Stranica 90 [90]
OCR
58 OLIVER TWIST. heart alive! if we had known he would have asked for you, we would have put you a clean collar on, and made you as smart as sixpence." Oliver did as the old lady bade him, and, although she lamented grievously meanwhile that there was not even time to crimp the little frill that bordered his shirt-collar, he looked so delicate and handsome, despite that important personal advantage, that she went so far as to say, looking at him with great complacency from head to foot, that she really didn’t think it would have been possible on the longest notice to have made much difference in him for the better. Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study door, and, on Mr. Brownlow calling to him to come in, found himself in a little back room, quite full of books, with a window looking into some pleasant little gardens, There was a table drawn up before the window, at which Mr. Brownlow was seated reading. When he saw Oliver, he pushed the book away from him, and told him to come near the table and sit down. Oliver complied, marvelling where the people could be found to read such a great number of books as seemed to be written to make the world wiser,— which is still a marvel to more experienced people than Oliver Twist every day of their lives. “There are a good many books, are there not, my boy?” said Mr. Brownlow, observing the curiosity with which Oliver surveyed the shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. “ A great number, sir,” replied Oliver ; “T never saw so many.” “You shall read them if you behave well,” said the old gentleman kindly; “and you will like that better than looking at the outsides,—that is, in some cases, because there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts.” “I suppose they are those heavy ones, sir,” said Oliver, pointing to some large quartos with a good deal of gilding about the binding. c Not those,” said the old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head, and smiling last said he should think it would be s much better thing to be a bookseller; upon which the old gentleman laughed heartily, and declared he had said a very good thing, which Oliver felt glad to have done, though he by no means knew what it was. “ Well, well,” said the old gentleman, composing his features, "dont be afraid; we won’t make an author of you, while there’s an honest trade to be learnt, or brick-making to turn to.” . 6 Thank you, sir,” said Oliver; and at the earnest manner of his reply the old . gentleman laughed again, and said something about a curious instinct, which Oliver, not understanding, paid no very great attention to. | “ Now,” said Mr. Brownlow, speaking if possible in a kinder, but at the same © time in a much more serious manner than Oliver had ever heard him speak in yet, “] want you to pay great attention, m boy, to what I am going to say. I shall talk to you without any reserve, because I am sure you are as well able to understand me as many older persons would be.” “Oh, don’t tell me you are going to send me away, sir, pray!” exclaimed Oliver, alarmed by the serious tone of the old gentleman’s commencement; “don’t turn me out of doors to wander in the streets again. Let me stay here and be a servant. Don’t send me back to the wretched place I came from. Have mercy upon a poor boy, sir; do!” “My dear child,” said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver’s sudden appeal, “ you need not be afraid of my deserting you, unless you give me cause.” “T never, never will, sir,” interposed Oliver. | | “T hope not,” rejoined the old gentleman; “I do not think you ever will: I have been deceived before, in the objects whom I have endeavoured to benefit; but I feel strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless, and more strongly in terested in your behalf than I can well account for, even to myself. The persons on whom I have bestowed my dearest love lie deep in their graves; but, although ones, though of a much smaller size. How should you like to grow up a clever man, and write books, eh?’ s [ think I would rather read them, sir,” replied Oliver. “What! wouldn’t you like to be a | pook-writer ?” said the old gentleman. Oliver considered a little while, and at | buried there too, I have not made a coffin of my heart, and sealed it up for ever on my best affections. Deep affliction has only made them stronger; it ought, I think, for it should refine our nature.” As the old gentleman said this in a low voice, more to himself than to his companion, and remained silent for a short time
