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Treats Of Oliver Twist’s Growth, Education, AndBoard.For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of asystematic course of treachery and deception. He wasbrought up by hand. The hungry and destitute situation ofthe infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authoritiesto the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired withdignity of the workhouse authorities, whether there was no femalethen domiciled in “the house” who was in a situation to impart toOliver Twist the consolation and nourishment of which he stood inneed. The workhouse authorities replied with humility, that therewas not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously andhumanely resolved, that Oliver should be “farmed” or, in otherwords, that he should be despatched to a branch workhouse somethree miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offendersagainst the poor-laws rolled about the floor all day, without theinconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under theparental superintendence of an elderly female, who received theculprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny persmall head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny’s worth per week is agood round diet for a child; a great deal may be got forsevenpence-halfpenny—quite enough to overload its stomach, andmake it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman ofwisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children;and she had a very accurate perception of what was good forCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistherself. So, she appropriated the greater part of the weeklystipend to her own use, and consigned the rising parochialgeneration to even a shorter allowance than was originallyprovided for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeperstill; and proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.Everybody knows the story of another experimentalphilosopher who had a great theory about a horse being able tolive without eating, and who demonstrated it so well, that he gothis own horse down to a straw a day, and would mostunquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampaciousanimal on nothing at all, if he had not died, four and twenty hoursbefore he was to have had his first comfortable bait of air.Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of the female towhose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a similarresult usually attended the operation of her system; for at the verymoment when a child had contrived to exist upon the smallestpossible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perverselyhappen in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickenedfrom want and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any one of which cases, the miserablelittle being, was usually summoned into another world, and theregathered to the fathers it had never known in this.Occasionally, when there was some more than usuallyinteresting inquest upon a parish child who had been overlookedin turning up a bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death whenthere happened to be a washing—though the latter accident wasvery scarce, anything approaching to a washing being of rareoccurrence in the farm—the jury would take it into their heads toask troublesome questions, or the parishioners would rebelliouslyCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistaffix their signatures to a remonstrance. But these impertinenceswere speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon, and thetestimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always openedthe body and found nothing inside (which was very probableindeed) and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever theparish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the Boardmade periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent thebeadle the day before, to say they were going. The children wereneat and clean to behold, when they went; and what more wouldthe people have!It cannot be expected that this system of farming wouldproduce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist’sninth birthday found him a pale, thin child, somewhat diminutivein stature, and decidedly small in circumference. But nature orinheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver’s breast.It had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet ofthe establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may beattributed his having any ninth birthday at all. Be this as it may,however, it was his ninth birthday; and he was keeping it in thecoal-cellar with a select party of two other young gentlemen, who,after participating with him in a sound thrashing, had been lockedup for atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, thegood lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by theapparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo the wicketof the garden gate.“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?” said Mrs.Mann, thrusting her head out of the window in well-affectedecstasies of joy. “(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs,and wash ’em directly.) My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I amCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistto see you, surely!”Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead ofresponding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, hegave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowedupon it a kick which could have emanated from no leg but abeadle’s.“Lor, only think,” said Mrs. Mann, running out—for the threeboys had been removed by this time—“only think of that! That Ishould have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, onaccount of them dear children! Walk in, sir, walk in, pray, Mr.Bumble, do, sir.”Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey thatmight have softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no meansmollified the beadle.“Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,”inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, “to keep the parishofficers a-waiting at your garden gate, when they come here uponporochial business connected with the porochial orphans? Are youaweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate,and a stipendiary?”“I’m sure, Mr. Bumble, that I was only a-telling one or two ofthe dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a-coming,”replied Mrs. Mann, with great humility.Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and hisimportance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other.He relaxed.“Well, well, Mrs. Mann,” he replied, in a calmer tone; “it may beas you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come onbusiness, and have something to say.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistMrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brickfloor; placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cockedhat and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from hisforehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glancedcomplacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled.Beadles are but men: and Mr. Bumble smiled.“Now don’t you be offended at what I’m a-going to say,”observed Mrs. Mann, with captivating sweetness. “You’ve had along walk, you know, or I wouldn’t mention it. Now, will you take alittle drop of something, Mr. Bumble?”“Not a drop. Not a drop,” said Mr. Bumble, waving his righthand in a dignified but placid manner.“I think you will,” said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone ofthe refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. “Just a leetledrop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.”Mr. Bumble coughed.“Now, just a leetle drop,” said Mrs. Mann persuasively.“What is it?” inquired the beadle.“Why, it’s what I’m obliged to keep a little of in the house, toput into the blessed infants’ Daffy, when they ain’t well, Mr.Bumble,” replied Mrs. Mann, as she opened a corner cupboard,and took down a bottle and glass. “It’s gin. I’ll not deceive you, Mr.B. It’s gin.”“Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?” inquiredBumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.“Ah, bless ’em that I do, dear as it is,” replied the nurse. “Icouldn’t see ’em suffer before my very eyes, you know, sir.”