8 Oliver walks to London. He encounters on the road a strange sort of young gentleman. Oliver reached the style at which the by-path terminated and once more gained the high road. It was eight o'clock now. Though he was nearly five miles away from the town, he ran and hid behind the hedges by turns till noon, fearing that he might be pursued and overtaken. Then he sat down to rest by the side of the milestone and began to think for the first time where he had better go and try to live. The stone by which he was seated bore in large characters an intimation that it was just seventy miles from that spot to London. The name awakened a new train of ideas in the boy's mind. London! That's great place! Nobody, not even Mr. Bumble, could ever find him there. He had often heard the old men in the work-hosts too say that no lad of spirit need wanton London and that there were many ways of living in that vast city which those who had been bred up in country-parts had no idea of. It was the very place for a homeless boy who must die on the streets unless someone helped him. As these things passed through his thoughts, he jumped upon his feet and again walked forward. He had diminished the distance between himself and London by full four miles more before he recollected how much he must undergo ere he could hope to reach his place of destination. As this consideration forced itself upon him, he slackened his pace a little and meditated upon his means of getting there. He had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and two pairs of stockings in his bundle. He had a penny too, a gift of sauerberries after some funeral in which he had acquitted himself more than ordinarily well in his pocket. A clean shirt, thought Oliver, is a very comfortable thing, and so are two pairs of darn stockings and so is a penny, but they are small help to a sixty-five miles walk in wintertime. But Oliver's thoughts, like those of most other people, although they were extremely ready and active to point out his difficulties, were wholly at a loss to suggest any feasible mode of surmounting them, so after a good deal of thinking to no particular purpose he changed his little bundle over to the other shoulder and trudged on. Oliver walked twenty miles that day, and all that time tasted nothing but the crust of dry bread, and a few draths of water which he begged at the cottage doors by the roadside. When the night came he turned into a meadow and creeping close under a hay-rick determined to lie there till morning. He felt frightened at first for the wind moaned dismally over the empty fields, and he was cold and hungry and more alone than he had ever felt before. Being very tired with his walk, however, he soon fell asleep and forgot his troubles. He felt cold and stiff when he got up next morning, and so hungry that he was obliged to exchange the penny for a small loaf in the very first village through which he passed. He had walked no more than twelve miles when night closed in again. His feet were sore, and his legs so weak that they trembled beneath him. Another night passed in the bleak, damp air made him worse. When he set forward on his journey next morning he could hardly crawl along. He waited at the bottom of a steep hill till a stage-coach came up, and then begged of the outside passengers, but there were very few who took any notice of him, and even those told him to wait till they got to the top of the hill, and then let them see how far he could run for a hipony. Poor Oliver tried to keep up with the coach a little way, but was unable to do it by reason of his fatigue and sore feet. When the outside saw this, they put their hipens back into their pockets again, declaring that he was an idle young dog and didn't deserve anything, and the coach rattled away and left only a cloud of dust behind. In some villages large painted boards were fixed up, warning all persons who begged within the district that they would be sent to jail. This frightened Oliver very much and made him glad to get out of those villages with all possible expedition. In others he would stand about the in-yards and look mournfully at every one who passed, a proceeding which generally terminated in the landlady's ordering one of the post-boys who were lounging about to drive the strange boy out of the place, for she was sure he had come to steal something. If he begged at her farmer's house, he didn't do one, but they threatened to set the dog on him, and when he showed his nose in a shop they talked about the beetle which brought Oliver's heart into his mouth, very often the only thing he had there for many hours together. In fact, if it had not been for a good-hearted turnpike man and a benevolent old lady, Oliver's troubles would have been shortened by the very same process which had put an end to his mother's. In other words he would most assuredly had fallen dead upon the king's highway, but the turnpike man gave him a meal of bread and cheese, and the old lady who had a shipwrecked grandson wandering barefoot in some distant part of the earth took pity upon the poor orphan and gave him what little she could afford, and more, with such kind and gentle words and such tears of sympathy and compassion that they sank deeper into Oliver's soul than all the sufferings he had ever undergone. Early on the seventh morning after he had left his native place Oliver limped slowly into the little town of Barnett. The window-shutters were closed, the street was empty, not a soul had awakened to the business of the day. The sun was rising in all its splendid beauty, but the light only served to show the boy his own lonesomeness and desolation as he sat with bleeding feet and covered with dust upon a doorstep. By degrees the shutters were opened, the window-blinds were drawn up, and people began passing to and fro. