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c Aha!” said the undertaker, looking up
from the book, and pausing in the middle
of a word; “is that you, Bumble?”
c No one else, Mr. Sowerberry," replied
the beadle. “Here, I’ve brought the
boy.” Oliver made a bow.
“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the
undertaker, raising the candle above his
head to get a full glimpse of Oliver.
cc Mrs. Sowerberry ! will you 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,
with a vixenish countenance.
c My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, defe¬
rentially, “this is the boy from the work¬
house that I told you of.” Oliver bowed
again.
“ He’s very small.”
“ Why, he zs rather small,” replied Mr.
Bumble, looking at Oliver as if it were
his fault that he wasn’t bigger; “he is
small,—there’s no denying it. But he’ll
grow, Mrs. Sowerberry,—he "11 grow.”
6 Ah! I dare say he will,” replied the
lady pettishly, “on our victuals and our
drink. I see no saving in parish children,
not 1; for they always cost more to keep
than they ’re worth: however, men always
think they know best. There, get down
Stairs, little bag 0? bones.” With this, the
undertaker’s wife opened a side door, and
into a stone cell, damp and dark, forming
the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and deno¬
minated “the kitchen,” wherein sat a
slatternly girl in shoes down at heel, and
blue worsted stockings very much out of
repair.
“Here, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sower¬
berry, who had followed Oliver down,
“ give this boy some of the cold bits that
were put by for Trip: he hasn’t come home
since the morning, so he may go without
"em. I dare say he isn’t too dainty to eat
em —are you, boy ?"
Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the
with eagerness to devour it, replied in the
negative ; and a plateful of coarse broken
victuals was set before him.
I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose
meat and drink turn to gall within him,
whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron,
could have seen Oliver Twist clutching
ut the dainty viands that the dog had ne¬
glected, and witnessed the horrible avidity
with which he tore the bits asunder with
ai! the ferocity of famine :—there is only
one thing I should like better; and that
would be to see him making the same sort
of meal himself, with the same relish.
c Well,” said the undertaker’s wife,
when Oliver had finished his supper,
which she had regarded in silent horror,
and with fearful auguries of his future
appetite, “ have you done?”
There being nothing eatable within his
reach, Oliver replied in the affirmative.
c "Then come with me,” said Mrs. Sow¬
erberry, taking up a dim and dirty lamp,
and leading the way up stairs; " your bed’s
under the counter. You won’t mind sleep¬
ing among the coffins, I suppose —but it
doesn’t much matter whether you will or
not, for you won’t sleep any where else.
Come; don’t keep me here all night.”
Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly
followed his new mistress.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH.
Oliver mingles with new associates, and, going tc
a funeral for the first time, forms an unfavoura¬
ble notion of his master’s business.
OLIVER being left to himself in the un¬
dertaker’s shop, set the lamp down ona
workman’s bench, and gazed timidly about
him with a feeling of awe and dread,
which many people a good deal older than
Oliver will be at no loss to understand.
An unfinished coffin on black tressels,
which stood in the middle of the shop,
looked so gloomy and death-like, that a
cold tremble came over him every time
dismal object, from which he almost ex¬
pected to see some frightful form slowly
rear its head to - him erie e eal
Against the wall were ranged in regular
array a long row of elm boards cut into
the same shape, and looking in the dim
light like high-shouldered ghosts with
their hands im their breeches-pockets.
Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright - headed
nails, and shreds of black cloth, lay scat¬
tered on the floor; and the wall above the
counter was ornamented with a livel
representation of two mutes in very sti
neckcloths, on duty at a large private
door, with a hearse drawn by four black
steeds approaching in the distance. ‘The
shop was close and hot, and the atmo¬
sphere seemed tainted with the smell of
coffins. The recess beneath the counter
in which his flock-mattress was thrust,
looked like a grave.
Nor were these the only dismal feelings
which depressed Oliver. He was alone