s?' asked Mrs Boffin.

'Striking right out, mum, and coming round beautiful.'

Mrs Boffin looked on the other three members of Council, and then said,
beckoning with her finger:

'Sloppy.'

'Yes, mum.'

'Come forward, Sloppy. Should you like to dine here every day?'

'Off of all four on 'em, mum? O mum!' Sloppy's feelings obliged him to
squeeze his hat, and contract one leg at the knee.

'Yes. And should you like to be always taken care of here, if you were
industrious and deserving?'

'Oh, mum!--But there's Mrs Higden,' said Sloppy, checking himself in his
raptures, drawing back, and shaking his head with very serious meaning.
'There's Mrs Higden. Mrs Higden goes before all. None can ever be better
friends to me than Mrs Higden's been. And she must be turned for, must
Mrs Higden. Where would Mrs Higden be if she warn't turned for!' At the
mere thought of Mrs Higden in this inconceivable affliction, Mr Sloppy's
countenance became pale, and manifested the most distressful emotions.

'You are as right as right can be, Sloppy,' said Mrs Boffin 'and far be
it from me to tell you otherwise. It shall be seen to. If Betty Higden
can be turned for all the same, you shall come here and be taken care of
for life, and be made able to keep her in other ways than the turning.'

'Even as to that, mum,' answered the ecstatic Sloppy, 'the turning might
be done in the night, don't you see? I could be here in the day, and
turn in the night. I don't want no sleep, I don't. Or even if I any ways
should want a wink or two,' added Sloppy, after a moment's apologetic
reflection, 'I could take 'em turning. I've took 'em turning many a
time, and enjoyed 'em wonderful!'

On the grateful impulse of the moment, Mr Sloppy kissed Mrs Boffin's
hand, and then detaching himself from that good creature that he might
have room enough for his feelings, threw back his head, opened his mouth
wide, and uttered a dismal howl. It was creditable to his tenderness of
heart, but suggested that he might on occasion give some offence to the
neighbours: the rather, as the footman looked in, and begged pardon,
finding he was not wanted, but excused himself; on the ground 'that he
thought it was Cats.'

Chapter 11

SOME AFFAIRS OF THE HEART

Little Miss Peecher, from her little official dwelling-house, with its
little windows like the eyes in needles, and its little doors like the
covers of school-books, was very observant indeed of the object o