dd," and whispered that he was "old
fashioned," and that was all.

Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had
"gone through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to
pursue his own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters
to himself from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire,
Brighton," to preserve them in his desk with great care.

"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.

"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.

"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
would immediately do.

"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
window. "I say, what do you think about?"

"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.

"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
surprising.

"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as
it did last night?"

Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about that.

"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."

Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
and then added, "or Preventive."

"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"

"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.

"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."

Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when
Paul was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made
him think the more of Florence.

They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched
him. He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
"old-fashioned" reputation.

The time arrived for taking leave.

"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.

"Good-bye, my little