Then Sloppy seeming to be seized with an industrious mania or fury, turned to at the mangle, and impelled it at the heads of the innocents with such a creaking and rumbling, that Mrs. Higden stopped him.
“The gentlefolks can’t hear themselves speak, Sloppy. Bide a bit, bide a bit!”
“Is that the dear child in your lap?” said Mrs. Boffin.
“Yes, ma’am, this is Johnny.”
“Johnny, too!” cried Mrs. Boffin, turning to the Secretary; “already Johnny! Only one of the two names left to give him! He’s a pretty boy.”
With his chin tucked down in his shy childish manner, he was looking furtively at Mrs. Boffin out of his blue eyes, and reaching his fat dimpled hand up to the lips of the old woman, who was kissing it by times.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s a pretty boy, he’s a dear darling boy, he’s the child of my own last left daughter’s daughter. But she’s gone the way of all the rest.”
“Those are not his brother and sister?” said Mrs. Boffin.
“Oh, dear no, ma’am. Those are Minders.”
“Minders?” the Secretary repeated.
“Left to be Minded, sir. I keep a Minding-School. I can take only three, on account of the mangle. But I love children, and fourpence a week is fourpence. Come here, Toddles and Poddles.”
Toddles was the pet-name of the boy; Poddles of the girl. At their little unsteady pace, they came across the floor, hand-in-hand, as if they were traversing an extremely difficult road intersected by brooks, and,