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"
Why
,
if
it
ain
’
t
your
footstool
!
"
cried
Flopson
.
"
And
if
you
keep
it
under
your
skirts
like
that
,
who
’
s
to
help
tumbling
?
Here
!
Take
the
baby
,
Mum
,
and
give
me
your
book
.
"
Mrs
.
Pocket
acted
on
the
advice
,
and
inexpertly
danced
the
infant
a
little
in
her
lap
,
while
the
other
children
played
about
it
.
This
had
lasted
but
a
very
short
time
,
when
Mrs
.
Pocket
issued
summary
orders
that
they
were
all
to
be
taken
into
the
house
for
a
nap
.
Thus
I
made
the
second
discovery
on
that
first
occasion
,
that
the
nurture
of
the
little
Pockets
consisted
of
alternately
tumbling
up
and
lying
down
.
Under
these
circumstances
,
when
Flopson
and
Millers
had
got
the
children
into
the
house
,
like
a
little
flock
of
sheep
,
and
Mr
.
Pocket
came
out
of
it
to
make
my
acquaintance
,
I
was
not
much
surprised
to
find
that
Mr
Pocket
was
a
gentleman
with
a
rather
perplexed
expression
of
face
,
and
with
his
very
gray
hair
disordered
on
his
head
,
as
if
he
didn
’
t
quite
see
his
way
to
putting
anything
straight
.
Mr
.
Pocket
said
he
was
glad
to
see
me
,
and
he
hoped
I
was
not
sorry
to
see
him
.
"
For
,
I
really
am
not
,
"
he
added
,
with
his
son
’
s
smile
,
"
an
alarming
personage
.
"
He
was
a
young
-
looking
man
,
in
spite
of
his
perplexities
and
his
very
gray
hair
,
and
his
manner
seemed
quite
natural
.
I
use
the
word
natural
,
in
the
sense
of
its
being
unaffected
;
there
was
something
comic
in
his
distraught
way
,
as
though
it
would
have
been
downright
ludicrous
but
for
his
own
perception
that
it
was
very
near
being
so
.
When
he
had
talked
with
me
a
little
,
he
said
to
Mrs
.
Pocket
,
with
a
rather
anxious
contraction
of
his
eyebrows
,
which
were
black
and
handsome
,
"
Belinda
,
I
hope
you
have
welcomed
Mr
.
Pip
?
"
And
she
looked
up
from
her
book
,
and
said
,
"
Yes
.
"
She
then
smiled
upon
me
in
an
absent
state
of
mind
,
and
asked
me
if
I
liked
the
taste
of
orange
-
flower
water
?
As
the
question
had
no
bearing
,
near
or
remote
,
on
any
foregone
or
subsequent
transaction
,
I
consider
it
to
have
been
thrown
out
,
like
her
previous
approaches
,
in
general
conversational
condescension
.
I
found
out
within
a
few
hours
,
and
may
mention
at
once
,
that
Mrs
.
Pocket
was
the
only
daughter
of
a
certain
quite
accidental
deceased
Knight
,
who
had
invented
for
himself
a
conviction
that
his
deceased
father
would
have
been
made
a
Baronet
but
for
somebody
’
s
determined
opposition
arising
out
of
entirely
personal
motives
—
I
forget
whose
,
if
I
ever
knew
—
the
Sovereign
’
s
,
the
Prime
Minister
’
s
,
the
Lord
Chancellor
’
s
,
the
Archbishop
of
Canterbury
’
s
,
anybody
’
s
—
and
had
tacked
himself
on
to
the
nobles
of
the
earth
in
right
of
this
quite
supposititious
fact
.
I
believe
he
had
been
knighted
himself
for
storming
the
English
grammar
at
the
point
of
the
pen
,
in
a
desperate
address
engrossed
on
vellum
,
on
the
occasion
of
the
laying
of
the
first
stone
of
some
building
or
other
,
and
for
handing
some
Royal
Personage
either
the
trowel
or
the
mortar
.
Be
that
as
it
may
,
he
had
directed
Mrs
.
Pocket
to
be
brought
up
from
her
cradle
as
one
who
in
the
nature
of
things
must
marry
a
title
,
and
who
was
to
be
guarded
from
the
acquisition
of
plebeian
domestic
knowledge
.
So
successful
a
watch
and
ward
had
been
established
over
the
young
lady
by
this
judicious
parent
,
that
she
had
grown
up
highly
ornamental
,
but
perfectly
helpless
and
useless
.
With
her
character
thus
happily
formed
,
in
the
first
bloom
of
her
youth
she
had
encountered
Mr
.
Pocket
:
who
was
also
in
the
first
bloom
of
youth
,
and
not
quite
decided
whether
to
mount
to
the
Woolsack
,
or
to
roof
himself
in
with
a
mitre
.
As
his
doing
the
one
or
the
other
was
a
mere
question
of
time
,
he
and
Mrs
.
Pocket
had
taken
Time
by
the
forelock
(
when
,
to
judge
from
its
length
,
it
would
seem
to
have
wanted
cutting
)
,
and
had
married
without
the
knowledge
of
the
judicious
parent
.
The
judicious
parent
,
having
nothing
to
bestow
or
withhold
but
his
blessing
,
had
handsomely
settled
that
dower
upon
them
after
a
short
struggle
,
and
had
informed
Mr
.
Pocket
that
his
wife
was
"
a
treasure
for
a
Prince
.
"
Mr
.
Pocket
had
invested
the
Prince
’
s
treasure
in
the
ways
of
the
world
ever
since
,
and
it
was
supposed
to
have
brought
him
in
but
indifferent
interest
.
Still
,
Mrs
.
Pocket
was
in
general
the
object
of
a
queer
sort
of
respectful
pity
,
because
she
had
not
married
a
title
;
while
Mr
.
Pocket
was
the
object
of
a
queer
sort
of
forgiving
reproach
,
because
he
had
never
got
one
.
Mr
.
Pocket
took
me
into
the
house
and
showed
me
my
room
:
which
was
a
pleasant
one
,
and
so
furnished
as
that
I
could
use
it
with
comfort
for
my
own
private
sitting
-
room
.
He
then
knocked
at
the
doors
of
two
other
similar
rooms
,
and
introduced
me
to
their
occupants
,
by
name
Drummle
and
Startop
.
Drummle
,
an
old
-
looking
young
man
of
a
heavy
order
of
architecture
,
was
whistling
.
Startop
,
younger
in
years
and
appearance
,
was
reading
and
holding
his
head
,
as
if
he
thought
himself
in
danger
of
exploding
it
with
too
strong
a
charge
of
knowledge
.
