If he had come from Court on these occasions, nay, if he had been the

noble Refrigerator come home triumphantly from a foreign court to be

presented and promoted on his last tremendous failure, Mrs Plornish

could not have handed him with greater elevation about Bleeding Heart

Yard. 'Here's Father,' she would say, presenting him to a neighbour.

'Father will soon be home with us for good, now. Ain't Father looking

well? Father's a sweeter singer than ever; you'd never have forgotten

it, if you'd aheard him just now.'

As to Mr Plornish, he had married these articles of belief in marrying

Mr Nandy's daughter, and only wondered how it was that so gifted an

old gentleman had not made a fortune. This he attributed, after much

reflection, to his musical genius not having been scientifically

developed in his youth. 'For why,' argued Mr Plornish, 'why go a-binding

music when you've got it in yourself?

That's where it is, I consider.'

Old Nandy had a patron: one patron. He had a patron who in a certain

sumptuous way--an apologetic way, as if he constantly took an admiring

audience to witness that he really could not help being more free

with this old fellow than they might have expected, on account of his

simplicity and poverty--was mightily good to him. Old Nandy had

been several times to the Marshalsea College, communicating with his

son-in-law during his short durance there; and had happily acquired to

himself, and had by degrees and in course of time much improved, the

patronage of the Father of that national institution.

Mr Dorrit was in the habit of receiving this old man as if the old man

held of him in vassalage under some feudal tenure. He made little treats

and teas for him, as if he came in with his homage from some outlying

district where the tenantry were in a primitive state.

It seemed as if there were moments when he could by no means have

sworn but that the old man was an ancient retainer of his, who had been

meritoriously faithful. When he mentioned him, he spoke of him casually

as his old pensioner. He had a wonderful satisfaction in seeing him, and

in commenting on his decayed condition after he was gone. It appeared

to him amazing that he could hold up his head at all, poor creature. 'In

the Workhouse, sir, the Union; no privacy, no visitors, no station, no

respect, no speciality. Most deplorable!'

It was Old Nandy's birthday, and they let him out. He said nothing about

its being his birthday, or they might have kept him in; for such old

men should not be born. He passed along the streets as usual to Bleeding

Heart Yard, and had his dinner with his daughter and son-in-law, and

gave them Phyllis. He had hardly concluded, when Little Dorrit looked in

to see how they all were. 'Miss Dorrit,' said Mrs Plornish, 'here's Father! Ain't he looking nice?

And such voice he's in!' Little Dorrit gave him her hand, and smilingly said she had not seen him

this long time. 'No, they're rather hard on poor Father,' said Mrs Plornish with a

lengthening face, 'and don't let him have half as much change and fresh

air as would benefit him. But he'll soon be home for good, now. Won't

you, Father?'




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