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver for a moment or two, or turned round to stare at him as they hurried by, but none relieved him or troubled themselves to inquire how he came there. He had no heart to beg, and there he sat. He had been croaching on the step for some time, wondering at the great number of public houses. Every other house in Barnett was a tavern, large or small, gazing listlessly at the coaches as they passed through, and thinking how strange it seemed that they could do with ease in a few hours what it had taken him a whole week of courage and determination beyond his years to accomplish, when he was roused by observing that a boy who had passed him carelessly some minutes before had returned, and was now surveying him most earnestly from the opposite side of the way. He took little heed of this at first, but the boy remained in the same attitude of close observation so long that Oliver raised his head and returned his steady look. Upon this the boy crossed over, and walking close up to Oliver said, Hello, MacCovey! What's the row? The boy who addressed this injury to the young Wayfarer was about his own age, but one of the queerest looking boys that Oliver had ever seen. He was a snub-nose, flat browed, common-faced boy enough, and as dirty a juvenile as one would wish to see, but he had about him all the ears and manners of a man.  His hat was stuck on the top of his head so likely that it threatened to fall off every moment, and would have done so very often if the weather had not a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch which brought it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out of the sleeves, apparently with the ultimate view of thrusting them into the pockets of his cordroy trousers, for there he kept them. He was altogether, as roistering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six or something less in the blurches. "'Hell, McCovey, what's the row?' said the strange young gentleman to Oliver.  "'I've walked a long way. I've been walking these seven days.' "'Walking for seven days?' said the young gentleman. "'Oh, I see. Beaks all to say.' But he had it, noticing Oliver's look of surprise.  Oliver mildly replied that he had always heard a bird's mouth described by the term in question. "'My eyes how green,' exclaimed the young gentleman. "'I have beaks a magistrate. And when you walk by a beaks order, it's not straightforward, but always a going up, and never a coming down again. Was it never on the mill?' "'What mill?' inquired Oliver. "'What mill? Why the mill? The mill, as takes up so little room that it'll work inside a stone jug, and always goes better when the wind's low with people than when it's high. Of course, then they can get workmen.' "'But come,' said the young gentleman. "'You won't, Rob, and you shall have it. "'Almutter, low watermark myself. Only one bulb and a magpie. But as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump. Up with you on your pins. There.' Now then. "'Maurice!' Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took him to an adjacent Chandler's shop, where he purchased a sufficiency of ready-dressed ham and a half-quarton of loaf, or as he himself expressed it, a four-penny brand. The ham, being kept clean and preserved from dust by the ingenious expedient of making a hole in the loaf by pulling out a portion of the crumb and stuffing it therein, taken the bread under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a small public-house and led the way to a tap-room in the rear of the premises. Here a pot of beer was brought in by direction of the mysterious youth, and Oliver falling to, at his new friend's bidding, made a long and hearty meal during the progress of which the strange boy eyed him from time to time with great attention. "'Going to London?' said the strange boy, when Oliver headed length-concluded. "'Yes. Got any lodgings?' "'No. Money? No. The strange boy whistled, and put his arms into his pockets as far as the big coat-sleeves would let them go. "'Do you live in London?' inquired Oliver. "'Yes, I do, when I'm at home,' replied the boy.  "'I've not slept under a roof since I left the country.' "'Don't fret your eyelids on that score,' said the young gentleman. "'I've got to be in London tonight, and I know a spectable old gentleman has lived there, what'll give you lodgings for nothing, and never ask for the change. That is, if any gentleman he knows introduces you, and don't he know me? Oh, no, not on the least, by no means, certainly not!' The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that the lighter fragments of discourse were playfully ironical, and finished the beer as he did so. This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, especially as it was immediately followed up by the assurance that the old gentleman referred to would doubtless provide Oliver with a comfortable place without loss of time. This led to a more friendly and confidential dialogue, from which Oliver discovered that his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet and protochet of the elderly gentleman before mentioned. Mr. Dawkins' appearance did not say a vast deal in favour of the comforts which his patron's interest obtained for those who he took under his protection, but as he had a rather flighty and disillet mode of conversing, and furthermore avowed that among his intimate friends he was better known by the sobriquet of the artful dodger. Oliver concluded that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor had hitherto been thrown away upon him. Upon this impression he secretly resolved to cultivate the good opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible, and if he found the dodger incorrigible, as he more