as Paul had towards her. She would make
him move his chair to her side of the fire, instead of sitting opposite,
and there he would remain studying every line of Mrs. Pipchin's face,
while the old black cat lay coiled up on the fender purring and winking at
the fire, and Paul went on studying Mrs, Pipchin and the cat and the fire,
night after night, as if they were a history of necromancy in three
volumes.

At the end of a week, as Paul was no stronger, though he looked much
healthier in the face, a little carriage was got for him, in which he
could be wheeled down to the seaside. Consistent in his odd tastes, the
child set aside a ruddy faced lad, who was proposed as the drawer of this
carriage, and selected instead, his grandfather, Glubb by name, a weazen,
old, crab-faced man, in a suit of battered oilskins, who smelt like a
weedy sea-beach when the tide is out. With this notable attendant to pull
him along and Florence always by his side, he went down to the margin of
the ocean every day; and there he would sit or lie in his carriage for
hours together, never so distressed as at the company of children.

He had even a dislike at such times to the company of nurse Wickham, and
was well pleased when she strolled away. His favourite spot was quite a
lonely one, far away from most loungers, and with Florence sitting by his
side at work, or reading to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the
water coming up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.

For a year the children stayed at Brighton, going home but twice during
that time for a few days, but every Sunday Mr. Dombey spent with them at
the Brighton Hotel.

During the year Paul had grown strong enough to give up his carriage,
though he still looked thin and delicate, and still remained the same
dreamy, quiet child that he had been when consigned to Mrs. Pipchin's
care.

At length, on a Saturday afternoon, Mr. Dombey appeared with the news that
he was thinking of removing Paul to the school of one Doctor Blimber, also
at Brighton.

"I have had some communication with the doctor, Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr.
Dombey, "and he does not think Paul at all too young for his purposes. My
son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin, really he is getting on."

"Six years old!" said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth. "Dear me! six
will be changed to sixteen before we have time to look about us; and there
is no doubt, I fear, that in his studies he is behind many childr