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whom smells of all the others。
Mrs Plornish's father；……a poor little reedy piping old gentleman； like
a worn…out bird； who had been in what he called the music…binding
business； and met with great misfortunes； and who had seldom been able
to make his way； or to see it or to pay it； or to do anything at all
with it but find it no thoroughfare；……had retired of his own accord to
the Workhouse which was appointed by law to be the Good Samaritan of his
district （without the twopence； which was bad political economy）； on
the settlement of that execution which had carried Mr Plornish to the
Marshalsea College。 Previous to his son…in…law's difficulties ing to
that head； Old Nandy （he was always so called in his legal Retreat； but
he was Old Mr Nandy among the Bleeding Hearts） had sat in a corner of
the Plornish fireside； and taken his bite and sup out of the Plornish
cupboard。 He still hoped to resume that domestic position when Fortune
should smile upon his son…in…law； in the meantime； while she preserved
an immovable countenance； he was； and resolved to remain； one of these
little old men in a grove of little old men with a munity of flavour。
But no poverty in him； and no coat on him that never was the mode； and
no Old Men's Ward for his dwelling…place； could quench his daughter's
admiration。 Mrs Plornish was as proud of her father's talents as she
could possibly have been if they had made him Lord Chancellor。 She had
as firm a belief in the sweetness and propriety of his manners as she
could possibly have had if he had been Lord Chamberlain。 The poor little
old man knew some pale and vapid little songs； long out of date； about
Chloe； and Phyllis； and Strephon being wounded by the son of Venus；
and for Mrs Plornish there was no such music at the Opera as the small
internal flutterings and chirpings wherein he would discharge himself
of these ditties； like a weak； little； broken barrel…organ； ground by
a baby。 On his 'days out；' those flecks of light in his flat vista of
pollard old men；' it was at once Mrs Plornish's delight and sorrow；
when he was strong with meat； and had taken his full halfpenny…worth of
porter； to say； 'Sing us a song； Father。' Then he would give them Chloe；
and if he were in pretty good spirits； Phyllis also……Strephon he had
hardly been up to since he went into retirement……and then would Mrs
Plornish declare she did believe there never was such a singer as
Father； and wipe her eyes。
If he had e from Court on these occasions； nay； if he had been the
noble Refrigerator e home triumphantly from a foreign court to be
presented and promoted on his last tremendous failure； Mrs Plornish
could not have handed him with greater elevation about Bleeding Heart
Yard。 'Here's Father；' she would say； presenting him to a neighbour。
'Father will soon be home with us for good； now。 Ain't Father looking
well？ Father's a sweeter singer than ever； you'd never have forgotten
it； if you'd aheard him just now。'
As to Mr Plornish； he had married these articles of belief in marrying
Mr Nandy's daughter； and only wondered how it was that so gifted an
old gentleman had not made a fortune。 This he attributed； after much
reflection； to his musical genius not having been scientifically
developed in his youth。 'For why；' argued Mr Plornish； 'why go a…binding
music when you've got it in yourself？ That's where it is； I consider。'
Old Nandy had a patron： one patron。 He had a patron who in a certain
sumptuous way……an apologetic way； as if he constantly took an admiring
audience to witness that he really could not help being more free
with this old fellow than they might have expected； on account of his
simplicity and poverty……was mightily good to him。 Old Nandy had
been several times to the Marshalsea College； municating with his
son…in…law during his short durance there； and had happily acquired to
himself； and had by degrees and in course of time much improved； the
patronage of the Father of that national institution。
Mr Dorrit was in the habit of receiving this old man as if the old man
held of him in vassalage under some feudal tenure。 He made little treats
and teas for him； as if he came in with his homage from some outlying
district where the tenantry were in a primitive state。
It seemed as if there were moments when he could by no means have
sworn but that the old man was an ancient retainer of his； who had been
meritoriously faithful。 When he mentioned him； he spoke of him casually
as his old pensioner。 He had a wonderful satisfaction in seeing him； and
in menting on his decayed condition after he was gone。 It appeared
to him amazing that he could hold up his head at all； poor creature。 'In
the Workhouse； sir； the Union； no privacy； no visitors； no station； no
respect； no speciality。 Most deplorable！'
It was Old Nandy's birthday； and they let him out。 He said nothing about
its being his birthday； or they might have kept him in； for such old
men should not be born。 He passed along the streets as usual to Bleeding
Heart Yard； and had his dinner with his daughter and son…in…law； and
gave them Phyllis。 He had hardly concluded； when Little Dorrit looked in
to see how they all were。
'Miss Dorrit；' said Mrs Plornish； 'here's Father！ Ain't he looking nice？
And such voice he's in！'
Little Dorrit gave him her hand； and smilingly said she had not seen him
this long time。
'No； they're rather hard on poor Father；' said Mrs Plornish with a
lengthening face； 'and don't let him have half as much change and fresh
air as would benefit him。 But he'll soon be home for good； now。 Won't
you； Father？'
'Yes； my dear； I hope so。 In good time； please God。'
Here Mr Plornish delivered himself of an oration which he invariably
made； word for word the same； on all such opportunities。
It was couched in the following terms：
'John Edward Nandy。 Sir。 While there's a ounce of wittles or drink of
any sort in this present roof； you're fully wele to your share on
it。 While there's a handful of fire or a mouthful of bed in this present
roof； you're fully wele to your share on it。
If so be as there should be nothing in this present roof； you should be
as wele to your share on it as if it was something； much or little。
And this is what I mean and so I don't deceive you； and consequently
which is to stand out is to entreat of you； and therefore why not do
it？'
To this lucid address； which Mr Plornish always delivered as if he had
posed it （as no doubt he had） with enormous labour； Mrs Plornish's
father pipingly replied：
'I thank you kindly； Thomas； and I know your intentions well； which is
the same I thank you kindly for。 But no； Thomas。 Until such times as
it's not to take it out of your children's mouths； which take it is； and
call it by what name you will it do remain and equally deprive； though
may they e； and too soon they can not e； no Thomas； no！'
Mrs Plornish； who had been turning her face a little away with a corner
of her apron in her hand； brought herself back to the conversation again
by telling Miss Dorrit that Father was going over the water to pay his
respects； unless she knew of any reason why it might not be agreeable。
Her answer was； 'I am going straight home； and if he will e with me
I shall be so glad to take care of him……so glad；' said Little Dorrit；
always thoughtful of the feelings of the weak； 'of his pany。'
'There； Father！' cried Mrs Plornish。 'Ain't you a gay young man to
be going for a walk along with Miss Dorrit！ Let me tie your
neck…handkerchief into a regular good bow； for you're a regular beau
yourself； Father； if ever there was one。'
With this filial joke his daughter smartened him up； and gave him a
loving hug； and stood at the door with her weak child in her arms； and
her strong child tumbling down the steps； looking after her little old
father as he toddled away with his arm under Little Dorrit's。
They walked at a slow pace； and Little Dorrit took him by the Iron
Bridge and sat him down there for a rest； and they looked over at the
water and talked about the shipping； and the old man mentioned what he
would do if he had a ship full of gold ing home to him （his plan was
to take a nobl