here obtained the
address.

They were not so recently arrived, but that Mrs Toots had caught the
baby from somebody, taken it in her arms, and sat down on the stairs,
hugging and fondling it. Florence was stooping down beside her; and no
one could have said which Mrs Toots was hugging and fondling most, the
mother or the child, or which was the tenderer, Florence of Mrs Toots,
or Mrs Toots of her, or both of the baby; it was such a little group of
love and agitation.

'And is your Pa very ill, my darling dear Miss Floy?' asked Susan.

'He is very, very ill,' said Florence. 'But, Susan, dear, you must
not speak to me as you used to speak. And what's this?' said Florence,
touching her clothes, in amazement. 'Your old dress, dear? Your old cap,
curls, and all?'

Susan burst into tears, and showered kisses on the little hand that had
touched her so wonderingly.

'My dear Miss Dombey,' said Mr Toots, stepping forward, 'I'll explain.
She's the most extraordinary woman. There are not many to equal her! She
has always said--she said before we were married, and has said to this
day--that whenever you came home, she'd come to you in no dress but the
dress she used to serve you in, for fear she might seem strange to you,
and you might like her less. I admire the dress myself,' said Mr Toots,
'of all things. I adore her in it! My dear Miss Dombey, she'll be your
maid again, your nurse, all that she ever was, and more. There's no
change in her. But, Susan, my dear,' said Mr Toots, who had spoken with
great feeling and high admiration, 'all I ask is, that you'll remember
the medical man, and not exert yourself too much!'

CHAPTER 61. Relenting

Florence had need of help. Her father's need of it was sore, and made
the aid of her old friend invaluable. Death stood at his pillow. A
shade, already, of what he had been, shattered in mind, and perilously
sick in body, he laid his weary head down on the bed his daughter's
hands prepared for him, and had never raised it since.

She was always with him. He knew her, generally; though, in the
wandering of his brain, he often confused the circumstances under which
he spoke to her. Thus he would address her, sometimes, as if his boy
were newly dead; and would tell her, that although he had said nothing
of her ministering at the little bedside, yet he had seen it--he had
seen it; and then would hide his face and sob, and put out his worn
hand. Sometimes he would ask her for hersel