the floor; a heap of bones, and a heap of sifted dust or cinders; but there was no furniture at all, and the walls and ceiling were quite black.
The child became so terrified that she was stricken speechless, and looked as though about to swoon.
`Now don't be a young mule,' said Good Mrs. Brown, reviving her with a shake. `I'm not a going to hurt you. Sit upon the rags.'
Florence obeyed her, holding out her folded hands, in mute supplication.
`I'm not a going to keep you, even, above an hour,' said Mrs. Brown. `D'ye understand what I say?'
The child answered with great difficulty, `Yes.'
`Then,' said Good Mrs. Brown, taking her own seat on the bones, `don't vex me. If you don't, I tell you I won't hurt you. But if you do, I'll kill you. I could have you killed at any time--even if you was in your own bed at home. Now let's know who you are, and what you are, and all about it.'
The old woman's threats and promises; the dread of giving her offence; and the habit, unusual to a child, but almost natural to Florence now, of being quiet, and repressing what she felt, and feared, and hoped; enabled her to do this bidding, and to tell her little history, or what she knew of it. Mrs. Brown listened attentively, until she had finished.
`So your name's Dombey, eh?' said Mrs. Brown.
`Yes, ma'am.'
`I want that pretty frock, Miss Dombey,' said Good Mrs. Brown, `and that little bonnet, and a petticoat or two, and anything else you can spare. Come! Take 'em off.'
Florence obeyed, as fast as her trembling hands would allow; keeping, all the while, a frightened eye on Mrs. Brown. When she had divested herself of all the articles of apparel mentioned by that lady, Mrs. B. examined them at leisure, and seemed tolerably well satisfied with their quality and value.
`Humph!' she said, running her eyes over the child's slight figure, `I don't see anything else--except the shoes. I must have the shoes, Miss Dombey.'
Poor little Florence took them off with equal alacrity, only too glad to have any more means of conciliation about her. The old woman then produced some wretched substitutes from the bottom of the heap of rags, which she turned up for that purpose; together with a girl's cloak, quite worn out and very old; and the crushed remains of a bonnet that had probably been picked up from some ditch or dunghill. In this dainty raiment, she instructed Florence to dress herself; and as such preparation seemed a prelude to her release, the child complied with increased readiness, if possible.
In hurriedly putting on the bonnet, if that may be called a bonnet which was more like a pad to carry loads on, she caught it in her hair which grew luxuriantly, and could not immediately disentangle it. Good Mrs. Brown whipped out a large pair or scissors, and fell into an unaccountable state of excitement.
`Why couldn't you let me be,' said Mrs. Brown, `when I was contented? You little fool!'
`I beg your pardon. I don't know what I have done,' panted Florence. `I couldn't help it.'
`Couldn't help it!' cried Mrs. Brown. `How do you expect I can help it? Why, Lord!' said the old woman, ruffling her curls with a furious pleasure, `anybody but me would have had 'em off first of all.'