“I came to take these babies down to my room for an hour,” he said, going to them again, “and let them play about.  I didn’t mean to say all this, but it don’t much signify.  You’re not afraid of me, Tom, are you?”

“No!” said Tom.  “You ain’t angry with me.”

“You are right, my child.  You’re going back, Charley?  Aye?  Come then, little one!” He took the youngest child on his arm, where she was willing enough to be carried.  “I shouldn’t wonder if we found a ginger-bread soldier downstairs.  Let’s go and look for him!”

He made his former rough salutation, which was not deficient in a certain respect, to Mr. Jarndyce, and bowing slightly to us, went downstairs to his room.

Upon that, Mr. Skimpole began to talk, for the first time since our arrival, in his usual gay strain.  He said, Well, it was really very pleasant to see how things lazily adapted themselves to purposes.  Here was this Mr. Gridley, a man of a robust will and surprising energy—­intellectually speaking, a sort of inharmonious blacksmith—­and he could easily imagine that there Gridley was, years ago, wandering about in life for something to expend his superfluous combativeness upon—­a sort of Young Love among the thorns—­when the Court of Chancery came in his way and accommodated him with the exact thing he wanted.  There they were, matched, ever afterwards!  Otherwise he might have been a great general, blowing up all sorts of towns, or he might have been a great politician, dealing in all sorts of parliamentary rhetoric; but as it was, he and the Court of Chancery had fallen upon each other in the pleasantest way, and nobody was much the worse, and Gridley was, so to speak, from that hour provided for.  Then look at Coavinses!  How delightfully poor Coavinses (father of these charming children) illustrated the same principle!  He, Mr. Skimpole, himself, had sometimes repined at the existence of Coavinses.  He had found Coavinses in his way.  He could had dispensed with Coavinses.  There had been times when, if he had been a sultan, and his grand vizier had said one morning, “What does the Commander of the Faithful require at the hands of his slave?” he might have even gone so far as to reply, “The head of Coavinses!” But what turned out to be the case?  That, all that time, he had been giving employment to a most deserving man, that he had been a benefactor to Coavinses, that he had actually been enabling Coavinses to bring up these charming children in this agreeable way, developing these social virtues!  Insomuch that his heart had just now swelled and the tears had come into his eyes when he had looked round the room and thought, “I was the great patron of Coavinses, and his little comforts were my work!”