Oliver Twist
OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
Noah Claypole ran along the at his pace, and paused not once for breath, until he the workhouse-gate. Having rested here, for a minute or so, to a good of and an of and terror, he at the wicket; and presented such a to the who opened it, that he, who saw nothing but about him at the best of times, started in astonishment.
“Why, what’s the with the boy!” said the old pauper.
“Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!” Noah, with well-affected dismay: and in so loud and agitated, that they not only the ear of Mr. Bumble himself, who to be hard by, but him so much that he into the without his hat,—which is a very and circumstance: as that a beadle, upon a and powerful impulse, may be with a of of self-possession, and of personal dignity.
“Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!” said Noah: “Oliver, sir,—Oliver has—”
“What? What?” Mr. Bumble: with a of in his eyes. “Not away; he hasn’t away, has he, Noah?”
“No, sir, no. Not away, sir, but he’s wicious,” Noah. “He to me, sir; and then he to Charlotte; and then missis. Oh! what pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!” And here, Noah and his into an of eel-like positions; Mr. Bumble to that, from the and of Oliver Twist, he had and damage, from which he was at that moment the torture.
When Noah saw that the he perfectly Mr. Bumble, he additional thereunto, by his ten times louder than before; and when he a in a white the yard, he was more in his than ever: it to the notice, and the indignation, of the aforesaid.
The gentleman’s notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked three paces, when he round, and what that was for, and why Mr. Bumble did not him with something which would the series of so designated, an process?
“It’s a boy from the free-school, sir,” Mr. Bumble, “who has been nearly murdered—all but murdered, sir,—by Twist.”
“By Jove!” the in the white waistcoat, stopping short. “I it! I a from the very first, that that would come to be hung!”
“He has attempted, sir, to the female servant,” said Mr. Bumble, with a of paleness.
“And his missis,” Mr. Claypole.
“And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?” added Mr. Bumble.
“No! he’s out, or he would have him,” Noah. “He said he wanted to.”
“Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?” the in the white waistcoat.
“Yes, sir,” Noah. “And please, sir, wants to know Mr. Bumble can time to step up there, directly, and him—’cause master’s out.”
“Certainly, my boy; certainly,” said the in the white waistcoat: benignly, and Noah’s head, which was about three higher than his own. “You’re a good boy—a very good boy. Here’s a for you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry’s with your cane, and see what’s best to be done. Don’t him, Bumble.”
“No, I will not, sir,” the beadle. And the and having been, by this time, to their owner’s satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Claypole themselves with all speed to the undertaker’s shop.
Here the position of had not at all improved. Sowerberry had not yet returned, and Oliver to kick, with vigour, at the cellar-door. The of his as related by Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so a nature, that Mr. Bumble it to parley, opening the door. With this view he gave a at the outside, by way of prelude; and, then, his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a and tone:
“Oliver!”
“Come; you let me out!” Oliver, from the inside.
“Do you know this here voice, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble.
“Yes,” Oliver.
“Ain’t you of it, sir? Ain’t you a-trembling while I speak, sir?” said Mr. Bumble.
“No!” Oliver, boldly.
An answer so different from the one he had to elicit, and was in the of receiving, Mr. Bumble not a little. He from the keyhole; himself up to his full height; and looked from one to another of the three bystanders, in mute astonishment.
“Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,” said Mrs. Sowerberry.
“No boy in his to speak so to you.”
“It’s not Madness, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble, after a moments of meditation. “It’s Meat.”
“What?” Mrs. Sowerberry.
“Meat, ma’am, meat,” Bumble, with emphasis. “You’ve over-fed him, ma’am. You’ve a and in him, ma’am a person of his condition: as the board, Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will tell you. What have to do with or spirit? It’s that we let ’em have live bodies. If you had the boy on gruel, ma’am, this would have happened.”
“Dear, dear!” Mrs. Sowerberry, her to the ceiling: “this comes of being liberal!”
The of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver, had of a upon him of all the dirty and ends which nobody else would eat; so there was a great of and self-devotion in her under Mr. Bumble’s accusation. Of which, to do her justice, she was innocent, in thought, word, or deed.
