XIII.
A BRAVE AND HONEST BOY, OLIVER TWIST.
LITTLE Oliver Twist was an orphan. He never saw his mother or hisfather. He was born at the workhouse, the home for paupers, where hispoor heart-broken mother had been taken just a short time before babyOliver came; and, the very night he was born, she was so sick and weakshe said: "Let me see my child and then I will die." The old nurse said:"Nonsense, my dear, you must not think of dying, you have something nowto live for." The good kind doctor said she must be very brave and shemight get well. They brought her little baby boy to her, and she huggedhim in her weak arms and she kissed him on the brow many times andcuddled him up as close as her feeble arms could hold him; and then shelooked at him long and steadily, and a sweet smile came over her faceand a bright light came into her eyes, and before the smile could passfrom her lips she died.
The old nurse wept as she took the little baby from its dead mother'sarms; and the good doctor had to wipe the tears from his eyes, it wasso very, very sad.
After wrapping the baby in a blanket and laying him in a warm place, theold nurse straightened out the limbs of the young mother and folded herhands on her breast; and, spreading a white sheet over her still form,she called the doctor to look at her--for the nurse and the doctor wereall who were there. The same sweet smile was on her face, and the doctorsaid as he looked upon her: "Poor, poor girl, she is so beautiful and soyoung! What strange fate has brought her to this poor place? Nurse, takegood care of the baby, for his mother must have been, at one time, akind and gentle woman."
The next day they took the unknown woman out to the potter's field andburied her; and, for nine months, the old nurse at the workhouse tookcare of the baby; though, it is sad to say, this old woman, kind-heartedthough she was, was at the same time so fond of gin that she often tookthe money, which ought to have bought milk for the baby, to buy drinkfor herself.
Nobody knew what the young mother's name was, and so this baby had noname, until, at last, Mr. Bumble, who was one of the parish officerswho looked after the paupers, came and named him _Oliver Twist_.
When little Oliver was nine months old they took him away from theworkhouse and carried him to the "Poor Farm," where there weretwenty-five or thirty other poor children who had no parents. A woman bythe name of Mrs. Mann had charge of this cottage. The parish gave her anallowance of enough money to keep the children in plenty of food andclothing; but she starved the little ones to keep the money for herself,so that many of them died and others came to take their places. Butyoung Oliver was a tough little fellow, and, while he looked very paleand thin, he was, otherwise, healthy and hung on to his life.
Mrs. Mann was also very cruel to the children. She would scold and beatthem and shut them up in the cellar and treat them meanly in many wayswhen no visitors were there. But, when any of the men who had control orvisitors came around, she would smile and call the children "dear," andall sorts of pet names. She told them if any of them should tell on hershe would beat them; and, furthermore, that they should tell visitorsthat she was very kind and good to them and that they loved her verymuch.
Mr. Bumble was a very mean man, too, as we shall see. They called himthe _Beadle_, which means he was a sort of sheriff or policeman; and hewas supposed to look after the people at the workhouse and at the poorfarm and to wait on the directors who had charge of these places. He hadthe right to punish the boys if they did not mind, and they were allafraid of him.
Oliver remained at the cottage on the poor farm until he was nine yearsold, though he was a pale little fellow and did not look to be overseven.
On the morning of his birthday, Mrs. Mann had given Oliver and two otherboys a bad whipping and put them down in a dark coal-cellar. Presentlyshe saw Mr. Bumble coming and she told her servant to take the boys outand wash them quick, for she did not let Mr. Bumble know she everpunished them, and was fearful he might hear them crying in the dark,damp place. Mrs. Mann talked very nicely to Mr. Bumble and made him a"toddy" (a glass of strong liquor) and kept him busy with her flatteringand kindness until she knew the boys were washed.
Mr. Bumble told her Oliver Twist was nine years old that day, and theBoard (which meant the men in charge) had decided they must take himaway from the farm and carry him back to the workhouse. Mrs. Mannpretended to be very sorry, and she went out and brought Oliver in,telling him on the way that he must appear very sorry to leave her,otherwise she would beat him. So when Oliver was asked if he wanted togo, he said he was sorry to leave there. This was not a falsehood, for,miserable as the place was, he dearly loved his little companions. Theywere all the people he knew; and he did feel sad, and really wept withsorrow as he told them good-by and was led by Mr. Bumble back to theworkhouse, where he was born and where his mother died nine years agothat very day.
When he got back there he found the old nurse who remembered his mother,and she told him she was a beautiful sweet woman and how she had kissedhim and held him in her arms when she died. Night after night littleOliver dreamed about his beautiful mother, and she seemed sometimes tostand by his bed and to look down upon him with the same beautiful eyesand the same sweet smile of which the nurse told him. Every time he hadthe chance he asked questions about her, but the nurse could not tellhim anything more. She did not even know her name.
