ce that the will Mrs. Clennam had
wickedly hidden declared the money should go. And as Little Dorrit was
this niece, it rightfully belonged to her. The real reason of Mrs.
Clennam's apparent kindness to Little Dorrit was the pricking of her
conscience, which gave her no rest.

But all this Arthur could not guess. Nevertheless, he had gained such an
interest in the little seamstress that next day he determined to find
out all he could about her father's unfortunate affairs.

He had great difficulty in this. The Government had taken charge of old
Mr. Dorrit's debts, and his affairs were in the hands of a department
which some people sneeringly called the "Circumlocution Office"--because
it took so much time and talk for it to accomplish anything. This
department had a great many clerks, every one of whom seemed to have
nothing to do but to keep people from troubling them by finding out
anything.

Arthur went to one clerk, who sent him to a Mr. Tite Barnacle, a fat,
pompous man with a big collar, a big watch chain and stiff boots. Mr.
Barnacle treated him quite as an outsider and would give him no
information whatever. Then he tried another department, where they said
they knew nothing of the matter. Still a third advised him not to bother
about it. So at last he had to give up, quite discouraged.

Though he could do nothing for Little Dorrit's father, Arthur did what
he could for her lazy brother. He paid his debts so that he was released
from the Marshalsea, and this kindness, though Tip himself was
ungrateful to the last degree, endeared him still more to Little Dorrit,
who needed his friendship so greatly.

The night her brother was released she came to Arthur to thank
him--alone save for a half-witted woman named Maggie, who believed she
herself was only ten years old, and called Little Dorrit "Little
Mother," and who used to go with her when she went through the streets
at night. Little Dorrit was dressed so thinly and looked so slight and
helpless that when she left, Arthur felt as if he would like to take her
up in his arms and carry her home again.

It would have been better if he had. For when they got back to the
Marshalsea the prison gates had closed for the night and they had to
stay out till morning. They wandered in the cold street till nearly
dawn; then a kind-hearted sexton who was opening a church let them come
in and made Little Dorrit a bed of pew cushions, and there she slept a
while with a big