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sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind
the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her
fist at him with a furious countenance.
He took the hint at once, for the fist had
been too often impressed upon his body
not to be deeply impressed upon his recol¬
lection.
c Will she go with me?” inquired poor
Oliver.
*“ No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble;
but she’ll come and see you, sometimes.”
This was no very great consolation to
the child; but, young as he was, he had
sense enough to make a feint of feeling
great are at going away. It was no
very difficult matter for the boy to cal]
the tears into his eyes. Hunger and re¬
cent ill-usage are great assistants if you
want to cry; and Oliver cried very na¬
turally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a
thousand embraces, and, what Oliver
wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread
and butter, lest he should seem too hun¬
gry when he got to the workhouse. With
the slice of bread in his hand, and the
little brown-cloth parish cap upon his
head, Oliver was then led away by Mr.
Bumble from the wretched home where
one kind word or look had never lighted
the gloom of his infant years. And yet
he burst into an agony of childish grief
as the cottage-gate closed after him.
Wretched as were the little companions
in misery he was leaving behind, they
were the only friends he had ever known ;
and a sense of his loneliness in the great
wide world sank into the child’s heart for
the first time.
Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides;
and little Oliver, firmly ping his gold¬
laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring
at the end of every quarter of a mile
whether they were “nearly there,” to
ed very brief and snappish replies; for
the temporary blandness which gin and
water awakens in some bosoms had by
this time evaporated, and he was once
again a beadle.
Oliver had not been within the walls of
the workhouse a quarter of an hour, and
had scarcely completed the demolition of
a second slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble,
who had handed him over to the care of
an old woman, returned, and, telling him
it was a board night, informed him that
the board had said he was to appear be¬
fore it forthwith.
Not having a very clearly defined notion
what a live board was, Oliver was rather
astounded by this intelligence, and was not
quite — whether he ought to laugh
or cry. He had no time to think about
the matter, however ; for Mr. Bumble gave.
him a tap on the head with his cane to
wake him up, and another on his back to
make him lively, and, bidding him follow,
conducted him into a large whitewashed
room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen ¬
were sitting round a table, at the top of
which, seated in anarm-chair rather higher
than the rest, was a particularly fat gen¬
tleman with a very round, red face.
‘* Bow to the board,” said Bumble. Oli¬
ver brushed away two or three tears that
were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no
pons but the table, fortunately bowed to.
0
c What"s your name, boy?" said the
Oliver was frightened at the sight of
so many gentlemen, which made him
tremble: and the beadle gave him another
tap behind, which made him cry; and
these two causes made him answer in a
very low and hesitating voice ; whereupon
a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he
was a fool, which was a capital way of
raising his spirit, and putting him quite at
his ease.
c Boy," said the gentleman in the high
chair; “listen tome. You know you’re
an orphan, I suppose ?”
“ What’s that, sir?” inquired poor Oli¬
ver.
“ The boy is a fool—I thought he was,"
said the gentleman in the white waistcoat,
in a very decided tone. If one member
of a class be blessed with an intuitive per¬
ception of others of the same race, the.
gentleman in the white waistcoat was un¬
questionably well qualified to pronounce
an opinion on the matter.
c Hush!" said the gentleman who had
spoken first. “You know youve" got no
father or mother, and that you are brought
up by the parish, dont you?"
“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, weeping bit¬
terly.
“What are you crying for?" inquired
the gentleman in the white waistcoat; and
to be sure it was very extraordinary. .
c] hope you say your prayers eve
night,” said another gentleman in a gru
voice, “and pray for the people who feed
you, and take care of you, like a Chris¬
tian.’
“ Yes, sir,’ stammered the boy. The.
gentleman who spoke last was uncon¬
sciously right. It would have been very
like a Christian, and a marvellously good
Christian, too, if Oliver had prayed for
the people who fed and took care of him.