Oliver had been at the workhouse only a very short time when Mr. Bumblecame in and told him he must appear before the Board at once. Now Oliverwas puzzled at this. He thought a board was a piece of flat wood, and hecould not imagine why he was to appear before that. But he was too muchafraid of Mr. Bumble to ask any questions. This gentleman had treatedhim roughly in bringing him to the workhouse; and, now, when he looked alittle puzzled--for his expressive face always told what was in hishonest little heart--Mr. Bumble gave him a sharp crack on the head withhis cane and another rap over the back and told him to wake up and notlook so sleepy, and to mind to be polite when he went before the Board.Oliver could not help tears coming into his eyes as he was pushed along,and Mr. Bumble gave him another sharp rap, telling him to hush, andushered him into a room where several stern-looking gentlemen sat at along table. One of them, in a white waistcoat, was particularlyhard-looking. "Bow to the Board," said Mr. Bumble to Oliver. Oliverlooked about for a board, and, seeing none, he bowed to the table,because it looked more like a board than anything else. The men laughed,and the man in the white waistcoat said: "The boy is a fool. I thoughthe was." After other ugly remarks, they told Oliver he was an orphanand they had supported him all his life. He ought to be very thankful.(And he was, when he remembered how many had been starved to death.)"Now," they said, "you are nine years old, and we must put you out tolearn a trade." They told him he should begin the next morning at sixo'clock to pick oakum, and work at that until they could get him aplace.
Oliver was faithful at his work, in which several other boys assisted,but oh! so hungry they got, for they were given but one little bowl ofgruel at a meal--hardly enough for a kitten. So one day the boys saidthey must ask for more; and they "drew straws" to see who should ventureto do so. It fell to Oliver's lot to do it, and the next meal, when theyhad emptied their bowls, Oliver walked up to the man who helped them andsaid very politely, "Please, sir, may I not have some more? I am veryhungry." This made the man so angry that he hit Oliver over the headwith his ladle and called for Mr. Bumble. He came, and when told thatOliver had "asked for more," he grabbed him by the collar and took himbefore the Board and made the complaint that he had been very naughtyand rebellious, telling the circumstance in an unfair and untruthfulway. The Board was angry at Oliver, and the man in the white waistcoattold them again as he had said before. "This boy will be hung sometime.We must get rid of him at once." So they offered five pounds, ortwenty-five dollars to anyone who would take him.
The first man who came was a very mean chimney-sweeper, who had almostkilled other boys with his vile treatment. The Board agreed to let himhave Oliver; but, when they took him before the magistrates, Oliver fellon his knees an
d begged them not to let that man have him, and theywould not. So Oliver was taken back to the workhouse.
The next man who came was Mr. Sowerberry, an undertaker. He was a verygood man, and the magistrates let him take Oliver along. But he had avery cross, stingy wife, and a mean servant-girl by the name ofCharlotte, and a big overbearing boy by the name of Noah Claypole, whomhe had taken to raise. Oliver thought he would like Mr. Sowerberry wellenough, but his heart fell when "the Mrs." met him and called him "boy"and a "measly-looking little pauper," and gave him for supper the scrapsshe had put for the dog. But this was so much better than he got at theworkhouse, he would not complain about the food; and he hoped, byfaithful work, to win kind treatment.
They made him sleep by himself in the shop among the coffins, and he wasvery much frightened; but he would rather sleep there than with theterrible boy, Noah. The first night he dreamed of his beautiful mother,and thought again he could see her sitting among those black, fearfulcoffins, with the same sweet smile upon her face. He was awakened thenext morning by Noah, who told him he had to obey him, and he'd betterlookout or he'd wear the life out of him. Noah kicked and cuffed Oliverseveral times, but the poor boy was too much used to that to resent it,and determined to do his work well.
Mr. Sowerberry found Oliver so good, sensible, and polite that he madehim his assistant and took him to all the funerals, and occasionallygave him a penny. Oliver went into fine houses and saw people and sightshe had never dreamed of before. Mr. Sowerberry had told him he mightsome day be an undertaker himself; and Oliver worked hard to please hismaster, though Noah and Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte grew more unkindto him all the time, because "he was put forward," they said, "and Noahwas kept back." This, of course, made Noah meaner than ever toOliver--determined to endure it all rather than complain, and try towin them over after while by being kind. He could have borne any insultto himself, but Noah tried the little fellow too far when he attackedthe name of Oliver's mother, and it brought serious trouble, as we shallsee.
One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen at the usualdinner-hour, when, Charlotte being called out of the way, there came afew minutes of time, which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious,considered he could not possibly devote to a worthier purpose thanaggravating and tantalizing young Oliver Twist.
Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on thetablecloth; and pulled Oliver's hair; and twitched his ears; andexpressed his opinion that he was a "sneak;" and furthermore announcedhis intention of coming to see him hanged, whenever that desirable eventshould take place; and entered upon various other topics of pettyannoyance, like a malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy as he was.But, none of these taunts producing the desired effect of making Olivercry, Noah began to talk about his mother.
"Work'us," said Noah, "how's your mother?" Noah had given Oliver thisname because he had come from the workhouse.
"She's dead," replied Oliver; "don't you say anything about her to me!"
Oliver's color rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; and there wasa curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Noah thought must bethe immediate precursor of a violent fit of crying. Under thisimpression he returned to the charge.
"What did she die of, Work'us?" said Noah.
"Of a broken-heart, some of our old nurses told me," replied Oliver:more as if he were talking to himself than answering Noah. "I think Iknow what it must be to die of that!"
"Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work'us," said Noah, as a tearrolled down Oliver's check. "What's set you a sniveling now?"
"Not _you_," replied Oliver, hastily brushing the tear away. "Don'tthink it."
"Oh, not me, eh?" sneered Noah.
"No, not you," replied Oliver, sharply.
"There, that's enough. Don't say anything more to me about her; you'dbetter not!"
"Better not!" exclaimed Noah. "Well! Better not! Work'us, don't beimpudent. _Your_ mother, too! She was a nice 'un, she was. Oh, Lor'!"And here Noah nodded his head expressively and curled his small rednose.
