Stranica 52 [52]
OCR
26 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, deferentially, “this is the boy from the workhouse 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 denominated “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. Sowerberry, 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 neglected, 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. Sowerberry, taking up a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way up stairs; " your bed’s under the counter. You won’t mind sleeping 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 unfavourable notion of his master’s business. OLIVER being left to himself in the undertaker’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 expected 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 scattered 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 atmosphere 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