“Ah!” said Mr. Bumble, when the lady her to earth again; “the only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to him in the for a day or so, till he’s a little down; and then to take him out, and keep him on all through the apprenticeship. He comes of a family. Excitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor said, that that mother of his her way here, against and pain that would have killed any well-disposed woman, before.”
At this point of Mr. Bumble’s discourse, Oliver, just to know that some was being to his mother, kicking, with a that every other inaudible. Sowerberry returned at this juncture. Oliver’s having been to him, with such as the ladies best calculated to his ire, he the cellar-door in a twinkling, and his out, by the collar.
Oliver’s had been in the he had received; his was and scratched; and his over his forehead. The angry had not disappeared, however; and when he was out of his prison, he on Noah, and looked undismayed.
“Now, you are a fellow, ain’t you?” said Sowerberry; Oliver a shake, and a box on the ear.
“He called my mother names,” Oliver.
“Well, and what if he did, you little wretch?” said Mrs. Sowerberry. “She what he said, and worse.”
“She didn’t” said Oliver.
“She did,” said Mrs. Sowerberry.
“It’s a lie!” said Oliver.
Mrs. Sowerberry into a of tears.
This of left Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If he had for one to Oliver most severely, it must be clear to every reader that he would have been, according to all in of established, a brute, an husband, an creature, a of a man, and other too for the limits of this chapter. To do him justice, he was, as as his power went—it was not very extensive—kindly the boy; perhaps, it was his to be so; perhaps, his wife him. The of tears, however, left him no resource; so he at once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied Mrs. Sowerberry herself, and Mr. Bumble’s of the cane, unnecessary. For the of the day, he was up in the kitchen, in company with a pump and a slice of bread; and at night, Mrs. Sowerberry, after making the door, by no means to the memory of his mother, looked into the room, and, the and of Noah and Charlotte, ordered him to his bed.
It was not until he was left alone in the and of the of the undertaker, that Oliver gave way to the which the day’s may be likely to have in a child. He had to their with a look of contempt; he had the without a cry: for he that in his which would have a to the last, though they had him alive. But now, when there were none to see or him, he upon his on the floor; and, his in his hands, such as, God send for the of our nature, so may have to out him!
For a long time, Oliver in this attitude. The was low in the when he rose to his feet. Having him, and intently, he the of the door, and looked abroad.
It was a cold, dark night. The seemed, to the boy’s eyes, from the earth than he had them before; there was no wind; and the by the trees upon the ground, looked and death-like, from being so still. He the door. Having himself of the light of the to tie up in a the articles of he had, sat himself upon a bench, to wait for morning.
With the of light that through the in the shutters, Oliver arose, and again the door. One look around—one moment’s pause of hesitation—he had closed it him, and was in the open street.
He looked to the right and to the left, to fly.
He to have the waggons, as they out, up the hill. He took the same route; and at a across the fields: which he knew, after some distance, out again into the road; into it, and walked on.
Along this same footpath, Oliver well-remembered he had Mr. Bumble, when he him to the from the farm. His way directly in of the cottage. His when he himself of this; and he to turn back. He had come a long way though, and should a great of time by doing so. Besides, it was so early that there was very little of his being seen; so he walked on.
He the house. There was no of its at that early hour. Oliver stopped, and into the garden. A child was one of the little beds; as he stopped, he his and the of one of his companions. Oliver to see him, he went; for, though than himself, he had been his little friend and playmate. They had been beaten, and starved, and up together, many and many a time.
“Hush, Dick!” said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and his thin arm the rails to him. “Is any one up?”
“Nobody but me,” the child.
“You musn’t say you saw me, Dick,” said Oliver. “I am away. They and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to my fortune, some long way off. I don’t know where. How you are!”
“I the doctor tell them I was dying,” the child with a smile. “I am very to see you, dear; but don’t stop, don’t stop!”
“Yes, yes, I will, to say good-b’ye to you,” Oliver. “I shall see you again, Dick. I know I shall! You will be well and happy!”
“I so,” the child. “After I am dead, but not before. I know the doctor must be right, Oliver, I so much of Heaven, and Angels, and that I see when I am awake. Kiss me,” said the child, up the low gate, and his little arms Oliver’s neck. “Good-b’ye, dear! God you!”
The was from a child’s lips, but it was the that Oliver had upon his head; and through the and sufferings, and and changes, of his after life, he once it.
