Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith.Now, although it was very natural that the Board, of all peoplein the world, should feel in a great state of virtuous astonishmentand horror at the smallest tokens of want of feeling on the part ofanybody, they were rather out, in this particular instance. Thesimple fact was, that Oliver, instead of possessing too little feeling,possessed rather too much; and was in a fair way of being reduced,for life, to a state of brutal stupidity and sullenness by the ill-usagehe had received. He heard the news of his destination, in perfectsilence; and, having had his luggage put into his hand—which wasnot very difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised withinthe limits of a brown-paper parcel, about half a foot square bythree inches deep—he pulled his cap over his eyes; and once moreattaching himself to Mr. Bumble’s coat cuff, was led away by thatdignitary to a new scene of suffering.For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without noticeor remark; for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadlealways should: and, it being a windy day, little Oliver wascompletely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble’s coat as theyblew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flapped waistcoatand drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew near to theirdestination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to lookdown, and see that the boy was in good order for inspection by hisnew master; which he accordingly did, with a fit and becoming airof gracious patronage.“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice.“Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.”Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once, and passed theback of his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tearin them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazedsternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed byanother, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it was anunsuccessful one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble’s,he covered his face with both; and wept until the tears sprang outfrom between his chin and bony fingers.“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting athis little charge a look of intense malignity. “Well! Of all theungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, youare the—”“No, no, sir,” sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held thewell-known cane; “no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed,indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so—so—”“So what?” inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.“So lonely, sir! So very lonely!” cried the child. “Everybodyhates me. Oh! sir, don’t, don’t pray be cross with me!” The childbeat his hand upon his heart, and looked in his companion’s face,with tears of real agony.Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver’s piteous and helpless look, withsome astonishment, for a few seconds; hemmed three or fourtimes in a husky manner; and, after muttering something about“that troublesome cough,” bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a goodboy. Then, once more taking his hand, he walked on with him insilence.The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his shop,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistwas making some entries in his day-book by the light of a mostappropriate dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.“Aha!” said the undertaker, looking up from the book andpausing in the middle of a word; “is that you, Bumble?”“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” replied the beadle. “Here! I’vebrought the boy.” Oliver made a bow.“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker, raising thecandle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. “Mrs.Sowerberry! will you have the goodness to come here a moment,my dear?”Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop,and presented the form of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, witha vixenish countenance.“My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry deferentially, “this is the boyfrom the workhouse that I told you of.” Oliver bowed again.“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife, “he’s very small.”“Why, he is rather small,” replied Mr. Bumble, looking at Oliveras if it were his fault that he was no bigger; “he is small. There’s nodenying it. But he’ll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry—he’ll grow.”“Ah! I dare say he will,” replied the lady pettishly, “on ourvictuals and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; forthey always cost more to keep, than they’re worth. However, menalways think they know best. There! Get downstairs, little bag o’bones.” With this, the undertaker’s wife opened a side door, andpushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, dampand dark, forming the ante-room to the coal-cellar, anddenominated “kitchen”: wherein sat a slatternly girl, in shoesdown at heel, and blue worsted stockings very much out of repair.“Here, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had followedCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistOliver down, “give the boy some of the cold bits that were put byfor Trip. He hasn’t come home since the morning, so he may gowithout ’em. I dare say the boy isn’t too dainty to eat ’em—are you,boy?”Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, andwho was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in thenegative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set beforehim.I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn togall within him; whose blood is ice, whose heart is iron; could haveseen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog hadneglected. I wish he could have witnessed the horrible avidity withwhich Oliver tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine.There is only one thing I should like better, and that would be tosee the philosopher making the same sort of meal himself, with thesame relish.“Well,” said the undertaker’s wife, when Oliver had finished hissupper, which she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearfulauguries of his future appetite, “have you done?”There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied inthe affirmative.“Then come with me,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, taking up a dimand dirty lamp, and leading the way upstairs; “your bed’s underthe counter. You don’t mind sleeping among the coffins, Isuppose? But it doesn’t much matter whether you do or don’t, foryou can’t sleep anywhere else. Come; don’t keep me here allnight!”Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his newmistress.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistChapter 5Oliver Mingles With New Associates—Going To AFuneral For The First Time, He Forms AnUnfavourable Notion Of His Master’s Business.O liver, being left to himself in the undertaker’s shop, set thelamp down on a workman’s bench, and gazed timidlyabout him with a feeling of awe and dread, which manypeople a good deal older than he will be at no loss to understand.An unfinished coffin on black trestles, which stood in the middle ofthe shop, looked so gloomy and death-like that a cold tremblecame over him, every time his eyes wandered in the direction ofthe dismal object; from which he almost expected to see somefrightful form slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with terror.Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elmboards cut into the same shape: looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets.Coffin plates, elm chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of blackcloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counterwas ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in verystiff neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearsedrawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance. The shopwas close and hot; and the atmosphere seemed tainted with thesmell of coffins. The recess beneath the counter in which his flockmattress was thrust, looked like a grave.Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressedOliver. He was alone in a strange place; and we all know howCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistchilled and desolate the best of us will sometimes feel in such asituation. The boy had no friends to care for, or to care for him.The regret of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; theabsence of no loved and well-remembered face sank heavily intohis heart. But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and hewished, as he crept into his narrow bed, that that were his coffin,and that he could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in thechurchyard ground, with the tall grass waving gently above hishead, and the sound of the old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep.Oliver was awakened in the morning by a loud kicking at theoutside of the shop door; which, before he could huddle on hisclothes, was repeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, abouttwenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legsdesisted, and a voice began. “Open the door, will yer?” cried thevoice which belonged to the legs which had kicked at the door.“I will, directly, sir,” replied Oliver, undoing the chain andturning the key.“Yes, sir,’ replied Oliver.“How old are yer?’ inquired the voice.“Ten, sir,” replied Oliver.“Then I’ll whop yer when I get in,” said the voice; “you just seeif I don’t, that’s all, my work’us brat!” and having made thisobliging promise, the voice began to whistle.Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which thevery expressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference, toentertain the smallest doubt that the owner of the voice, whoeverhe might be, would redeem his pledge, most honourably. He drewback the bolts with a trembling hand, and opened the door.For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twiststreet, and over the way, impressed with the belief that theunknown who had addressed him through the keyhole, hadwalked a few paces off, to warm himself; for nobody did he see buta big charity-boy, sitting on a post in front of the house, eating aslice of bread-and-butter, which he cut into wedges, the size of hismouth, with a clasp knife, and then consumed with greatdexterity.“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Oliver, at length, seeing that noother visitor made his appearance; “did you knock?”“I kicked,” replied the charity-boy.“Did you want a coffin, sir?” inquired Oliver innocently.At this the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said thatOliver would want one before long, if he cut jokes with hissuperiors in that way.“Yer don’t know who I am, I suppose, Work’us?” said thecharity-boy, in continuation, descending from the top of the post,meanwhile, with edifying gravity.“No, sir,” rejoined Oliver.“I’m Mister Noah Claypole,” said the charity-boy, “and you’reunder me. Take down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!” Withthis, Mr. Claypole administered a kick to Oliver, and entered theshop with a dignified air, which did him great credit. It is difficultfor a large-headed, small-eyed youth, of lumbering make andheavy countenance, to look dignified under any circumstances;but it is more especially so, when superadded to these personalattractions are a red nose and yellow smalls.Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane ofglass in his efforts to stagger away beneath the weight, of the firstone, to a small court at the side of the house in which they wereCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistkept during the day, was graciously assisted by Noah, who, havingconsoled him with the assurance that “he’d catch it,”condescended to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came down soon after.Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry appeared; and Oliver having“caught it,” in fulfilment of Noah’s prediction, followed that younggentleman down the stairs to breakfast.“Come near the fire, Noah,” said Charlotte. “I saved a nice littlebit of bacon for you from master’s breakfast. Oliver, shut that doorat Mister Noah’s back, and take them bits that I’ve put out on thecover of the bread-pan. There’s your tea; take it away to that boxand drink it there, and make haste, for they’ll want you to mindthe shop. D’ye hear?”“D’ye hear, Work’us?” said Noah Claypole.“Lor, Noah!” said Charlotte, “what a rum creature you are!Why don’t you let the boy alone?”“Let him alone!” said Noah. “Why everybody lets him aloneenough, for the matter of that. Neither his father nor his motherwill ever interfere with him. All his relations let him have his ownway pretty well. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! he!”“Oh, you queer soul!” said Charlotte, bursting into a heartylaugh, in which she was joined by Noah; after which they bothlooked scornfully at poor Oliver Twist, as he was shivering on thebox in the coldest corner of the room, and ate the stale pieceswhich had been specially reserved for him.Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. Nochance—child was he, for he could trace his genealogy all the wayback to his parents, who lived hard by; his mother being awasherwoman, and his father a drunken soldier, discharged with awooden leg and a diurnal pension of twopence-halfpenny and anCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistunstateable fraction. The shop boys in the neighbourhood hadlong been in the habit of branding Noah, in the public streets, withthe ignominious epithets of “leathers,” “charity,” and the like; andNoah had borne them without reply. But, now that fortune hascast in his way a nameless orphan, at whom even the meanestcould point the finger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest.This affords charming food for contemplation. It shows us what abeautiful thing human nature may be made to be; and howimpartially the same amiable qualities are developed in the finestlord and the dirtiest charity-boy.Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker’s some threeweeks or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry—the shop being shutup—were taking their supper in the little back parlour, when Mr.Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at his wife, said: “Mydear—” He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry lookingup, with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short.“Well,” said Mrs. Sowerberry sharply.“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” said Mr Sowerberry.“Ugh, you brute!” said Mrs. Sowerberry.“Not at all, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. “I thoughtyou didn’t want to hear, my dear. I was only going to say—”“Oh, don’t tell me what you were going to say,” interposed Mrs.Sowerberry. “I am nobody; don’t consult me, pray. I don’t want tointrude upon your secrets.” As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gavean hysterical laugh, which threatened violent consequences.“But, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, “I want to ask youradvice.’!“No, no, don’t ask mine,” replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in anaffecting manner; “ask somebody else’s.” Here, there was anotherCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twisthysterical laugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry very much.This is a very common and much-approved matrimonial course oftreatment, which is often very effective. It at once reduced Mr.Sowerberry to begging, as a special favour, to be allowed to saywhat Mrs. Sowerberry was most curious to hear. After a shortaltercation of less than three-quarters of an hour’s duration, thepermission was most graciously conceded.“It’s only about young Twist, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry.“A very good-looking boy, that, my dear.”“He need be, for he eats enough,” observed the lady.“There’s an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,”resumed Mr. Sowerberry, “which is very interesting. He wouldmake a delightful mute, my love.”Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerablewonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it; and without allowingtime for any observation on the good lady’s part, proceeded.“I don’t mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, mydear, but only for children’s practice. It would be very new to havea mute in proportion, my dear. You may depend upon it, it wouldhave a superb effect.”Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in theundertaking way, was much struck by the novelty of this idea; but,as it would have been compromising her dignity to have said so,under existing circumstances, she merely inquired, with muchsharpness, why such an obvious suggestion had not presented