Here! just help me lift the little sofa near the fire, will you, Uncle Sol--take care of the plates--cut some dinner for her, will you, Uncle--throw those shoes under the grate.

Miss Florence--put your feet on the fender to dry--how damp they are--here's an adventure, Uncle, eh ?--God bless my soul, how hot I am!' Solomon Gills was quite as hot, by sympathy, and in excessive bewilderment.

He patted Florence's head, pressed her to eat, pressed her to drink, rubbed the soles of her feet with his pocket-handkerchief heated at the fire, followed his locomotive nephew with his eyes, and ears, and had no clear perception of anything except that he was being constantly knocked against and tumbled over by that excited young gentleman, as he darted about the room attempting to accomplish twenty things at once, and doing nothing at all.
'Here, wait a minute, Uncle,' he continued, catching up a candle, 'till I run upstairs, and get another jacket on, and then I'll be off.

I say, Uncle, isn't this an adventure ?' 'My dear boy,' said Solomon, who, with his spectacles on his forehead and the great chronometer in his pocket, was incessantly oscillating between Florence on the sofa, and his nephew in all parts of the parlour, 'it's the most extraordinary--' 'No, but do, Uncle, please--do, Miss Florence--dinner, you know, Uncle.' 'Yes, yes, yes,' cried Solomon, cutting instantly into a leg of mutton, as if he were catering for a giant.

'I'll take care of her, Wally! I understand.