“So; let me see,” said Polly, not a little flurried between this earnest scrutiny, her desire to comfort the child, her sudden success, and her very slight confidence in her own powers.  “So, when this lady died, she went to God! and she prayed to Him, this lady did,” said Polly, affecting herself beyond measure, being heartily in earnest, “to teach her little daughter to be sure of that in her heart; and to know that she was happy there, and loved her still; and to hope and try—­oh, all her life—­to meet her there one day, never, never, never to part any more.”

“It was my mamma!” exclaimed the child, springing up, and clasping her around the neck.

“And the child’s heart,” said Polly, drawing her to her breast, “the little daughter’s heart was so full of the truth of this, that even when she heard it from a strange nurse that couldn’t tell it right, but was a poor mother herself, and that was all, she found a comfort in it—­didn’t feel so lonely—­sobbed and cried upon her bosom—­took kindly to the baby lying in her lap—­and—­there, there, there!” said Polly, smoothing the child’s curls, and dropping tears upon her.  “There, poor dear!”

“Oh, well, Miss Floy! and won’t your pa be angry neither?” cried a quick voice at the door, proceeding from a short, brown womanly girl of fourteen, with little snub nose, and black eyes like jet beads, “when it was tickerlerly given out that you wasn’t to go and worrit the nurse.”

“She don’t worry me,” was the surprised rejoinder of Polly.  “I’m very fond of children.  Miss Florence has just come home, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, Mrs. Richards, and here, Miss Floy, before you’ve been in the house a quarter of an hour, you go a-smearing your wet face against the expensive mourning that Mrs. Richards is a-wearing for your ma!” With this remonstrance, young Spitfire, whose real name was Susan Nipper, detached the child from her new friend by a wrench—­as if she were a tooth.  But she seemed to do it more in the sharp exercise of her official functions, than with any deliberate unkindness.

“She’ll be quite happy, now that she’s come home again,” said Polly, nodding to her with a smile, “and will be so pleased to see her dear papa to-night.”

“Lork, Mrs. Richards!” cried Miss Nipper, taking up her words with a jerk, “Don’t!  See her dear papa, indeed!  I should like to see her do it!  Her pa’s a deal too wrapped up in somebody else; and before there was somebody else to be wrapped up in, she never was a favorite.  Girls are thrown away in this house, I assure you.”

“You surprise me,” cried Polly.  “Hasn’t Mr. Dombey seen her since—­”

“No,” interrupted Miss Nipper.  “Not once since.  And he hadn’t hardly set his eyes upon her before that, for months and months, and I don’t think he would know her for his own child if he was to meet her in the streets to-morrow.  Oh, there’s a Tartar within a hundred miles of here, I can tell you, Mrs. Richards!” said Susan Nipper; “Wish you good morning, Mrs. Richards.  Now Miss Floy, you come along with me, and don’t go hanging back like a naughty wicked child, that judgments is no example to, don’t.”