f an
ancient establishment, called (from a worshipful company) the Charitable
Grinders; where not only is a wholesome education bestowed upon the
scholars, but where a dress and badge is likewise provided for them;
I have (first communicating, through Mrs Chick, with your family)
nominated your eldest son to an existing vacancy; and he has this day, I
am informed, assumed the habit. The number of her son, I believe,' said
Mr Dombey, turning to his sister and speaking of the child as if he were
a hackney-coach, is one hundred and forty-seven. Louisa, you can tell
her.'

'One hundred and forty-seven,' said Mrs Chick 'The dress, Richards, is
a nice, warm, blue baize tailed coat and cap, turned up with orange
coloured binding; red worsted stockings; and very strong leather
small-clothes. One might wear the articles one's self,' said Mrs Chick,
with enthusiasm, 'and be grateful.'

'There, Richards!' said Miss Tox. 'Now, indeed, you may be proud. The
Charitable Grinders!'

'I am sure I am very much obliged, Sir,' returned Richards faintly, 'and
take it very kind that you should remember my little ones.' At the same
time a vision of Biler as a Charitable Grinder, with his very small legs
encased in the serviceable clothing described by Mrs Chick, swam before
Richards's eyes, and made them water.

'I am very glad to see you have so much feeling, Richards,' said Miss
Tox.

'It makes one almost hope, it really does,' said Mrs Chick, who prided
herself on taking trustful views of human nature, 'that there may yet be
some faint spark of gratitude and right feeling in the world.'

Richards deferred to these compliments by curtseying and murmuring
her thanks; but finding it quite impossible to recover her spirits from
the disorder into which they had been thrown by the image of her son in
his precocious nether garments, she gradually approached the door and
was heartily relieved to escape by it.

Such temporary indications of a partial thaw that had appeared with her,
vanished with her; and the frost set in again, as cold and hard as ever.
Mr Chick was twice heard to hum a tune at the bottom of the table, but
on both occasions it was a fragment of the Dead March in Saul. The party
seemed to get colder and colder, and to be gradually resolving itself
into a congealed and solid state, like the collation round which it was
assembled. At length Mrs Chick looked at Miss Tox, and Miss Tox returned
the look, and they both rose and