a long, long, time;
they remaining clasped in one another's arms, in the glorious sunshine
that had crept in with Florence. And so we leave them--Father and
Daughter--united at last in an undying affection.

CHARLEY

[Illustration: CHARLEY]

CHARLEY

When I, Esther Summerson, was taken from the school where the early
years of my childhood had been spent; having no home or parents, as had
the other girls in the school, my guardian, Mr. Jarndyce, gave me a home
with him, where I was companion to his young and lovely ward, Ada Clare.
I soon grew deeply attached to Ada, the dearest girl in the world; to my
guardian, the kindest and most thoughtful of men; and to Bleak House, my
happy home.

One day, upon hearing of the death of a poor man whom we had known, and
learning that he had left three motherless children in great poverty, my
guardian and I set out to discover for ourselves the extent of their
need. We were directed to a chandler's shop in Bell Yard, a narrow, dark
alley, where we found an old woman, who replied to my inquiry for
Neckett's children: "Yes, surely, Miss. Three pair, if you please. Door
right opposite the stairs." And she handed me a key across the counter.
As she seemed to take it for granted I knew what to do with the key, I
inferred it must be intended for the children's door, so without any
more questions I led the way up a dark stair.

Reaching the top room designated, I tapped at the door, and a little
shrill voice inside said, "We are locked in. Mrs. Blinder's got
the key!"

I applied the key, and opened the door. In a poor room, with a sloping
ceiling, and containing very little furniture, was a mite of a boy,
some five or six years old, nursing and hushing a heavy child of
eighteen months. There was no fire, though the weather was cold; both
children were wrapped in some poor shawls and tippets, as a substitute.
Their clothing was not so warm, however, but that their noses looked red
and pinched, and their small figures shrunken, as the boy walked up and
down, nursing and hushing the child with its head on his shoulder.

"Who has locked you up here alone?" we naturally asked.

"Charley," said the boy.

"Is Charley your brother?"

"No, she's my sister, Charlotte. Father called her Charley."

"Are there any more of you besides Charley?"

"Me," said the boy, "and Emma," patting the child he was nursing, "and
Charley."

"Where is Charley now?"

"Out a-washing," said