than half suspected he should, to decline the honour of his father's acquaintance. As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, it was nearly eleven o'clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington. They crossed from the Angel into St. John's Road, struck upon the small street which terminates at Sadler's Wells Theatre, through Exmouth Street and Coppice Row, down the little court by the side of the work-house, across the classic ground which once bore the name of Houghley in the Hole, thence into Little Saffron Hill, and so into Saffron Hill the Great, along which the dodger scutted at a rapid pace directing Oliver to follow close at his heels. Although Oliver had enough to occupy his attention in keeping sight of his leader, he could not help bestowing a few hasty glances on either side of the way as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretched place he had never seen. The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated with filthy odours. There were a good many small shops, but the only stock and trade appeared to be heaps of children, who even at that time of night were crawling in and out at the doors or screaming from the inside. The sole places that seemed to prosper amid the general blight of the place were the public houses, and in them the lowest orders of Irish were wrangling with might and maine. Covered ways and yards, which here and there diverged from the main street, disclosed little knots of houses where drunken men and women were positively wallowing in filth, and from several of the doorways great ill-looking fellows were cautiously emerging bound to all appearance on no very well-disposed or harmless errands. Cover was just considering whether he hadn't better run away when they reached the bottom of the hill. His conductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field Lane, and drawing him into the passage closed it behind them. "'Now, then,' cried a voice from below, and replied to a whistle from the Dodger, "'Plummy and slam,' was the reply. This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right, for the light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of the passage, and a man's face peeped out from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken away.  "'Who's the other one?' "'A new pal,' replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward. "'Where did he come from?' "'Greenland. "'Is Fagan upstairs?' "'Yes. He's assulting the wipes up with you.' The candle was drawn back, and the face disappeared. Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmly grasped by his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and broken stairs which his conductor mounted with an ease and expedition that showed he was well equated with them. He threw open the door of a back room and drew Oliver in after him. The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and dirt. There was a deal-table before the fire, upon which were a candle stuck in a ginger-bear bottle, two or three pewter-pots, a loaf and butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan which was on the fire, and which was secured to the mantel-shelf by a string some sausages were cooking, and standing over them with a toasting fork in his hand was a very old, shriveled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown with his throat-bear, and seemed to be dividing his attention between the frying-pan and the clothes-horse, over which a great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds made of old sacks were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. These all crowded about their associate as he whispered a few words to the Jew, and then turned round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew himself toasting fork in hand. "'This is him, Fagin,' said Jack Dawkins, my friend, all of it twist!' The Jew grinned, and making a low obeisance to Oliver took him by the hand, and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this the young gentleman with the pipes came round him and shook both his hands very hard, especially the one in which he held his little bundle. One young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for him, and another was so obliging as to put his hands in his pockets, in order that, as he was very tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying them himself when he went to bed. These civilities would probably be extended much further, but for a liberal exercise of the Jew's toasting fork on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate youths who offered them. "'We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very,' said the Jew.  There are a good many of them, ain't there? We've just looked about ready for the wash. That's all, Oliver. That's all. Ha, ha, ha!' The latter part of this speech was hailed by a boisterous shout from all the hopeful pupils of the merry old gentleman, in the midst of which they went to supper. Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin and water, telling him he must drink it off directly, because another gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. Immediately afterwards he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the sacks, and then he sank into a deep sleep. END OF CHAPTER 8 It was late next morning when Oliver awoke from a sound long sleep. There was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some coffee and a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himself as he stirred it round and round with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below, and when he had satisfied himself he would go on whistling and stirring again as before. Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep he was not thoroughly awake. There was a drowsy state between sleeping and waking when you dream more in five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half conscious of everything that is passing around you than you would in five nights with your eyes fast closed and your senses wrapped in perfect unconsciousness. At such time a mortal knows just enough of what his mind is doing to form some glimmering conception of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space when freed for the restraint of its corporal associate. Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his half-closed eyes, heard his low whistling, and recognized the sound of the spoon grating against the saucepan's sides, and yet the self-same senses were mentally engaged at the same time in busy action with almost everybody he had ever known. When the coffee was done the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. Standing there in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know how to employ himself, he turned round and looked at Oliver and called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearances asleep. After satisfying himself upon this head the Jew stepped gently to the door which he fastened. He then drew forth, as it seemed to Oliver, from some trap in the floor, a small box which he placed carefully on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid and looked in. Dragging an old chair to the table he sat down and took from it a magnificent gold watch sparkling with jewels.  Clever dogs, clever dogs, staunch to the last! Never told the oposson where they were, never poached upon old Fagin, and why should they? It wouldn't have loosened the knot or kept the drop up a minute longer. No, no, no, fine fellows, fine fellows!' With these and other muttered reflections of the like nature the Jew once more deposited the watch at its place of safety. At least half a dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box and surveyed with equal pleasure besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other articles of jewellery of such magnificent materials and costly workmanship that Oliver had no idea even of their names. Having replaced these trinkets the Jew took out another so small that it lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very minute inscription on it, for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and shading it with his hand, poured over it long and earnestly.  Dead men never repent, dead men never bring awkward stories to light. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade. Both of them strung up in a row, and none left to play boot your turn white livid. As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes which had been staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face. The boy's eyes were fixed on his in mute curiosity, and although the recognition was only for an instant, for the briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived it was enough to show the old man that he had been observed. He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash, and laying his hand on a bread-knife which was on the table started seriously up. He trembled very much, though, for even in his terror Oliver could see that the knife quivered in the air. "'What's that?' said the Jew. "'What do you watch before? Why are you awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick! Quick! For your life!' "'I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir,' replied Oliver meekly. "'I am very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir. "'If you were not awake an hour ago,' said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy. "'No! No indeed!' replied Oliver. "'I assure!' cried the Jew, with a still fiercer look than before and a threatening attitude. "'Upon my word I was not, sir,' replied Oliver earnestly. "'I was not indeed, sir.' "'Tash! Tash, my dear!' said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner and playing with the knife a little before he laid it down as if to induce the belief that he had caught it up in mere sport. "'Of course I know that, my dear. I only try to frighten you.  Ha!  The Jew wrung his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding. "'Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?' said the Jew, laying his hand upon it after a short pause. "'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver. "'Ah!' said the Jew, turning rather pale. "'They—they're mine, Oliver. My little property. All I have to live upon in my old age. The folks call me a miser, my dear. Only a miser, that's all!' Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a dirty place with so many watches, but thinking that perhaps his fondness for the Dodger and the other boys cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a deferential look at the Jew and asked if he might get up. "'Certainly, my dear, certainly,' replied the old gentleman. "'Stay. There's a pitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here, and I'll give you a basin to wash in, my dear.' Oliver got up, walked across the room, and stooped for an instant to raise the pitcher. When he turned his head the box was gone. He had scarcely washed himself and made everything tidy by emptying the basin out of the window, agreeably to the Jew's directions. When the Dodger returned, accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen smoking on the previous night, and who was now formally introduced to him as Charlie Bates, the four sat down to breakfast on the coffee and some hot rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat. "'Well,' said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver and addressing himself to the Dodger, "'I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears.' "'Hard,' replied the Dodger. "'As nails added, Charlie Bates, good