"Yer know, Work'us," continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver's silence, andspeaking in a jeering tone of affected pity. "Yer know, Work'us, itcan't be helped now; and of course yer couldn't help it then. But yermust know, Work'us, yer mother was a regular-down bad 'un."
"What did you say?" inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly.
"A regular right-down bad'un, Work'us," replied Noah, coolly. "And it'sa great deal better, Work'us, that she died when she did, or else she'dhave been hard laboring in the jail, or sent out of the country, orhung; which is more likely than either, isn't it?"
Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and table;seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of his rage, tillhis teeth chattered in his head; and, collecting his whole force intoone heavy blow, felled him to the ground.
A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejected creature thatharsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused at last; thecruel insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire. His breastheaved; his form was erect; his eye bright and vivid; his whole personchanged, as he stood glaring over the cowardly tormentor who now laycrouching at his feet; and defied him with an energy he had never knownbefore.
"He'll murder me!" blubbered Noah. "Charlotte! missis! Here's the newboy a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad! Char--lotte!"
Noah's shouts were responded to by a loud scream from Charlotte and alouder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into the kitchenby a side-door, while the latter paused on the staircase till she wasquite certain that it was safe to come farther down.
"Oh, you little wretch!" screamed Charlotte, seizing Oliver with herutmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderately strong manin particularly good training. "Oh, you little un-grate-ful,mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!" And between every syllable Charlotte gaveOliver a blow with all her might.
Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; and Mrs. Sowerberryplunged into the kitchen and assisted to hold him with one hand, whileshe scratched his face with the other. In this favorable position ofaffairs, Noah rose from the ground and pommeled him behind.
When they were all wearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, theydragged Oliver, struggling and shouting, but nothing daunted, into thedust-cellar, and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberrysunk into a chair and burst into tears.
"Oh! Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "Oh! Charlotte, what a mercy wehave not all been murdered in our beds!"
"Ah! mercy indeed, ma'am," was the reply. "I only hope this'll teachmaster not to have any more of these dreadful creatures, that are bornto be murderers and robbers from their very cradle. Poor Noah! he wasall but killed, ma'am, when I come in."
"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking piteously on thecharity-boy.
"What's to be done!" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. "Your master's not athome; there's not a man in the house, and he'll kick that door down inten minutes." Oliver's vigorous plunges against the door did seem as ifhe would break it.
"Dear, dear! I don't know, ma'am," said Charlotte, "unless we send forthe police officers."
"Or the millingtary," suggested Noah.
"No, no," said Mrs. Sowerberry: bethinking herself of Oliver's oldfriend. "Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come here directly,and not to lose a minute; never mind your cap! Make haste!"
Noah set off with all his might, and paused not once for breath until hereached the workhouse gate.
"Why, what's the matter with the boy!" said the people as Noah rushedup.
"Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!" cried Noah, with well-pretended alarm. "Oh,Mr. Bumble, sir! Oliver, sir--Oliver has--"
"What? What?" interposed Mr. Bumble, with a gleam of pleasure in hissteel-like eyes. "Not run away; he hasn't run away, has he, Noah?"
"No, sir, no! Not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious," replied Noah."He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder Charlotte
; andthen missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!" Andhere Noah writhed and twisted his body into an extensive variety ofeel-like positions, by which the gentleman's notice was very soonattracted; for he had not walked three paces, when he turned angrilyround and inquired what that young cur was howling for.
"It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. Bumble, "whohas been nearly murdered--all but murdered, sir--by young Twist."
"By Jove!" exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stoppingshort. "I knew it! I felt from the very first that that terrible youngsavage would come to be hung!"
"He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant," said Mr.Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness.
"And his missis," interposed Noah.
"And his master, too. I think you said, Noah?" added Mr. Bumble.
"No! he's out, or he would have murdered him," replied Noah. "He said hewanted to."
"Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?" inquired the gentleman in thewhite waistcoat.
"Yes, sir. And please, sir," replied Noah, "missis wants to know whetherMr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and floghim--'cause master's out."
"Certainly, my boy; certainly," said the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat, smiling benignly and patting Noah's head, which was aboutthree inches higher than his own. "You're a good boy--a very good boy.Here's a penny for you. Bumble just step up to Sowerberry's with yourcane, and see what's to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble."
"No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle as he hurried away.
Meantime, Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished vigor, at thecellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity, as related by Mrs. Sowerberryand Charlotte, were of so startling a nature that Mr. Bumble judged itprudent to parley before opening the door. With this view he gave a kickat the outside, by way of prelude; and then, putting his mouth to thekeyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone:
"Oliver!"
"Come, you let me out!" replied Oliver, from the inside.
"Do you know this here voice, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble.
"Yes," replied Oliver.
"Ain't you afraid of it, sir? Ain't you a-trembling while I speak, sir?"said Mr. Bumble.
"No!" replied Oliver, boldly.
An answer so different from the one he had expected to hear, and was inthe habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little.
"Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "Noboy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you."
"It's not madness, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments ofdeep meditation. "It's meat."
"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.
"Meat, ma'am, meat," replied Bumble, with stern emphasis. "You'veoverfed him, ma'am."
"Dear, dear!" ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising her eyes tothe kitchen ceiling; "this comes of being liberal!"
The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver had consisted in a bestowalupon him of all the dirty odds and ends which nobody else would eat.
