“Call him back a minute.” Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy. “You’re Dombey’s jockey, an’t you?” said the first man. “I’m in Dombey’s House, Mr. Clark,” returned the boy. “Look ye here, then,” said Mr. Clark. Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clark’s hand, the boy approached toward Florence, wondering, as well he might, what he had to do with her. But she, who had heard what passed, and who, besides the relief of so suddenly considering herself safe at her journey’s end, felt reassured beyond all measure by his lively youthful face and manner, ran eagerly up to him, leaving one of the slipshod shoes upon the ground and caught his hand in both of hers. “I am lost, if you please!” said Florence. “Lost!” cried the boy. “Yes, I was lost this morning, a long way from here--and I have had my clothes taken away, since--and I am not dressed in my own now--and my name is Florence Dombey, my little brother’s only sister--and, oh dear, dear, take care of me, if you please!” sobbed Florence, giving full vent to the childish feelings she had so long suppressed, and bursting into tears. At the same time her miserable bonnet falling off, her hair came tumbling down about her face: moving to speechless admiration and commiseration, young Walter, nephew of Solomon Gills, ships’ instrument-maker in general. Mr. Clark stood rapt in amazement: observing under his breath, _I_ never saw such a start on _this_ wharf before. Walter picked up the shoe, and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story might have fitted Cinderella’s slipper on. He hung the rabbit-skin over his left arm; gave the right to Florence; and felt, not to say like Richard Whittington--that is a tame comparison--but like Saint George of England, with the dragon lying dead before him. “Don’t cry, Miss Dombey,” said Walter, 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 am only crying for joy.” “Crying for joy!” thought Walter, “and I’m the cause of it! Come along, Miss Dombey. There’s the other shoe off now! Take mine, Miss Dombey.” “No, no, no,” said Florence, checking him in the act of impetuously pulling off his own. “These do better. These do very well.” “Why, to be sure,” said Walter, glancing at her foot, “mine are a mile too large. What am I thinking about! You never could walk in _mine_! Come along, Miss Dombey. Let me see the villain who will dare molest you now.” So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking very happy; and they went arm in arm along the streets, perfectly indifferent to any astonishment that their appearance might or did excite by the way. * * * * *