don’t you see? I could be here in the day,
and turn in the night. I don’t want no
sleep, I don’t. Or even if I any ways should
want a wink or two,’ added Sloppy, after a moment’s
apologetic reflection, ’I could take ’em
turning. I’ve took ’em turning many
a time, and enjoyed ’em wonderful!’
On the grateful impulse of the moment, Mr Sloppy kissed
Mrs Boffin’s hand, and then detaching himself
from that good creature that he might have room enough
for his feelings, threw back his head, opened his mouth
wide, and uttered a dismal howl. It was creditable
to his tenderness of heart, but suggested that he
might on occasion give some offence to the neighbours:
the rather, as the footman looked in, and begged pardon,
finding he was not wanted, but excused himself; on
the ground ’that he thought it was Cats.’
SOME AFFAIRS OF THE HEART
Little Miss Peecher, from her little official dwelling-house,
with its little windows like the eyes in needles,
and its little doors like the covers of school-books,
was very observant indeed of the object of her quiet
affections. Love, though said to be afflicted
with blindness, is a vigilant watchman, and Miss Peecher
kept him on double duty over Mr Bradley Headstone.
It was not that she was naturally given to playing
the spy—it was not that she was at all secret,
plotting, or mean—it was simply that she