boys, good boys,' said the Jew. "'What have you got, Dodger?' "'A couple of pocket-books,' replied that young gentleman. "'Lined,' inquired the Jew, with eagerness. "'Pretty well,' replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books, one green and the other red. "'Not so heavy as they might be,' said the Jew, after looking at the insides carefully. "'But very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oliver?' "'Very indeed, sir,' said Oliver, at which Mr. Charlie Bates laughed uproariously, very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh at in anything that had passed. "'And what have you got, my dear?' said Fagin to Charlie Bates. "'And what types?' replied Master Bates, at the same time producing four pocket-hacket-chiefs. "'Well,' said the Jew, inspecting them closely. "'They're very good ones, very. You haven't marked them well, though, Charlie, so the marks shall be pricked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall us, Oliver?' "'Haha!' "'You please, sir,' said Oliver. "'You'd like to be able to make pocket-hacket-chiefs as easy as Charlie Bates, wouldn't you, my dear?' said the Jew. "'Very much indeed, if you'll teach me, sir,' replied Oliver. Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply that he burst into another laugh, which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking, and carrying it down some wrong chattel, very nearly terminated in his premature suffocation. "'He is so jolly green,' said Charlie, when he recovered, as an apology to the company for his unpalite behavior. The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's hair over his eyes, and said he'd know better by and by, upon which the old gentleman, observing Oliver's color-mounting, changed the subject by asking whether there had been much of a crowd at the execution that morning. This made him wonder more and more, for it was plain from the replies of the two boys that they had both been there, and Oliver naturally wondered how they could possibly have found time to be so very industrious. When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry old gentleman and the two boys played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way. The merry old gentleman placing a snuff-box in one pocket of his trousers, a note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, buttoned his coat tight round him, and putting his spectacle case and hangarcheth in his pockets, trotted up and down the room with a stick, an imitation of the manner in which old gentleman walk upon the streets any hour of the day. Sometimes he stopped at the fireplace, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was staring with all his might into shop windows. At such times he would look constantly round him for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his pockets in turn to see that he hadn't lost anything, in such a very funny and natural manner that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face.  At last the dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon his boot accidentally, while Charlie Bates stumbled up against him behind, and in that one moment they took from him with the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chain-shirt, pin-pocket, hangarcheth, even the spectacle case. If the old gentleman felt a hand in any one of his pockets he cried out where it was, and then the game began all over again. When this game had been played a great many times a couple of young ladies called to see the young gentleman, one of whom was named Bette and the other Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, and very neatly turned up behind, and were very untidy about the shoes and stockings. They were not exactly pretty, perhaps, but they had a great deal of colour in their faces, and looked quite stout and hearty. Being remarkably free and agreeable in their matters Oliver thought them very nice girls indeed, as there is no doubt they were. The visitors stopped a long time, spirits were produced in consequence of one of the young ladies complaining of a coldness in her inside, and the conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length Charlie Bates expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This it occurred to Oliver must be French for going out, for directly afterwards the Dodger and Charlie and the two young ladies went away together, having been kindly furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend. There, my dear," said Fagan,--"that's a pleasant life, isn't it? They have gone out for the day. Have they done work, sir?" inquired Oliver.--"Yes," said the Jew.--"That is, unless they should unexpectedly come across any when they are out, and they won't neglect it if they do, my dear, depend upon it. Make them your models, my dear, make them your models," stuffing the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his words. Do everything they bid you, and take their advice at all matters, especially the Dodgers, my dear. He'll be a great man himself, and will make you want, too, if you take pattern by him. Is my handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear," said the Jew, stopping short.--"Yes, sir," said Oliver.--"See if you can take it out without my feeling it, as you saw them do when we were at play this morning?" Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand as he had seen the Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other.--"Is it gone?" cried the Jew.--"Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his hand.--"You're a clever boy, my dear," said the playful old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head approvingly.--"I never saw a sharper lad. Here's a shilling for you. If you go on, in this way, you'll be the greatest man of the time. And now come here, and I'll show you how to take the marks out of the handkerchief." Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's pockets in play had to do with his chances of being a great man. But thinking that the Jew, being so much his senior, must know best, he fathered him quietly to the table, and was soon deeply involved in his new study. CHAPTER X Oliver becomes better acquainted with the characters of his new associates, and purchases experience at a high price, being a short but very important chapter in this history. For many days Oliver remained in the Jew's room, picking the marks out of pocket handkerchiefs, of which a great number were brought home, and sometimes taking part in the game already described, which the two boys and the Jew played regularly every morning. At length he began to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of earnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to work with his two companions. Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed by what he had seen of the stern morality of the old gentleman's character. Whenever the Dodger or Charlie Bates came home at night empty-handed, he would expatiate with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy habits, and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life by sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion indeed he even went so far as to knock them both down a flight of stairs, but this was carrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent. At length one morning Oliver obtained the permission he had so eagerly sought. There had been no hacketchiefs to work upon for two or three days, and the dinners had been rather meager. Perhaps these were reasons for the old gentleman's giving his assent, but whether they were or no he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint guardianship of Charlie Bates and his friend the Dodger. The three boys sallied out, the Dodger with his coat sleeves tucked up and his hat cocked as usual, Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his pockets and Oliver between them wondering where they were going and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in first. The pace at which they went was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter that Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive the old gentleman by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a vicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small boys and tossing them down areas, while Charlie Bates exhibited some very loose notions concerning the rites of property by pilfering divers, apples, and onions from the stalls at the kennelsides, and thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious that they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction. These things looked so bad that Oliver was on the point of declaring his intention of seeking his way back in the best way he could, when his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel by a very mysterious change of behavior on the part of the Dodger. They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open square in Clarkinwell, which is yet called by some strange perversion of terms the green, when the Dodger made a sudden stop and laying his finger on his lip drew his companions back again with the greatest caution and circumspection. What's the matter, demanded Oliver. Hush, replied the Dodger. Do you see that old cove at the bookstore? The old gentleman over the way, said Oliver, yes, I see him. He'll do, said the Dodger. A prime plant, observed Master Charlie Bates. Oliver looked from one to the other with the greatest surprise, but he was not permitted to make any inquiries, for the two boys walked steadily across the road and slunk close behind the old gentleman towards whom his attention had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces after them, and not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood looking on in silent amazement. The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a bottle-green coat with a black velvet collar, wore white trousers, and carried a smart bamboo cane under his arm. He had taken up a book from the stall, and there he stood reading away as hard as if he were in his elbow-chair in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied himself there indeed, for it was plain from his abstraction that he saw not the book stall nor the street nor the boys, nor, in short, anything but the book itself, which he was reading straight through, turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, beginning at the top line of the next one and going regularly on with the greatest interest and eagerness. What was Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking on with his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see the dodger plunge his hand into the old gentleman's pocket and draw from thence a handkerchief, to see him hand the same to Charlie Bates, and finally to behold them both running away round the quarter at full speed. In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs and the watches and the jewels and the Jew rushed upon the boy's mind. He stood for a moment with the blood so tingling through all his veins from terror that he felt as if he were in a burning fire, then confused and frightened he took to his heels, and not knowing what he did made off as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground. This was all done in a minute's space. In the very instant when Oliver began to run the old gentleman putting his hand to his pocket and missing his handkerchief turned sharp round.  But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the hue and the boy. