Page 175 [175]
cottage-walls, the oi e crept round an) tha
at of the trees, an d zett flowers
rfumed the air with delicious odours.
ard by, was a little churchyard: not
crowded with tall, unsightly gravestones,
but full of humble mounds covered with
fresh turf and moss, beneath which the
old people of the village lay at rest. |
Oliver often wandered bere, and, thinking
of the wretched grave in which his mo¬
ther lay, would sometimes sit him down
and sob unseen ; but, as he raised his eyes
to the deep sky overhead, he would cease
to think of her as lying in the ground,
and weep for her sadly, but without
It was a happy time. The days were
szazon and serene, and the nights
rought with them no fear or care, no
languishing in a wretched prison, or as¬
sociating with wretched men: nothing
but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every
morning he went to a white-headed old
gentleman, who lived near the little
church, who taught him to read better
and to write, and spoke so kindly, and
took such pains, that ¢ Oliver could never
try enough to please him. Then he
would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose,
and hear them talk of var a or perhaps
sit near them in some shady place, and
listen whilst the young lady read, which
he could have done til it grew too dark
to see the letters. Then he had his own
Jesson for the next day to prepare, and at
this he would work hard in a little room
which looked into the garden, till even¬
ing came slowly on, when the ladies
would walk out again, and he with them:
listening with such pleasure to all they
said, and so happy if they wanted a
flower that he mtx F climb to reach, or
had forgotten anything he could run to
fetch, that he could never be quick
enough about it. When it became quite
dark, and they returned home, the you
lady would ait down to the piano, an
pay some melancholy air, or sing in a
ow and gentle voice some old song
which it pleased her aunt to hear. There
would be no candles at such times as
these, and Oliver would sit by one of the
windows, listening to the sweet music,
while tears of tranguil joy stole down
his face.
And, when Sunday came, how differ¬
ently the day was spent from any manner
in whieh he had ever spent it yet! and
how happily, too, like all the other days
in that most happy time! There was the
little church in the morning, with the
green leaves fluttering at the windows,
127
the birds singing without, and the sweet¬
smelling air stealing in at the low porch,
and filling the homely building with its
rance. The poor people were so neat
clean, and knelt so reverently in
prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a
tedious duty, their assembling there to¬
gether; and, though the singing might
be rude, it was real, and sounded more
musical (to Oliver’s ears at least) than
any he had ever heard in church before.
Then there were the walks as usual, and
many calls at the clean houses of the
labouring men; and at night Oliver read
a chapter or two from the Bible, which
he had been studying all the week, and
in the performance of which duty he felt
more proud and pleased than if he had
been the clergyman himself.
In the morning Oliver would be a-foot
by six o’clock, roaming the fields and
surveying the hedges far and wide, for
nosegays of wild flowers, with which he
would return laden home, and which it
took great care and consideration to ar¬
range to the best advantage for the em¬
bellishment of the breakfast-table. There
was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss May¬
lie’s birds, with which Oliver,—who had
been studying the subject under the able
tuition of the village clerk,—would deco¬
rate the cages in the most approved taste.
When the birds were made all spruce
and smart for the day, there was usually
some little commission of charity to exe¬
cute in the village, or failing that, there
was always something to do in the gar¬
den, or about the plants, to which Oliver
—who had studied this science also under
the same master, who was a gardener b
trade,—applied himself with hearty §g
will till Miss Rose made her appearance,
when there were a thousand commenda¬
tions to be bestowed upon all he had done,
for which one of those lighthearted beauti¬
ful smiles was an ample recompense.
So three months glided away; three
months which, in the life of the most
blessed and favoured of mortals, would
have been unmixed happiness ; but which,
in Oliver’s troubled and clouded dawn,
were felicity indeed. With the purest
and most amiable generosity on one side,
and the truest, and warmest, and most
soul-felt eratitude on the other, it is no
wonder that, by the end of that short
time, Oliver Twist had become complete¬
ly domesticated with the old lady and her
niece, and that the fervent attachment of
his young and sensitive heart was repaid
Dg Melt pride in, and attachment to, him¬
self. '