The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the care of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old. Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady, with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye. It was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with children, and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame enough, after sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof. At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not afraid of her. Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about. "You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you must be." "You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the dame. "Why not?" asked Paul. "Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly. "Not polite?" said Paul. "No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by a mad bull for asking questions!" "If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did _he_ know that the boy had asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don't believe that story." "You don't believe it, sir?" "No," said Paul. "Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?" said Mrs. Pipchin. As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself to be put down for the present. Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her brother's constant companion. At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the sea-side; there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so distressed as by the company of children--Florence alone excepted, always. "Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him. "Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if you please." His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers; and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his face, and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more. "I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?" She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves. "Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something. Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking eagerly at the horizon. She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!