Stranica 39 [39]
OCR
MR — ——— ÉKE 17 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 recollection. 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 recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally 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 hungry 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 goldlaced 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 before 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 gentleman with a very round, red face. ‘* Bow to the board,” said Bumble. Oliver 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 Oliver. “ 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 perception of others of the same race, the. gentleman in the white waistcoat was unquestionably 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 bitterly. “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 Christian.’ “ Yes, sir,’ stammered the boy. The. gentleman who spoke last was unconsciously 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.
