At length Mrs. Brown left her changed and ragged little friend at a corner, where, true to her promise, she remained until the steeple rang out three o’clock, when after often looking over her shoulder, lest the all-powerful spies of Mrs. Brown should take offence at that, she hurried off as fast as she could in her slipshod shoes, holding the rabbit-skin tight in her hand.

Tired of walking, stunned by the noise and confusion, anxious for her brother and the nurses, terrified by what she had undergone, and what was yet before her, Florence once or twice could not help stopping and crying bitterly, but few people noticed her, in the garb she wore, or if they did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed on.  It was late in the afternoon when she peeped into a kind of wharf, and asked a stout man there if he could tell her the way to Dombey & Son’s.

The man looked attentively at her, then called another man, who ran up an archway, and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy who he said was in Mr. Dombey’s employ.

Hearing this, Florence felt re-assured; ran eagerly up to him, and caught his hand in both of hers.

“I’m lost, if you please!” said Florence.  “I was lost this morning, a long way from here—­and I have had my own clothes taken away since—­and my name is Florence Dombey, and, oh dear, take care of me, if you please!” sobbed Florence, giving full vent to her childish feelings.

“Don’t cry, Miss Dombey,” said young Walter Gay, the nephew of Solomon Gills, in a transport of enthusiasm.  “What a wonderful thing for me that I am here.  You are as safe now as if you were guarded by a whole boat’s crew of picked men from a man-of-war.  Oh, don’t cry!”

“I won’t cry any more,” said Florence.  “I’m only crying for joy.”

“Crying for joy!” thought Walter, “and I’m the cause of it.  Come along, Miss Dombey, let me see the villain who will molest you now!”

So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence looking very happy; and as Mr. Dombey’s office was closed for the night, he led her to his uncle’s, to leave her there while he should go and tell Mr. Dombey that she was safe, and bring her back some clothes.

“Halloa, Uncle Sol,” cried Walter, bursting into the shop; “Here’s a wonderful adventure!  Here’s Mr. Dombey’s daughter lost in the streets, and robbed of her clothes by an old witch of a woman—­found by me—­brought home to our parlor to rest—­Here—­just help me lift the little sofa near the fire, will you, uncle Sol?—­Cut some dinner for her, will you, uncle; throw those shoes under the grate, Miss Florence—­put your feet on the fender to dry—­how damp they are!—­Here’s an adventure, uncle, eh?—­God bless my soul, how hot I am!”

Solomon Gills was quite as hot, by sympathy; and in excessive bewilderment, he patted Florence’s head, pressed her to eat, pressed her to drink, rubbed the soles of her feet with his pocket-handkerchief, heated at the fire, followed his locomotive nephew with his eyes and ears, and had no clear perception of anything except that he was being constantly knocked against, and tumbled over by that excited young gentleman, as he darted about the room, attempting to accomplish twenty things at once, and doing nothing at all.