"Ah!" said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down to earthagain; "the only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to leavehim in the cellar for a day or so, till he's a little starved down; andthen to take him out, and keep him on gruel all through hisapprenticeship. He comes of a bad family. Excitable natures, Mrs.Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor said that that mother of his madeher way here, against difficulties and pain that would have killed anywell-disposed woman, weeks before."
At this point of Mr. Bumble's discourse, Oliver, just hearing enough toknow that some new allusion was being made to his mother, recommencedkicking, with a violence that rendered every other sound inaudible.Sowerberry returned at this moment. Oliver's offense having beenexplained to him, with such exaggerations as the ladies thought bestcalculated to rouse his ire, he unlocked the cellar-door in a twinkling,and dragged his rebellious apprentice out by the collar.
Oliver's clothes had been torn in the beating he had received; his facewas bruised and scratched; and his hair scattered over his forehead. Theangry flush had not disappeared, however; and when he was pulled out ofhis prison, he scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quite undismayed.
"Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain't you?" said Sowerberry, givingOliver a shake and a box on the ear.
"He called my mother names," replied Oliver.
"Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch?" said Mrs.Sowerberry. "She deserved what he said, and worse."
"She didn't," said Oliver.
"She did," said Mrs. Sowerberry.
"It's a lie!" said Oliver.
Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears.
This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry nothing else to do; so he atonce gave Oliver a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs. Sowerberryherself. For the rest of the day he was shut up in the backs kitchen, incompany with a pump and a slice of bread; and, at night, Mrs.Sowerberry, after making various remarks outside the door, by no meanskind to the memory of his mother, looked into the room, and, amidst thejeers and pointings of Noah and Charlotte, ordered him up-stairs to hisdismal bed.
It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of thegloomy workshop of the undertaker that Oliver gave way to the feelingswhich the day's treatment may be supposed likely to have awakened in amere child. He had listened to their taunts with a look of contempt; hehad borne the lash without a cry; for he felt that pride swelling in hisheart which would have kept down a shriek to the last, though they hadroasted him alive. But now, when there was none to see or hear him, hefell upon his knees on the floor; and, hiding his face in his hands,wept bitter tears and prayed in his bleeding heart that God would helphim to get away from these cruel people. There, upon his knees, Oliverdetermined to run away, and, rising, tied up a few clothes in ahandkerchief and went to bed.
With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in theshutters, Oliver arose and unbarred the door. One timid look around--onemoment's pause of hesitation--he had closed it behind him, and was inthe open street.
He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain which way to fly. Heremembered to have seen the wagons, as they went out, toiling up thehill. He took the same route; and arriving at a foot-path across thefields, which he knew, after some distance, led out again into the road,struck into it, and walked quickly on.
Along this same foot-path, Oliver well remembered he had trotted besideMr. Bumble when he first carried him to the workhouse from the farm. Hisheart beat quickly when he bethought himself of this, and he halfresolved to turn back. He had come a long way though, and should lose agreat deal of time by doing so. Besides, it was so early that there wasvery little fear of his being seen; so he walked on.
He reached the house. There was no appearance of the people insidestirring at that early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped into the garden.A child was weeding one of the little beds; as he stopped, he raised hispale face and disclosed the features of one of his former companions.Oliver felt glad to see him before he went; for, though younger thanhimself, he had been his little friend and playmate. They had beenbeaten, and starved, and shut up together many and many a time.
"Hush, Dick!" said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrust histhin arm between the rails to greet him. "Is anyone up?"
"Nobody but me," replied the child.
"You mustn't say you saw me, Dick," said Oliver. "I am running away.They beat and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to seek my fortune somelong way off. I don't know where. How pale you are!"
"I heard the doctor tell them I was dying," replied the child, with afaint smile. "I am very glad to see you, dear; but don't stop, don'tstop!"
"Yes, yes, I will to say good-by to you," replied Oliver. "I shall seeyou again, Dick. I know I shall. You will be well and happy!"
"I hope so," replied the child. "After I am dead, but not before. I knowthe doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dream so much of heaven andangels, and k
ind faces that I never see when I am awake. Kiss me," saidthe child, climbing up the low gate, and flinging his little armsaround Oliver's neck: "Good-by, dear! God bless you!"
The blessing was from a young child's lips, but it was the first thatOliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the strugglesand sufferings, and troubles and changes of his after-life, he neveronce forgot it.
Oliver soon got into the high-road. It was eight o'clock now. Though hewas nearly five miles away from the town, he ran, and hid behind thehedges, by turns, till noon, fearing that he might be pursued andovertaken. Then he sat down to rest by the side of the mile-stone.
The stone by which he was seated had a sign on it which said that it wasjust seventy miles from that spot to London. The name awakened a newtrain of ideas in the boy's mind, London!--that great largeplace!--nobody--not even Mr. Bumble--could ever find him there! He hadoften heard the old men in the workhouse, too, say that no lad of spiritneed want in London; and that there were ways of living in that vastcity which those who had been bred in the country parts had no idea of.It was the very place for a homeless boy, who must die in the streetsunless some-one helped him. As these things passed through histhoughts, he jumped upon his feet and again walked forward.
