this dainty raiment she instructed Florence to dress herself, and as
this seemed a prelude to her release, the child complied as fast as
possible. Mrs. Brown then resumed her seat on the bones, and smoked a
very short, black pipe, after which she gave the child a rabbit-skin to
carry, that she might appear like her ordinary companion, and led her
forth into the streets; but she cautioned her, with threats of deadly
vengeance in case of disobedience, to go directly to her father's office
in the city, also to wait at the street corner where she would be left,
until the clock struck three, and these directions Florence promised
faithfully to observe.

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!" though