of their wives with the most heroic calm- | conditioned charity-boy as he was. But, none of these taunts producing the desired effect of making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be more facetious still, and in this attempt did what many small wits, with far greater reputations than Noah notwithstanding, do to this day when they want to be funny; he got rather personal. "Work'us," said Noah, "how's your mother?" "She's dead," replied Oliver; "don't you say anything about her to me!" "What did she die of, work'us?" said Noah. "Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me," replied Oliver, more as if he were talking to himself than answering Noah. "I think I know what it must be to die of that?" Oliver's colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly, and there was a curious That Oliver Twist was moved to re- working of the mouth and nostrils, which signation by the example of these good Mr. Claypole thought must be the immepeople, I cannot, although I am his bio-diate precursor of a violent fit of crying. grapher, undertake to affirm with any Under this impression he returned to the degree of confidence; but I can most dis- charge. tinctly say, that for many months he continued meekly to submit to the domination and ill-treatment of Noah Claypole, who used him far worse than ever, now that his jealousy was roused by seeing the new boy promoted to the black stick and hatband, while he, the old one, remained stationary in the muffin-cap and leathers. Charlotte treated him badly because Noah did; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided enemy because Mr. Sowerberry was disposed to be his friend; so, between these three on one side, and a glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as comfortable as the hungry pig was, when he was shut up by mistake in the grain department of a brewery. And now I come to a very important passage in Oliver's history, for I have to record an act, slight and unimportant perhaps in appearance, but which indirectly produced a most material change in all his future prospects and proceedings. One day Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen, at the usual dinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of muttona pound and a half of the worst end of the neck; when, Charlotte being called out of the way, there ensued a brief interval of time, which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious, considered he could not possibly devote to a worthier purpose than aggravating and tantalising young Oliver Twist. Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on the table-cloth, and pulled Oliver's hair, and twitched his ears, and expressed his opinion that he was a "sneak," and furthermore announced his intention of coming to see him hung whenever that desirable event should take place, and entered upon various other topics of petty annoyance, like a malicious and ill "Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, work'us," said Noah, as a tear rolled down Oliver's cheek. "What's set you a snivelling now?" "Not you," replied Oliver, hastily brushing the tear away. "Don't think it." "Oh, not me, eh?" sneered Noah. 66 No, not you," replied Oliver, sharply. "There; that's enough. Don't say anything more to me about her; you'd better not!" "Better not!" exclaimed Noah. "Well! better not! work'us; don't be impudent. Your mother, too! she was a nice 'un, she was. Oh, Lor!" And here Noah nodded his head expressively, and curled up as much of his small red nose as mus cular action could collect together for the occasion. "Yer know, work'us," continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver's silence, and speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity-of all tones the most annoying-"Yer know, work'us, it carn't be helped now, and of course yer couldn't help it then, and I'm very sorry for it, and I'm sure we all are, and pity yer very much. But yer must know, work'us, your mother was a regular right-down bad 'un." "What did you say?" inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly. "A regular right-down bad 'un, work'us," replied Noah, coolly; "and it's a great deal better, work'us, that she died when she did, or else she'd have been hard labouring in Bridewell, or transport. 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. "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. "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 plunged into the kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand, while she scratched his face with the other; and in this favourable position of affairs Noah rose from the ground, and pummelled him from behind. 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 she could through a E 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." "Ah, poor fellow!" said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking piteously on the charityboy. 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 sniffs. "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. "No, no," said Mrs. Sowerberry, bethinking herself of Oliver's old friend; "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. Oliver continues refractory. NOAH 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 sented such a rueful face to the aged pauper who opened it, that even he, who saw nothing but rueful faces about him at the best of times, started back in astonishment. "Why, what's the matter with the boy?" said the old pauper. 66 "Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!" cried Noah, with well-affected dismay, and in tones so loud and agitated that they not only caught the ear of Mr. Bumble himself, who happened to be hard by, but alarmed him so much that he rushed into the yard without his cocked-hat,—which is a very curious and remarkable circumstance, as showing that even a beadle, acted upon by a sudden and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a momentary visitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of personal dignity 66 Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!" said Noah; "Oliver, sir,-Oliver has "What? what?" interposed Mr. Bumble, with a gleam of pleasure in his metallic eyes. "Not run away? he hasn't run away; has he, Noah ?" 66 No, sir, no; not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious," replied Noah. "He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder Charlotte, and then missis. Oh, what dreadful pain it is! such agony, please sir!" and here Noah writhed and twisted his body into an extensive variety of eel-like positions; thereby giving Mr. Bumble to understand that, from the violent and sanguinary onset of Oliver Twist, he had sustained severe internal injury and damage, from which he was at that speaking suffering the acutest torture. When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated perfectly paralysed Mr. Bumble, he imparted additional effect thereunto, by bewailing his dreadful wounds ten times louder than before: and, when he observed a gentleman in a white waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more tragic in his lamentations than ever, rightly conceiving it highly expedient to attract the notice, and rouse the indignation of the gentleman aforesaid. The gentleman's notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked three paces when he turned angrily round, and inquired what that young cur was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did not favour him with something which would render the series of vocular exclamations so designated, an involuntary process. "It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. Bumble, "who has been nearly murdered-all but murdered, sirby young Twist." 6 By Jove!" exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping short. "I knew it! I felt a strange presentiment from the very first, that that audacious young savage would come to be hung!" "He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant," said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. “And his missis," interposed Mr. Claypole. "And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?" added Mr. Bumble. "No, he's out, or he would have murdered him," replied Noah. "He said he wanted to “Ah! said he wanted to did he, my boy?" inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “Yes, sir,” replied Noah; “and, please sir, missis wants to know whether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there directly, and flog him, 'cause master's out." "Certainly, my boy; certainly," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, smiling benignly, and patting Noah's head, which was about three inches higher than his own. "You're a good boy-a very good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry's with your cane, and see what's best to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble." "No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle, adjusting the wax-end which was twisted round the bottom of his cane for purposes of parochial flagellation. "Tell Sowerberry not to spare him, either. They'll never do anything with him, without stripes and bruises," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "I'll take care, sir," replied the beadle. And, the cocked-hat and cane having been by this time adjusted to their owner's satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Claypole betook themselves with all speed to the undertaker's shop. Here the position of affairs had not a all improved, for Sowerberry had not yet returned, and Oliver continued to kick with undiminished vigour at the cellardoor. The accounts of his ferocity, as related by Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so startling a nature that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to parley before opening the door: with this view, he gave a kick at the outside, by way of prelude; and then, applying his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone, "Oliver!" "Come; you let me out!" replied Oliver, from the inside. "Do you know this here voice, Oliver? said Mr. Bumble. |