He had made the distance between himself and London less by full fourmiles more, before he thought how much he must undergo ere he could hopeto reach the place toward which he was going. As this considerationforced itself upon him, he slackened his pace a little, and meditatedupon his means of getting there. He had a crust of bread, a coarseshirt, and two pairs of stockings in his bundle. He had a penny too--agift of Sowerberry's after some funeral in which he had acquittedhimself more than ordinarily well--in his pocket. "A clean shirt,"thought Oliver, "is a very comfortable thing; and so are two pairs ofdarned stockings; and so is a penny; but they are small helps to asixty-five miles' walk in winter-time."
Thus day after day the weary but plucky little boy walked on, and earlyon the seventh morning after he had left his native place, Oliver limpedslowly into the little town of Barnet, and sat down on a doorstep torest. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver for a moment or two, or turnedround to stare at him as they hurried by; but none helped him, ortroubled themselves to inquire how he came there. He had no heart tobeg. And there he sat for some time when he was roused by observingthat a boy was watching him most earnestly from the opposite side of theway. He took little heed of this at first; but the boy remained in thesame attitude so long that Oliver raised his head and returned hissteady look. Upon this, the boy crossed over, and, walking close up toOliver, said:
"Hullo, my covey! What's the row?"
The boy who had spoken to the young wayfarer was about his own age: butone of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen. He was asnub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as dirty a youthas one would wish to see; but he had about him all the airs and mannersof a man. He was short for his age; with rather bow-legs, and little,sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightlythat it threatened to fall off every moment. He wore a man's coat, whichreached nearly to his heels.
"Hullo, my covey! What's the row?" said the stranger.
"I am very hungry and tired," replied Oliver: the tears standing in hiseyes as he spoke. "I have walked a long way. I have been walking theseseven days."
"Walking for sivin days!" said the young gentleman. "Oh, I see. Beak'sorder, eh? But," he added, noticing Oliver's look of surprise, "Isuppose you don't know what a beak is, my flash com-pan-i-on."
Oliver mildly replied that he had always heard a bird's mouth describedby the word beak.
"My eyes, how green!" exclaimed the young gentleman. "Why, a beak's amadgst'rate; and when you walk by a beak's order, it's not straightforerd.
"But come," said the young gentleman; "you want grub, and you shall haveit. Up with you on your pins. There! Now then!"
Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took him to a near bygrocery store, where he bought a supply of ready-dressed ham and ahalf-quartern loaf, or, as he himself expressed it, "a fourpenny bran!"Taking the bread under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a smallpublic-house, and led the way to a tap-room in the rear of the premises.Here a pot of beer was brought in by direction of the mysterious youth;and Oliver, falling to at his new friend's bidding, made a long andhearty meal, during which the strange boy eyed him from time to timewith great attention.
"Going to London?" said the strange boy, when Oliver had at lengthconcluded.
"Yes."
"Got any lodgings?"
"No."
"Money?"
"No."
The strange boy whistled, and put his arms into his pockets as far asthe big coat-sleeves would let them go.
"Do you live in London?" inquired Oliver.
"Yes, I do, when I'm at home," replied the boy. "I suppose you want someplace to sleep in to-night, don't you?"
"I do, indeed," answered Oliver. "I have not slept under a roof since Ileft the country."
"Don't fret your eyelids on that score," said the young gentleman. "I'vegot to be in London to-night; and I know a 'spectable old genelman aslives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for thechange--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don't heknow me? Oh, no! not in the least! By no means. Certainly not!" whichwas his queer way of saying he and the old gentleman were good friends.
This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted,especially as it was immediately followed up by the assurance that theold gentleman referred to would doubtless provide Oliver with acomfortable place, without loss of time. This led to a more friendly andfree talk, from which Oliver learned that his friend's name was JackDawkins--among his intimate friends better known as the "ArtfulDodger"--and that he was a peculiar pet of the elderly gentleman beforementioned.
As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, itwas nearly eleven o'clock when they reached the small city street, alongwhich the Dodger scudded at a rapid pace, directing Oliver to followclose at his heels.
Although Oliver had enough to occupy his attention in keeping sight ofhis leader, he could not help bestowing a few hasty glances on eitherside of the way as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretched place hehad never seen.
Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away, when theyreached the bottom of the hill. His conductor, catching him by the arm,pushed open the door of a house, and, drawing him into the passage,closed it behind them.
"Now, then!" cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from theDodger.
"Plummy and slam!" was the reply.
This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right; for thelight of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of thepassage, and a man's face peeped out from where a balustrade of the oldkitchen staircase had been broken away.
"There's two of you," said the man, thrusting the candle farther out,and shading his eyes with his hand. "Who's the t'other one?"
"A new pal," replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward.
"Where did he come from?"
"Greenland. Is Fagin up-stairs?"
"Yes; he's a sortin' the wipes. Up with you!" The candle was drawn back,and the face disappeared.
Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmlygrasped by his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark andbroken stairs; which his conductor mounted with an ease and expeditionthat showed he was well acquainted with them. He threw open the door ofa back-room, and drew Oliver in after him.
The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age anddirt. There was a deal table before the fire, upon which were a candlestuck in a ginger-beer bottle, two or three pewter-pots, a loaf andbutter, and a plate. Seated round the table were four or five boys,none older than the Dodger, smoking clay pipes and drinking spirits,with the air of middle-aged men. These all crowded about their friend ashe whispered a few words t
o the Jewish proprietor; and then turned roundand grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew himself, toasting-fork in hand.
"This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins; "my friend, Oliver Twist."
