Stranica 61 [61]
OCR
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 sidedoor, while the latter paused on the staircase 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 scratched 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 Charlotte. “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 murdered 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. Sowerpared looking piteously on the charityy. 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 occurrence 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 , beiend ; 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 workhousegate. 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
