ained so long.

"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"

"There's nothing there except papa."

The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
know me?"

Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.

"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."

That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.

How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
sought to know.

One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
drawing-room downstairs.

"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"

"No, darling."

The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.

"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."

Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.

"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."

Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly
on. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?

He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind
her neck.

"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
head is shining on me as I go."

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our
first parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its
course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old
fashion--Death!

_V.--The End of Dombey and Son_

The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the
inscription "Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I
think, sir?"

"You are right, of course. Make the correction."

And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
Mr. Dombey turned. Fo