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the very first doorway round the quarter. They no sooner heard the cry and saw Oliver running, then guessing exactly how the matter stood, they issued forth with great promptitude and shouting Stop Thief II joined in the pursuit like good citizens. Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was not theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had been, perhaps he would have been prepared for this. Not being prepared, however, it alarmed him the more, so a way he went like the wind with the old gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him. Stop Thief, stop Thief! There is a magic to the sound. The tradesman leaves his counter, and the car man his wagon. The butcher throws down his tray, the baker his basket, the milkman his pail, the errand boy his parcels, the school boy his marbles. The pavier his pickaxe, the child his battle-door. Away they run, pale mail, helter-skelter, slap-dash, tearing, yelling, screaming, knocking down the passengers as they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs and astonishing the fowls, and streets, squares, and courts re-echo with the sound. Stop Thief, stop Thief! The cry is taken up by a hundred voices, and the crowd accumulate at every turning. Away they fly, splashing through the mud and rattling along the pavements, up go the windows, out run the people, onward bear the mob, a whole audience, dessert-punch in the very thickest of the plot, and joining the rushing throngs swell a shout, and lend fresh figure to the cry. Stop Thief, stop Thief! Stop Thief, stop Thief! There is a passion for hunting something deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched, breathless child, panting with exhaustion, tether in his looks, agony in his eyes, large drops of perspiration streaming down his face, strains every nerve to make head upon his pursuers, and as they follow on his track and gain upon him every instant they hail his decreasing strength with joy. Stop Thief! I stop him for God's sake, were it only in mercy. Stopped at last! A clever blow! He is down upon the pavement, and the crowd eagerly gather round him, each newcomer jostling and struggling with the others to catch a glimpse. Then decide, give him a little air, nonsense, he don't deserve it. Where's the gentleman? Here he is, coming down the street. Make room there for the gentleman. Is this the boy, sir? Yes." Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth, looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by the foremost of the pursuers. Yes, said the gentleman, I am afraid it is the boy. Afraid, murmured the crowd, that's a good one. Poor fellow, said the gentleman, he has hurt himself.  I stopped him, sir. The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his pains, but the old gentleman, eyeing him with the expression of dislike, looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself, which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus have afforded another chase, had not a police officer, who was generally the last person to arrive in such cases, at that moment made his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar. Come, get up, said the man, roughly. It was it me, indeed, sir, indeed, indeed, it was two other boys, said Oliver, clasping his hands passionately and looking round. They are here somewhere. Oh, no, they ain't, said the officer. He meant this to be ironical. But it was true, besides, for the Dodger and Charlie Bates had filed off down the first convenient court they came to. Come, get up. Don't hurt him, said the old gentleman, compassionately.  Come, I know you, it won't do. Will you stand upon your legs, you young devil?" Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his feet, and was once again lugged along the streets by the jacket collar at a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer's side, and as many of the crowd as could achieve the feat, got a little ahead, stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in triumph, and on they went. CHAPTER X The offence had been committed within the district, and indeed in the immediate neighborhood of, a very notorious metropolitan police office. The crowd had only the satisfaction of accompanying Oliver through two or three streets, and down a place called Mutton Hill, when he was led beneath a low archway and up a dirty court, into this dispensary of summary justice by the back way.  "'What's the matter now?' said the man carelessly. "'A young Foggle-hunter,' replied the man, who had Oliver in charge. "'Are you the party that's been robbed, sir?' inquired the man with the keys. "'Yes, I am,' replied the old gentleman. "'But I am not sure that this boy actually took the Hackerchief. I would rather not press the case. Must go before the magistrate now, sir,' replied the man. His worship will be disengaged in half a minute. Now young gallows!' This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which he unlocked as he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he was searched, and nothing being found upon him locked up. This cell was in shape and size, something like an area cellar, only not so light. It was most intolerably dirty, for it was Monday morning, and it had been tenanted by six drunken people who had been locked up elsewhere since Saturday night. But this is little. In our station-houses men and women are every night confined on the most trivial charges the word is worth noting, in dungeons, compared with which those in Newgate occupied the most atrocious felons, tried, found guilty, and under sentence of death are palaces. Let any one who doubts this compare the two. The old gentleman looked almost as rueful as Oliver when the key grated in the lock. He turned with a sigh to the book which had been the innocent cause of all this disturbance. "'There