“Was it Mr. Skimpole’s voice I heard?”

“That’s the man!  He does me more good than anybody.  What a fascinating child it is!”

I asked Richard if any one knew of their coming down together.  He answered, no, nobody.  He had been to call upon the dear old infant—­so he called Mr. Skimpole—­and the dear old infant had told him where we were, and he had told the dear old infant he was bent on coming to see us, and the dear old infant had directly wanted to come too; and so he had brought him.  “And he is worth—­not to say his sordid expenses—­but thrice his weight in gold,” said Richard.  “He is such a cheery fellow.  No worldliness about him.  Fresh and green-hearted!”

I certainly did not see the proof of Mr. Skimpole’s worldliness in his having his expenses paid by Richard, but I made no remark about that.  Indeed, he came in and turned our conversation.  He was charmed to see me, said he had been shedding delicious tears of joy and sympathy at intervals for six weeks on my account, had never been so happy as in hearing of my progress, began to understand the mixture of good and evil in the world now, felt that he appreciated health the more when somebody else was ill, didn’t know but what it might be in the scheme of things that A should squint to make B happier in looking straight or that C should carry a wooden leg to make D better satisfied with his flesh and blood in a silk stocking.

“My dear Miss Summerson, here is our friend Richard,” said Mr. Skimpole, “full of the brightest visions of the future, which he evokes out of the darkness of Chancery.  Now that’s delightful, that’s inspiriting, that’s full of poetry!  In old times the woods and solitudes were made joyous to the shepherd by the imaginary piping and dancing of Pan and the nymphs.  This present shepherd, our pastoral Richard, brightens the dull Inns of Court by making Fortune and her train sport through them to the melodious notes of a judgment from the bench.  That’s very pleasant, you know!  Some ill-conditioned growling fellow may say to me, ’What’s the use of these legal and equitable abuses?  How do you defend them?’ I reply, ’My growling friend, I don’t defend them, but they are very agreeable to me.  There is a shepherd—­youth, a friend of mine, who transmutes them into something highly fascinating to my simplicity.  I don’t say it is for this that they exist—­for I am a child among you worldly grumblers, and not called upon to account to you or myself for anything—­but it may be so.’”

I began seriously to think that Richard could scarcely have found a worse friend than this.  It made me uneasy that at such a time when he most required some right principle and purpose he should have this captivating looseness and putting-off of everything, this airy dispensing with all principle and purpose, at his elbow.  I thought I could understand how such a nature as my guardian’s, experienced in the world and forced to contemplate the miserable evasions and contentions of the family misfortune, found an immense relief in Mr. Skimpole’s avowal of his weaknesses and display of guileless candour; but I could not satisfy myself that it was as artless as it seemed or that it did not serve Mr. Skimpole’s idle turn quite as well as any other part, and with less trouble.