The Jew grinned, and, making a low bow to Oliver, took him by the hand,and hoped he should have the honor of a closer acquaintance. Upon this,the young gentlemen with the pipes came round him and shook both hishands very hard.
"We are very glad to see you. Oliver, very," said the Jew. "Dodger, takeoff the sausages, and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah! you'rea-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear! There are a goodmany of 'em, ain't there? We've just looked 'em out, ready for the wash:that's all, Oliver--that's all. Ha! ha! ha!"
The latter part of this speech was hailed by a noisy shout from all thepupils of the merry old gentleman; in the midst of which they went tosupper.
Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin andwater, telling him he must drink it off directly, because anothergentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. Immediatelyafterward he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the sacks; and thenhe sunk into a deep sleep.
It was late next morning when Oliver awoke from a sound, long sleep.There was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boilingsome coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himselfas he stirred it round and round with an iron spoon. He would stop everynow and then to listen when there was the least noise below; and when hehad satisfied himself, he would go on, whistling and stirring again, asbefore.
Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughlyawake.
Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with hishalf-closed eyes; heard his low whistling; and recognized the sound ofthe spoon grating against the saucepan's sides.
When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob, lookedat Oliver, and called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to allappearance asleep.
After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to thedoor, which he fastened. He then drew forth, as it seemed to Oliver,from some trap in the floor, a small box, which he placed carefully onthe table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid and looked in.Dragging an old chair to the table, he sat down; and took from it amagnificent gold watch, sparkling with jewels.
"Aha!" said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders and distorting everyfeature with a hideous grin. "Clever dogs! Clever dogs! Stanch to thelast! Never told the old parson where they were. Never peached upon oldFagin! And why should they? It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or keptthe drop up, a minute longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows! Fine fellows!"
With these and other muttered remarks of the like nature, the Jew oncemore laid the watch in its place of safety. At least half a dozen morewere severally drawn forth from the same box, and looked at with equalpleasure; besides rings, bracelets, and other articles of jewelry, ofsuch magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that Oliver had noidea even of their names.
As the Jew looked up, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring atthe jewelry, fell on Oliver's face; the boy's eyes were fixed on his inmute curiosity; and although the recognition was only for an instant, itwas enough to show the old man that he had been observed. He closed thelid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a bread-knifewhich was on the table, started furiously up.
"What's that?" said the Jew. "What do you watch me for? Why are youawake? What have you seen? Speak out boy! Quick--quick! for your life!"
"I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," replied Oliver, meekly. "I amvery sorry if I have disturbed you, sir."
"You were not awake an hour ago?" said the Jew, scowling fiercely.
"No! No, indeed!" replied Oliver.
"Are you sure?" cried the Jew, with a still fiercer look than before,and a threatening attitude.
"Upon my word I was not, sir," replied Oliver, earnestly.
"Tush, tush, my dear!" said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner,and playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down; to makeOliver think that he had caught it up in mere sport. "Of course I knowthat, my dear. I only tried to frighten you. You're a brave boy. Ha! ha!you're a brave boy, Oliver!" The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle,but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding.
"Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?" said the Jew, layinghis hand upon it after a short pause.
"Yes, sir," replied Oliver.
"Ah!" said the Jew, turning rather pale. "They--they're mine, Oliver: mylittle property. All I have to live upon in my old age. The folks callme a miser, my dear. Only a miser; that's all."
Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in sucha dirty place, with so many watches; but, thinking that perhaps hisfondness for the Dodger and the other boys cost him a good deal ofmoney, he only looked kindly at the Jew, and asked if he might get up.
"Certainly, my dear, certainly," replied the old gentleman. "There's apitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here, and I'll giveyou a basin to wash in, my dear."
Oliver got up, walked across the room, and stooped for an instant toraise the pitcher. When he turned his head the box was gone.
He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy by emptying thebasin out of the window, agreeably to the Jew's directions, when theDodger returned, accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whomOliver had seen smoking on the previous night, and who was now formallyintroduced to him as Charley Bates. The four sat down to breakfast onthe coffee and some hot rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought homein the crown of his hat.
"Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and addressing himselfto the Dodger, "I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears?"
"Hard," replied the Dodger.
"As nails," added Charley Bates.
"Good boys, good boys!" said the Jew. "What have _you_, Dodger?"
"A couple of pocket-books," replied that young gentleman.
"Lined?" inquired the Jew, with eagerness.
"Pretty well," replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books.
"Not so heavy as they might be," said the Jew, after looking at theinsides carefully; "but very neat and nicely made. A good workman, ain'the, Oliver?"
"Very, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laugheduproariously, very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing tolaugh at in anything that had passed.
"And what have you got, my dear?" said Fagin to Charley Bates.
"Wipes," replied Master Bates; at the same time producing fourpocket-handkerchiefs.
"Well," said the Jew, inspecting them closely; "they're very good ones,very. You haven't marked them well, though, Charley; so the marks shallbe picked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. Shallus, Oliver, eh? Ha! ha! ha!"
"If you please, sir," said Oliver.
"You'd like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as CharleyBates, wouldn't you, my dear?" said the Jew.
"Very much, indeed, if you'll teach me, sir," replied Oliver.
Master Bates burst into another laugh.
"He is so jolly green!" said Charley when he recovered, as an apology tothe company for his impolite behavior.
The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's hair over his eyes,and said he'd know better by-and-by.
