Stranica 61 [61]
33
ed, or hung, which is more likely than
either, isn’t it?”
Crimson with fury, Oliver started up,
overthrew chair and table, seized Noah
by the throat, shook him in the violence
of his rage till his teeth chattered in his
head, and, collecting his whole force into
one heavy blow, felled him to the ground.
A minute ago the boy had looked the
quiet, mild, dejected creature that harsh
treatment had made him. But his spirit
was roused at last; the cruel insult to his
dead mother had set his blood on fire.
His breast heaved, his attitude was erect,
his eye bright and vivid, and his whole
person changed, as he stood glaring over
the cowardly tormentor that lay crouching
at his feet, and defied him with an energy
he had never known before.
«+ He’ll murder me!” blubbered Noah.
c Charlotte! missis! here’s the new boy
a-murdering me! Help! help! Oliver’s
gone mad! Char—lotte !”
Noah’s shouts were responded to, by a
loud scream from Charlotte, and a louder
from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of
whom rushed into the kitchen by a side¬
door, while the latter paused on the stair¬
case till she was quite certain that it was
consistent with the preservation of human
life to come further down.
s Oh, you little wretch!” screamed
Charlotte, seizing Oliver with her utmost
force, which was about equal to that of a
moderately strong man in particularly good
training, — “Oh, you little un-grate-ful,
mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!” and between
every syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a
blow with all her might, and accompanied
it with a scream for the benefit of society.
Charlotte’s fist was by no means a light
one; but, lest it should not be effectual in
calming Oliver’s wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry
lunged into the kitchen, and assisted to
hold im with one hand, while she scratch¬
ed his face with the other; and in this
favourable position of affairs Noah rose
from the ei and pummelled* him
from behin
This was rather too violent exercise to
last long; so, when they were all three
wearied out, and could tear and beat no
longer, they dragged Oliver, struggling
and shouting, but nothing daunted, into
the dust-cellar, and there locked him up;
and this being done, Mrs. Sowerberry
sunk into a chair, and burst into tears.
* Bless her, she’s going off!” said Char¬
lotte. “A glass of water, Noah, dear.
Make haste.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sowerberry,
speaking as well as el could through a
deficiency of breath and a sufficiency of
cold water, which Noah had poured over
her head and shoulders,—* Oh, Charlotte,
what a mercy we have not been all mur¬
dered in our beds!”
“Ah, mercy, indeed, ma’am,” was the
reply. ‘I only hope this’ll teach master
not to have any more of these dreadful
creatures that are born to be murderers
and robbers from their very cradle. Poor
Noah! he was all but killed, ma’am, when
I came in.” 3
“Ah, poor fellow!” said Mrs. Sower¬
pared looking piteously on the charity¬
y.
Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might
have been somewhere on a level with the
crown of Oliver’s head, rubbed his eyes
with the inside of his wrists while this
commiseration was bestowed upon him,
and performed some very audible tears
and snifis.
s What’s to be done!” exclaimed Mrs,
Sowerberry. “ Your master’s not at home,
—there’s not a man in the house,—and
he ’ll kick that door down in ten minutes.”
Oliver’s vigorous plunges against the bit
of timber in question rendered this occur¬
rence highly probable.
“Dear, dear! I don’t. know, ma’am,”
said Charlotte, “unless we send for the
police-officers.”
“Or the millingtary,” suggested Mr.
Claypole. a
6 No, no,” said Mrs. Sower , be¬
iend ;
thinking herself of Oliver’s old
“run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him
to come here directly, and not to lose a
minute; never mind your cap,— make
haste. You can hold a knife to that black
eye as you run along, and it’ll keep the
swelling down.”
Noah stopped to make no reply, but
started off at his fullest speed; and very
much it astonished the people who were
out walking, to see a charity-boy tearing
through the streets pell-mell, with no cap
on his head, and a clasp-knife at his eye.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 5
Oliver continues refractory.
Noan CLAYPOLE ran along the streets
at his swiftest pace, and paused not once
for breath until he reached the workhouse¬
gate. Having rested here for a minute
or so, to collect a good burst of sobs and
an imposing show of tears and terror, he
knocked loudly at the wicket, and pre¬