"Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one," replied the voice. The receding footsteps of the speaker were heard; and, in another minute, the form of Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the artful Dodger, appeared. He bore in his right hand a tallow candle stuck in the end of a cleft stick. The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of recognition upon Oliver than a humorous grin; but, turning away, beckoned the visitors to follow him down a flight of stairs. They crossed an empty kitchen; and, opening the door of a low earthy-smelling room, which seemed to have been built in a small back-yard, were received with a shout of laughter. "Oh, my wig, my wig!" cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the laughter had proceeded; "here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him; Fagin, do look at him! I can't bear it; it is such a jolly game, I can't bear it. Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out." With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself flat on the floor: and kicked convulsively for five minutes, in an ecstacy of facetious joy. Then jumping to his feet, he snatched the cleft stick from the Dodger; and, advancing to Oliver, viewed him round and round; while the Jew, taking off his nightcap, made a great number of low bows to the bewildered boy. The Artful, meantime, who was of a rather saturnine disposition, and seldom gave way to merriment when it interfered with business, rifled Oliver's pockets with steady assiduity. "Look at his togs, Fagin!" said Charley, putting the light so close to his new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. "Look at his togs,-superfine cloth, and the heavy-swell cut! Oh, my eye, what a game! And his books, too; nothing but a gentleman, Fagin! "Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear," said the Jew, bowing with mock humility. "The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my dear, and say you were coming? We'd have got something warm for supper." At this, Master Bates roared again; so loud, that Fagin himself relaxed: and even the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-poundnote at that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally or the discovery awakened his merriment. "Hallo! what's that?" inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew seized the note. "That's mine, Fagin." "No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the books." "If that ain't mine!" said Bill Sikes, putting on his hat with a determined air; "mine and Nancy's, that is: I'll take the boy back again." The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very different cause; for he hoped that the dispute might really end in his being taken back. "Come! Hand over, will you?" said Sikes. "This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?" inquired the Jew. "Fair, or not fair," retorted Sikes, "hand over, I tell you? Do you think Nancy and me has got nothing else to do with our precious time but to spend it in scouting arter, and kidnapping, every young boy as gets grabbed through you? Give it here, you avaricious old skeleton; give it here!" With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked the note from between the Jew's finger and thumb; and looking the old man coolly in the face, folded it up small, and tied it in taken him in at all; and they'll ask no his neckerchief. "That's for our share of the trouble," said Sikes; "and not half enough, neither. You may keep the books, if you're fond of reading. If you a'n't, sell 'em." 66 66 questions after him, fear they should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He's safe enough." Oliver had looked from one to the other, while these words were being spoken, as if he were bewildered, and could scarcely understand what passed; but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet, and tore wildly from the room: uttering shrieks for help, which made the bare old house echo to the roof. They're very pretty," said Charley Bates who, with sundry grimaces, had been affecting to read one of the volumes in question; "beautiful writing, isn't it, Oliver?" At sight of the dismayed look with which Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates, Keep back the dog, Bill!" cried who was blessed with a lively sense of Nancy, springing before the door, the ludicrous, fell into another ecstacy, and closing it, as the Jew and his more boisterous than the first. two pupils darted out in pursuit ; "They belong to the old gentle-"keep back the dog; he'll tear the man," said Oliver, wringing his hands; boy to pieces." "to the good, kind, old gentleman who took me into his house, and had me nursed, when I was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; send him back the books and money. Keep me here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He'll think I stole them; the old lady: all of them who were so kind to me: will"the child shan't be torn down by the think I stole them. Oh, do have dog, unless you kill me first." mercy upon me, and send them back!" With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate grief, Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew's feet; and beat his hands together, in perfect desperation. "The boy's right," remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. "You 're right, Oliver, you 're right; they will think you have stolen 'em. Ha! ha!" chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands; "it couldn't have happened better, if we had chosen our time! " "Serve him right!" cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from the girl's grasp. "Stand off from me, or I'll split your head against the wall." "I don't care for that, Bill; I don't care for that," screamed the girl, struggling violently with the man: "Shan't he!" said Sikes, setting his teeth fiercely. "I'll soon do that, if you don't keep off." The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the further end of the room; just as the Jew and the two boys returned: dragging Oliver among them. "What's the matter here?" said Fagin, looking round. "The girl's gone mad, I think,” replied Sikes, savagely. 66 "No, she hasn't," said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle ; no, she hasn't, Fagin; don't think it." "Then keep quiet, will you?" said the Jew, with a threatening look. "Of course it couldn't," replied Sikes; "I know'd that, directly I see him coming through Clerkenwell, "No, I won't do that, neither," rewith the books under his arm. It's plied Nancy, speaking very loud. all right enough. They're soft-hearted" Come! What do you think of that?" psalm-singers, or they wouldn't have Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and customs of that particular species of humanity to which Nancy belonged, to feel tolerably certain that it would be rather unsafe to prolong any conversation with her, at present. With the view of diverting the attention of the company, he turned to Oliver. "So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you?" said the Jew, taking up a jagged and knotted club which lay in a corner of the fireplace: "eh?" Oliver made no reply. But he watched the Jew's motions; and breathed quickly. "Wanted to get assistance; called for the police; did you?" sneered the Jew, catching the boy by the arm. "We'll cure you of that, my young master." The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with the club; and was raising it for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it from his hand. She flung it into the fire, with a force that brought some of the glowing coals whirling out into the room. "I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin," cried the girl. "You've got the boy, and what more would you have?-Let him be-let him be, or I shall put that mark on some of you, that will bring me to the gallows before my time." The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this threat; and with her lips compressed, and her hands clenched, looked alternately at the Jew and the other robber: her face quite colourless from the passion of rage into which she had gradually worked herself. "Why, Nancy!" said the Jew, in a soothing tone; after a pause, during which he and Mr. Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted manner; "you-you're more clever than ever to-night. Ha! ha! my dear, you are acting beautifully." "Take "Am I!" said the girl. care I don't overdo it. You will be the worse for it, Fagin, if I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me." There is something about a roused woman: especially if she add to all her other strong passions, the fierce impulses of recklessness and despair: which few men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be hopeless to affect any further mistake regarding the reality of Miss Nancy's rage; and, shrinking involuntarily back a few paces, cast a glance, half imploring and half cowardly at Sikes: as if to hint that he was the fittest person to pursue the dialogue. Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to; and possibly feeling his personal pride and influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy to reason; gave utterance to about a couple of score of curses and threats, the rapid production of which reflected great credit on the fertility of his invention. As they produced no visible effect on the object against whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to more tangible arguments. "What do you mean by this?" said Sikes; backing the inquiry with a very common imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features: which, if it were heard above, only once out of every fifty thousand times that it is uttered below, would render blindness as common a disorder as measles; "what do you mean by it? Burn my body! Do you know who you are, and what you are?" "Oh, yes, I know all about it," replied the girl, laughing hysterically; and shaking her head from side to side, with a poor assumption of indifference. "Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined Sikes, with a growl like that he was accustomed to use when addressing his dog, "or I'll quiet you for a good long time to come." The girl laughed again: even less composedly than before; and, darting a hasty look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the blood came. "You're a nice one," added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a contemptuous air, "to take up the humane and gen-teel side! A pretty subject for the child, as you call him, to make a friend of!" "God Almighty help me, I am!" cried the girl passionately; "and I wish I had been struck dead in the street, or had changed places with them we passed so near to-night, before I had lent a hand in bringing him here. He's a thief, a liar, a devil: all that's bad, from this night forth. Isn't that enough for the old wretch without blows?" "Civil words!" cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see. "Civil words, you villain! Yes; you deserve 'em from me. I thieved for you when was a child not half as old as this!" pointing to Oliver. "I have been in the same trade, and in the same service, for twelve years since. Don't you know it? Speak out! don't you know it?" "Well, well," replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacification; "and, if you have, it's your living!" "Aye, it is!" returned the girl; not speaking, but pouring out the words in one continuous and vehement scream. "It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty streets are my home; and you're the wretch that drove me to them long ago; and that'll keep me there, day and night, day and night, till I die!" "I shall do you a mischief!" inter posed the Jew, goaded by these reproaches; "a mischief worse than that, if you say much more!" The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a transport of phrenzy, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which, she made a few ineffectual struggles: and fainted. "She's all right now," said Sikes, laying her down in a corner. "She's uncommon strong in the arms, when she's up in this way." The Jew wiped his forehead: and smiled, as if it were a relief to have the disturbance over; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the boys, seemed to consider it in any other light than a common occurrence incidental to business. "It's the worst of having to do with women," said the Jew, replacing his club; "but they 're clever, and we can't get on, in our line, without 'em. Charley, show Oliver to bed." "I suppose he 'd better not wear his best clothes to-morrow, Fagin, had he?" inquired Charley Bates. "Certainly not," replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin with which Charley put the question. Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his commission, took the cleft stick and led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen, where there were two or three of the beds on which be had slept before; and here, with many uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he produced the identical old suit of clothes which Oliver had so much congratulated himself upon leaving off at Mr. Brownlow's; and the accidental display of which, to Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them, had been the very first clue received, of his whereabout. "Pull off the smart ones," said Charley, "and I'll give 'em to Fagin to take care of. What fun it is!" Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates, rolling up the new clothes under his arm, departed from the room; leaving Oliver in the dark; and locking the door behind him. The noise of Charley's laughter; and the voice of Miss Betsy, who oppɔrtunely arrived to throw water over her friend, and perform other feminine offices for the promotion of her recovery; might have kept many people awake under more happy circumstances than those in which Oliver was placed. But he was sick and weary; and he soon fell sound asleep. CHAPTER XVII. OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN ΤΟ LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION. Ir is the custom on the stage: in all good, murderous melodramas: to present the tragic and the comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as the layers of red and white in a side of streaky, well-cured bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed down by fetters and misfortunes; and, in the next scene, his faithful but unconscious squire regales the audience with a comic song. We behold, with throbbing bosoms, the heroine in the grasp of a proud and ruthless baron: her virtue and her life alike in danger; drawing forth her dagger to preserve the one at the cost of the other; and, just as our expectations are wrought up to the highest pitch, a whistle is heard: and we are straightway transported to the great hall of the castle: where a grey-headed seneschal sings a funny chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts of places from church vaults to palaces, and roam about in company, carolling perpetually. startling; only, there, we are busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on; which makes a vast difference. The actors in the mimic life of the theatre, are blind to violent transitions and abrupt impulses of passion or feeling, which, presented before the eyes of mere spectators, are at once condemned as outrageous and preposterous. As sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes of time and place, are not only sanctioned in books by long usage, but are by many considered as the great art of authorship: an author's skill in his craft being, by such critics, chiefly estimated with relation to the dilemmas in which he leaves his characters at the end of every chapter: this brief introduction to, the present one may perhaps be deemed unnecessary. If so, let it be considered a delicate intimation on the part of the historian that he is going back, directly, to the town in which Oliver Twist was born; the reader taking it for granted that there are good and substantial reasons for making the journey, or he would not be invited to proceed upon such an expedition, on any account. Such changes appear absurd; but they are not so unnatural as they would seem at first sight. The transitions in real life from well-spread boards to death-beds, and from mourning weeds Mr. Bumble emerged at early mornto holiday garments, are not a whit less | ing from the workhouse gate; and No. 147. G 6 |