When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry old gentleman and the twoboys played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed inthis way: The merry old gentleman, placing a snuff-box in one pocket ofhis trousers, a note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoatpocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock-diamondpin in his shirt, buttoned his coat tight around him, and putting hisspectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down theroom with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemenwalk about the streets any hour in the day.
Now during all this time the two boys followed him closely about,getting out of
his sight, so nimbly, every time he turned round that itwas impossible to follow their motions. At last the Dodger trod upon histoes or ran upon his boot accidentally, while Charley Bates stumbled upagainst him behind; and in that one moment they took from him, with themost extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chain,shirt-pin, pocket handkerchief, even the spectacle-case. If the oldgentleman felt a hand in any one of his pockets, he cried out where itwas, and then the game began all over again.
When this game had been played a great many times, Charley Batesexpressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, itoccurred to Oliver, must be French for going out; for, directlyafterward, the Dodger and Charley went away together, having been kindlyfurnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend.
"There, my dear," said Fagin. "That's a pleasant life, isn't it? Theyhave gone out for the day."
"Have they done work, sir?" inquired Oliver.
"Yes," said the Jew; "that is, unless they should unexpectedly comeacross any when they are out; and they won't neglect it, if they do, mydear, depend upon it. Make 'em your models, my dear. Make 'em yourmodels," tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to hiswords; "do everything they bid you, and take their advice in allmatters--especially the Dodger's my dear. He'll be a great man himself,and will make you one too, if you take pattern by him. Is myhandkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?" said the Jew, stoppingshort.
"Yes, sir," said Oliver.
"See if you can take it out, without my feeling it, as you saw them dowhen we were at play this morning."
Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seenthe Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out with theother.
"Is it gone?" cried the Jew.
"Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his hand.
"You're a clever boy, my dear," said the playful old gentleman, pattingOliver on the head approvingly. "I never saw a sharper lad. Here's ashilling for you. If you go on in this way, you'll be the greatest manof the time. And now come here, and I'll show you how to take the marksout of the handkerchief."
Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's pocket in play had todo with his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew,being so much older must know best, he followed him quietly to thetable, and was soon deeply at work in his new study.
For many days Oliver remained in the Jew's room, picking the marks outof the pocket-handkerchiefs (of which a great number were brought home),and sometimes taking part in the game already described, which the twoboys and the Jew played, regularly, every morning.
At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission to go out withthe boys. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon for two or threedays, and the dinners had been rather meager. Perhaps these were reasonsfor the old gentleman giving his assent; but, whether they were or no,he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint care ofCharley Bates and his friend, the Dodger.
The three boys started out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked upand his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with hishands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they weregoing, and what they would teach him to make first.
They were just coming from a narrow court not far from an open square,which is yet called "The Green," when the Dodger made a sudden stop,and, laying his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again, withthe greatest caution.
"What's the matter?" demanded Oliver.
"Hush!" replied the Dodger. "Do you see that old cove at thebook-stall?"
"The old gentleman over the way?" said Oliver. "Yes, I see him."
"He'll do," said the Dodger.
"A prime plant," observed Master Charley Bates.
Oliver looked from one to the other with the greatest surprise, but hewas not permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walkedstealthily across the road and slunk close behind the old gentleman.Oliver walked a few paces after them, and, not knowing whether toadvance or retire, stood looking on in silent amazement.
The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with apowdered head and gold spectacles, as he stood reading a book; and whatwas Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking onwith his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see theDodger plunge his hand into the old gentleman's pocket and draw fromthence a handkerchief! To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; andfinally to behold them both running away round the corner.
In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs, and the watches,and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the boy's mind. He stood, for amoment, with the blood so tingling through all his veins from terrorthat he felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, confused andfrightened, he took to his heels, and, not knowing what he did, made offas fast as he could lay his feet to the ground.
This was all done in a minute's space. In the very instant when Oliverbegan to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, andmissing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scuddingaway at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be thethief; and, shouting "Stop thief!" with all his might, made off afterhim, book in hand.
But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised thehue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract publicattention by running down the open street, had merely retired into thevery first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, andsaw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, theyissued forth with great quickness; and shouting "Stop thief!" too,joined in the pursuit like good citizens.
Away they ran, pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap-dash; tearing, yelling,screaming, knocking down the passengers as they turn the corners,rousing up the dogs, and astonishing the fowls; and making streets,squares, and courts re-echo with the sound.
At last a burly fellow struck Oliver a terrible blow and he went downupon the pavement; and the crowd eagerly gathered round him, eachnewcomer jostling and struggling with the others to catch a glimpse."Stand aside!" "Give him a little air!" "Nonsense! he don't deserve it!""Where's the gentleman?" "Here he is, coming down the street." "Makeroom there for the gentleman!" "Is this the boy, sir?"
Oliver lay covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth,looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, whenthe old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle bythe foremost of the pursuers.
"Yes," said the gentleman, "I am afraid it is the boy."
"Afraid!" murmured the crowd. "That's a good 'un!"
"Poor fellow!" said the gentleman, "he has hurt himself."
"I did that, sir," said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward; "andpreciously I cut my knuckle agin his mouth. I stopped him, sir."
The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for hispains; but the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of dislike,looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself;which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus haveafforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally thelast person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made his way throughthe crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar.
"Come, get up," said the man, roughly.
"It wasn't me, indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys," saidOliver, clasping his hands passionately and looking round. "They arehere somewhere."
