That they did, if one might judge from the noise they made, and the way in which they dashed at Polly and dragged her to a low chair in the chimney corner, where her own honest apple face became immediately the centre of a bunch of smaller pippins, all laying their rosy cheeks close to it, and all evidently the growth of the same tree. As to Polly, she was full as noisy and vehement as the children; and it was not until she was quite out of breath, and her hair was hanging all about her flushed face, and her new christening attire was very much dishevelled, that any pause took place in the confusion. Even then, the smallest Toodle but one remained in her lap, holding on tight with both arms round her neck; while the smallest Toodle but two mounted on the back of the chair, and made desperate efforts, with one leg in the air, to kiss her round the corner.

Unfortunately the eldest Toodle, nicknamed Biler, was sent to the grinders' school by Mr. Dombey, and he was so badly treated that he played truant and got into bad company; but his mother clung to him and treated him kindly, and hoped for him still. Mr. Carker went home with Biler to satisfy himself in regard to his family.

"This fellow," said Mr. Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle shake, "is your son, eh, ma'am?"

"Yes, sir," sobbed Polly, with a courtesy; "yes, sir."

"A bad son, I am afraid?" said Mr. Carker.

"Never a bad son to me, sir," returned Polly.

"To whom, then?" demanded Mr. Carker.

"He has been a little wild, sir," replied Polly, checking the baby, who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch himself on Biler, through the ambient air, "and has gone with wrong companions; but I hope he has seen the misery of that, sir, and will do well again."

When Mr. Carker had concluded his visit, as he made his way among the crowding children to the door, Rob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same repentant hug.

"I'll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!" said Rob.

"Oh, do, my dear boy! I am sure you will, for our sakes and your own!"

cried Polly, kissing him. "But you're coming back to speak to me, when you have seen the gentleman away?"

"I don't know, mother." Rob hesitated, and looked down.

"Father--when's he coming home?"

"Not till two o'clock to-morrow morning."

"I'll come back, mother, dear!" cried Rob. And pa.s.sing through the shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he followed Mr. Carker out.

"What!" said Mr. Carker, who had heard this. "You have a bad father, have you?"

"No, sir!" returned Rob, amazed. "There ain't a better nor a kinder father going than mine is."

"Why don't you want to see him, then?" asked his patron.

"There's such a difference between a father and a mother, sir," said Rob, after faltering for a moment. "He couldn't hardly believe yet that I was going to do better--though I know he'd try to; but a mother--_she_ always believes what's good, sir; at least I know my mother does, G.o.d bless her!"

It was not the fault of his home that Biler went astray.

Nor did d.i.c.kens fail to give a picture for the fathers too. Mr. Toodle was a workman on a train, and great was the joy in the family when father came home.

"Polly, my gal," said Mr. Toodle, with a young Toodle on each knee and two more making tea for him, and plenty more scattered about--Mr.

Toodle was never out of children, but always kept a good supply on hand--"you ain't seen our Biler lately, have you?"

"No," replied Polly, "but he's almost certain to look in to-night.

It's his right evening, and he's very regular."

"I suppose," said Mr. Toodle, relishing his meal infinitely, "as our Biler is a-doin' now about as well as a boy _can_ do, eh, Polly?"

"Oh! he's a-doing beautiful!" responded Polly.

"He ain't got to be at all secretlike--has he, Polly?" inquired Mr.

Toodle.

"No!" said Mrs. Toodle plumply.

"I'm glad he ain't got to be at all secretlike, Polly," observed Mr.

Toodle in his slow and measured way, and shovelling in his bread and b.u.t.ter with a clasp knife, as if he were stoking himself, "because that don't look well; do it, Polly?"

"Why, of course, it don't, father. How can you ask?"

"You see, my boys and gals," said Mr. Toodle, looking round upon his family, "wotever you're up to in a honest way, it's my opinion as you can't do better than be open. If you find yourselves in cuttings or in tunnels, don't you play no secret games. Keep your whistles going, and let's know where you are."

The rising Toodles set up a shrill murmur, expressive of their resolution to profit by the paternal advice.

"But what makes you say this along of Rob, father?" asked his wife anxiously.

"Polly, old 'ooman," said Mr. Toodle, "I don't know as I said it partickler along o' Rob, I'm sure. I starts light with Rob only; I comes to a branch; I takes on what I finds there; and a whole train of ideas gets coupled on to him afore I knows where I am, or where they comes from. What a Junction a man's thoughts is," said Mr. Toodle, "to be sure!"

This profound reflection Mr. Toodle washed down with a pint mug of tea, and proceeded to solidify with a great weight of bread and b.u.t.ter; charging his young daughters meanwhile to keep plenty of hot water in the pot, as he was uncommon dry, and should take the indefinite quant.i.ty of "a sight of mugs" before his thirst was appeased.

And as the jolly old fellow ate his supper he was surrounded by all his smaller children, some on his knees, and others under his arms, and all getting bites of bread and b.u.t.ter and sups of tea in turn, although they had had their own supper before he came home.

d.i.c.kens did not wish to teach that such relationships should exist between parents and children in the homes of the labouring cla.s.ses only. He used Toodle and his family as representing one extreme of society, as at present const.i.tuted, in sharp contrast with Mr. Dombey's family at the other extreme. How happy the one home with barely enough to secure the necessaries of life! how miserable the other with unlimited wealth! And the best things in the Toodle home were the children, and the love and unconventional freedom between them and their parents. With such a feeling of community and love in all homes, and with schools of a proper character, the children will be trained for higher, and progressively advancing manhood and womanhood.

David Copperfield's training was not all coercive and degrading. Before the Murdstones came to blight his young life he had joy and sympathy to stimulate all that was good in him. His mother and Peggotty were kind and true. The three had perfect faith in each other. They formed a blessed unity. "The memory of his lessons in those happy days recalled no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, he seemed to have walked along a path of flowers, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of his mother's voice and manner all the way."

Again, after the Murdstone interval of terror and cruelty, David was kindly treated and well trained by his aunt. Her relationship toward him throughout his whole youth is well presented in her parting words, as she left him at Mr. Wickfield's house, where he was to live while at Doctor Strong's school.

She told me that everything would be arranged for me by Mr. Wickfield, and that I should want for nothing, and gave me the kindest words and the best advice.

"Trot," said my aunt in conclusion, "be a credit to yourself, to me, and Mr. d.i.c.k, and Heaven be with you!"

I was greatly overcome, and could only thank her again and again, and send my love to Mr. d.i.c.k.

"Never," said my aunt, "be mean in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you."

In Mr. Wickfield's home and in Doctor Strong's school he had ideal conditions of development. He received respectful consideration, fatherly interest, wise counsel, and generous hospitality from Mr. Wickfield. With Agnes he had the most delightful relationship of sympathetic and stimulating friendship. There is no better influence in the life of a boy opening into young manhood than the true friendship of a girl of the character of Agnes.

In Doctor Strong's school David met with the best conditions of good training yet revealed by the "new education."

The boys were taught politeness, courtesy, and consideration for the feelings of others in Doctor Strong's school.

About five-and-twenty boys were studiously engaged at their books when we went in, but they rose to give the Doctor good morning, and remained standing when they saw Mr. Wickfield and me.

"A new boy, young gentlemen," said the Doctor; "Trotwood Copperfield."

One Adams, who was the head boy, then stepped out of his place and welcomed me. He looked like a young clergyman, in his white cravat, but he was very affable and good-humoured; and he showed me my place, and presented me to the masters in a gentlemanly way that would have put me at my ease if anything could.