“O very much! They kept him, many times, from what did him real harm. And often and often of a night, he used to forget all his troubles in wondering whether the Sultan would let the lady go on with the story, or would have her head cut off before it was finished.”

“And your father was always kind? To the last?” asked Louisa contravening the great principle, and wondering very much.

“Always, always!” returned Sissy, clasping her hands. “Kinder and kinder than I can tell. He was angry only one night, and that was not to me, but Merrylegs. Merrylegs⁠—” she whispered the awful fact; “is his performing dog.”

“Why was he angry with the dog?” Louisa demanded.

“Father, soon after they came home from performing, told Merrylegs to jump up on the backs of the two chairs and stand across them⁠—which is one of his tricks. He looked at father, and didn’t do it at once. Everything of father’s had gone wrong that night, and he hadn’t pleased the public at all. He cried out that the very dog knew he was failing, and had no compassion on him. Then he beat the dog, and I was frightened, and said, ‘Father, father! Pray don’t hurt the creature who is so fond of you! O Heaven forgive you, father, stop!’ And he stopped, and the dog was bloody, and father lay down crying on the floor with the dog in his arms, and the dog licked his face.”

Louisa saw that she was sobbing; and going to her, kissed her, took her hand, and sat down beside her.

“Finish by telling me how your father left you, Sissy. Now that I have asked you so much, tell me the end. The blame, if there is any blame, is mine, not yours.”

“Dear Miss Louisa,” said Sissy, covering her eyes, and sobbing yet; “I came home from the school that afternoon, and found poor father just come home too, from the booth. And he sat rocking himself over the fire, as if he was in pain. And I said, ‘Have you hurt yourself, father?’ (as he did sometimes, like they all did), and he said, ‘A little, my darling.’ And when I came to stoop down and look up at his face, I saw that he was crying. The more I spoke to him, the more he hid his face; and at first he shook all over, and said nothing but ‘My darling;’ and ‘My love!’ ”

Here Tom came lounging in, and stared at the two with a coolness not particularly savouring of interest in anything but himself, and not much of that at present.

“I am asking Sissy a few questions, Tom,” observed his sister. “You have no occasion to go away; but don’t interrupt us for a moment, Tom dear.”

“Oh! very well!” returned Tom. “Only father has brought old Bounderby home, and I want you to come into the drawing-room. Because if you come, there’s a good chance of old Bounderby’s asking me to dinner; and if you don’t, there’s none.”

“I’ll come directly.”

“I’ll wait for you,” said Tom, “to make sure.”

“I say! Look sharp for old Bounderby, Loo!” Tom remonstrated.

“There’s no more to tell, Miss Louisa. I keep the nine oils ready for him, and I know he will come back. Every letter that I see in Mr. Gradgrind’s hand takes my breath away and blinds my eyes, for I think it comes from father, or from Mr. Sleary about father. Mr. Sleary promised to write as soon as ever father should be heard of, and I trust to him to keep his word.”