"Oh no, they ain't," said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, butit was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off downthe first convenient court they came to. "Come, get up!"
"Don't hurt him," said the old gentleman, compassionately.
"Oh no, I won't hurt him," replied the officer, tearing his jacket halfoff his back, in proof thereof. "Come, I know you; it won't do. Will youstand upon your legs, you young devil?"
Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on hisfeet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar a
t arapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer's side.
At last they came to a place called Mutton Hill. Here he was led beneatha low archway, and up a dirty court, where they saw a stout man with abunch of whiskers on his face and a bunch of keys in his hand.
"What's the matter now?" said the man carelessly.
"A young fogle-hunter," replied the officer who had Oliver in charge.
"Are you the party that's been robbed, sir?" inquired the man with thekeys.
"Yes, I am," replied the old gentleman; "but I am not sure that this boyactually took the handkerchief. I would rather not press the case."
"Must go before the magistrate now, sir," replied the man. "His worshipwill be disengaged in half a minute. Now, young gallows!"
This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which heunlocked as he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he wassearched, and, nothing being found upon him, locked up.
The old gentleman looked almost as unhappy as Oliver when the key gratedin the lock.
At last this gentleman, Mr. Brownlow, was summoned before themagistrate--a very mean man, whose name was Fang. Oliver was brought in,and the magistrate, after using very abusive language to Mr. Brownlow,had him sworn, but would not let him tell his story. He flew into a rageand told the policeman to tell what happened.
The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the boy;how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and howthat was all he knew about it.
"Are there any witnesses?" inquired Mr. Fang.
"None, your worship," replied the policeman.
Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to Mr.Brownlow, said in a towering passion:
"Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, ordo you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing togive evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench."
With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived tostate his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he hadrun after the boy because he saw him running away.
"He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman, in conclusion. "AndI fear," he added, with great energy, looking toward the bar, "I reallyfear that he is ill."
"Oh! yes, I dare say!" said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. "Come, none of yourtricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do. What's your name?"
Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale;and the whole place seemed turning round and round.
"What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?" demanded Mr. Fang.
At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head, and, lookinground with imploring eyes, asked feebly for a drink of water.
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Fang; "don't try to make a fool of me."
"I think he really is ill, your worship," said the officer.
"I know better," said Mr. Fang.
"Take care of him, officer," said the old gentleman, raising his handsinstinctively; "he'll fall down."
"Stand away, officer," cried Fang; "let him, if he likes."
Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to the floor ina fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other, but no onedared to stir.
"I knew he was shamming," said Fang, as if this were enough proof of thefact. "Let him lie there; he'll soon be tired of that."
"How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?" inquired the clerk in alow voice.
"Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. "He stands committed for threemonths--hard labor, of course. Clear the office."
The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of men were preparingto carry the insensible boy to his cell, when an elderly man of decentbut poor appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed in.
"Stop! stop! Don't take him away! For heaven's sake stop a moment!"cried the newcomer, breathless with haste.
"What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office," criedMr. Fang.
"I _will_ speak," cried the man; "I will not be turned out. I saw itall. I keep the book-stall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be putdown. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir."
The man was right. His manner was determined; and the matter was growingrather too serious to be hushed up.
"Swear the man," growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace. "Now, man,what have you to say?"
"This," said the man: "I saw three boys--two two others and the prisonerhere--loitering on the opposite side of the way, when this gentleman wasreading. The robbery was committed by another boy. I saw it done; and Isaw this boy was perfectly amazed and stupefied by it."
"Why didn't you come here before?" said Fang, after a pause.
"I hadn't a soul to mind the shop," replied the man. "Everybody whocould have helped me had joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody tillfive minutes ago; and I have run here all the way to speak the truth."
"The boy is discharged. Clear the office!" shouted the angry magistrate.
The command was obeyed; and as Oliver was taken out he fainted awayagain in the yard, and lay with his face a deadly white and a coldtremble convulsing his frame.
"Poor boy! poor boy!" said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. "Call acoach, somebody, pray. Directly!"
A coach was obtained, and Oliver, having been carefully laid on oneseat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other.
"May I go with you?" said the book-stall keeper, looking in.
"Bless me, yes, my dear sir," said Mr. Brownlow quickly. "I forgot you.Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! Notime to lose."
The book-stall keeper got into the coach, and it rattled away. Itstopped at length before a neat house, in a quiet shady street. Here abed was prepared, without loss of time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw hisyoung charge carefully and comfortably laid; and here he was tendedwith a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds.
At last the sick boy began to recover, and one day Mr. Brownlow came tosee him. You may imagine how happy Oliver was to see his good friend;but he was no more delighted than was Mr. Brownlow. The old gentlemancame to spend a short time with him every day; and, when he grewstronger, Oliver went up to the learned gentleman's study and talkedwith him by the hour and was astonished at the books he saw, and whichMr. Brownlow told him to look at and read as much as he liked.
Oliver was soon well, and no thought was in Mr. Brownlow's mind but thathe should keep him, and raise him and educate him to be a splendid man;for no father loves his own son better than Mr. Brownlow had come tolove Oliver.
Now, I know, you want to ask me what became of Oliver Twist. But Icannot tell you here. Let us leave him in this beautiful home of goodMr. Brownlow; and, if you want to read the rest of his wonderful story,get Dickens' big book called _Oliver Twist_, and read it there. Therewere many surprises and much trouble yet in store for Oliver, but he wasalways noble, honest, and brave.