“No,” said Mr. Bumble approvingly; “no, you could not. You area humane woman, Mrs. Mann.” (Here she set down the glass.) “ICharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistshall take an early opportunity of mentioning it to the Board, Mrs.Mann.” (He drew it towards him.) “You feel as a mother, Mrs.Mann.” (He stirred the gin-and-water.) “I—I drink your healthwith cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann;” and he swallowed half of it.“And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out aleathern pocket-book. “The child that was half-baptised, OliverTwist, is nine year old today.”“Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye withthe corner of her apron.“And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, whichwas afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding themost superlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on thepart of this parish,” said Bumble, awe have never been able todiscover who is his father, or what was his mother’s settlement,name, or condition.”Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after amoment’s reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all,then?”The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “Iinwented it.”“You, Mr. Bumble!”“I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order.The last was a S—Swubble, I named him. This was T—Twist, Inamed him. The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the nextVilkins. I have got names ready-made to the end of the alphabet,and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.”“Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann.“Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with thecompliment; “perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistHe finished the gin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now tooold to remain here, the Board have determined to have him backinto the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let mesee him at once.”“I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room forthat purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outercoat of dirt which incrusted his face and hands removed, as couldbe scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by hisbenevolent protectress.“Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann.Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle onthe chair, and the cocked hat on the table.“Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in amajestic voice.Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybodywith great readiness, when, glancing upwards, he caught sight ofMrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle’s chair, and wasshaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. He took thehint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon hisbody not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.“Will she go with me?” inquired poor Oliver.“No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble; “but she’ll come and seeyou sometimes.”This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as hewas, however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling greatregret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy tocall the tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are greatassistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturallyindeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and, whatCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistOliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread-and-butter, lesthe should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse. Withthe slice of bread in his hand, and the little brown cloth parish capon his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from thewretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted thegloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony ofchildish grief, as the cottage gate closed after him. Wretched aswere the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, theywere the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of hisloneliness in the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart forthe first time.Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmlygrasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at theend of every quarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.”To these interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief andsnappish replies; for the temporary blandness which gin-andwater awakens in some bosoms had by this time evaporated; andhe was once again a beadle.Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarterof an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a secondslice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to thecare of an old woman, returned; and, telling him it was a Boardnight, informed him that the Board had said he was to appearbefore it forthwith.Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live Boardwas, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was notquite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time tothink about the matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him a tapon the head with his cane, to wake him up, and another on theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistback to make him lively, and bidding him follow, conducted himinto a large, whitewashed room, where eight or ten fat gentlemenwere sitting round a table. At the top of the table, seated in anarm-chair rather higher than the rest, was a particularly fatgentleman with a very round, red face.“Bow to the Board,” said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two orthree tears that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no boardbut the table, fortunately bowed to that.“What’s your name, boy?” said the gentleman in the high chair.Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, whichmade him tremble; and the beadle gave him another tap behind,which made him cry. These two causes made him answer in a verylow and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a whitewaistcoat said he was a fool. Which was a capital way of raising hisspirits, and putting him quite at his ease.“Boy,” said the gentleman in the high chair, “listen to me. Youknow you’re an orphan, I suppose?”“What’s that, sir?” inquired poor Oliver.“The boy is a fool—I thought he was,” said the gentleman in thewhite waistcoat.“Hush!” said the gentleman who had spoken first. “You knowyou’ve got no father or mother, and that you were brought up bythe parish, don’t you?”“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.“What are you crying for?” inquired the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What couldthe boy be crying for?“I hope you say your prayers every night,” said anothergentleman in a gruff voice, “and pray for the people who feed you,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistand take care of you—like a Christian.”“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke lastwas unconsciously right. It would have been very like a Christian,and a marvellously good Christian, too, if Oliver had prayed for thepeople who fed and took care of him. But he hadn’t, becausenobody had taught him.“Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a usefultrade,” said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.“So you’ll begin to pick oakum tomorrow morning at sixo’clock,” added the surly one in the white waistcoat.For the combination of both these blessings in the one simpleprocess of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of thebeadle, and was then hurried away to a large ward; where, on arough, hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a nobleillustration of the tender laws of England! They let the paupers goto sleep!Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in a happyunconsciousness of all around him, that the Board had that veryday arrived at a decision which would exercise the most materialinfluence over all his future fortunes. But they had. And this wasit:—The members of this Board were very sage, deep, philosophicalmen; and when they came to turn their attention to theworkhouse, they found out at once, what ordinary folks wouldnever have discovered—the poor people liked it! It was a regularplace of public entertainment for the poorer classes; a tavernwhere there was nothing to pay, a public breakfast, dinner, tea,and supper all the year round;—a brick and mortar elysium,where it was all play and no work. “Oho!” said the Board, lookingCharles Dickens ElecBook Classics