is something in the boy's face,' said the old gentleman to himself as he walked slowly away, tapping his chin with the cover of the book in a thoughtful manner. Something that touches and interests me. Can he be innocent?' He looked like, by the by, exclaimed the old gentleman, halting very abruptly and staring up into the sky. "'Bless my soul! Where have I seen something like that look before?' After musing for some minutes the old gentleman walked with the same meditative face, into a back anti-room opening from the yard, and there, retiring into a corner, called out before his mind's eye a vast amphitheater of faces over which a dusky curtain had hung for many years. "'No,' said the old gentleman, shaking his head. "'It must be imagination.' He wandered over them again. He had called them into view, and it was not easy to replace the shroud that had so long concealed them. There were the faces of friends and foes, and of many that had been almost strangers peering intrusively from the crowd. There were the faces of young and blooming girls that were now old women. There were faces that the grave had changed and closed upon, but which the mind superior to its power still dressed in their old freshness and beauty, calling back the luster of the eyes, the brightness of the smile, the beaming of the soul through its mask of clay, and whispering of beauty beyond the tomb, changed but to be heightened, and taken from earth only to be set up as a light to shed a soft and gentle glow upon the path to heaven. But the old gentleman could recall no one countenance of which Oliver's features bore a trace. So he heaved a sigh over the recollections he awakened, and being happily for himself an absent old gentleman, buried them again in the pages of the musty book. He was roused by a touch on the shoulder and a request from the man with the keys to follow him into the office. He closed his book hastily, and was at once ushered into the imposing presence of the renowned Mr. Fang. The office was a front parlor with a panel wall. Mr. Fang sat behind a bar at the upper end, and on one side the door was a sort of wooden pen in which poor little Oliver was already deposited, trembling very much at the awfulness of the scene. Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized man, with no great quantity of hair, and what he had growing on the back and sides of his head. His face was stern and much flushed. If he were really not in the habit of drinking rather more than was exactly good for him, he might have brought action against his countenance for libel, and have recovered heavy damages. The old gentleman bowed respectfully, and advancing to the magistrate's desk, said, suiting the action to the word. That is my name and address, sir. He then withdrew a pace or two, and with another polite and gentlemanly inclination of his head waited to be questioned. Now it happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a leading article in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some recent decision of his, and commending him for the three hundred and fiftieth time to the special and particular notice of the secretary of state for the home department. He was out of temper, and he looked up with an angry scowl. "'Who are you?' said Mr. Fang. The old gentleman pointed with some surprise to his card. "'Officer,' said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with the newspaper, "'who is this fellow?' "'My name, sir,' said the old gentleman, speaking like a gentleman. "'My name, sir, is Brownlow. Permits me to inquire the name of the magistrate who offers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a respectable person under the protection of the bench, saying this Mr. Brownlow looked around the office as if in search of some person who would afford him the required information. "'Officer,' said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, "'what's this fellow charged with?' "'He's not charged at all, your worship,' replied the officer. "'He appears against this boy, your worship.' His worship knew this perfectly well, but it was a good annoyance, and a safe one. "'Appears against the boy, does he?' said Mr. Fang, surveying Mr. Brownlow contemptuously from head to foot. "'Swear him. Before I am sworn I must beg to say one word, Mr. Brownlow, and that is that I really never, without actual experience, could have believed. "'Hold your tongue, sir,' said Mr. Fang, preemptorily. "'I will not, sir,' replied the old gentleman. "'Hold your tongue this instant, or I'll have you turned out of the office,' said Mr. Fang. "'You're an insolent, impertinent fellow.  "'Swear this person,' said Fang to the clerk. "'I'll not hear another word. Swear him.' Mr. Brownlow's indignation was greatly roused, but reflecting perhaps that he might only injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings and submitted to be sworn at once. "'Now,' said Fang, "'what's the charge against the boy? What have you got to say, sir?' "'I was standing at a bookstore,' Mr. Brownlow began. "'Hold your tongue, sir,' said Mr. Fang. "'Policeman, where's the policeman? Here, swear this policeman. Now, policeman, what is this?' The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the charge, how he had searched Oliver and found nothing on his person, and how that was all he knew about it. "'Are there any witnesses?' required Mr. Fang. "'None, your worship,' replied the policeman. Mr.  You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there refusing to give evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench. I will, by what or by whom nobody knows, for the clerk and jailer coughed very loud, just at the right moment, and the former dropped a heavy book upon the floor, thus preventing the word from being heard, accidentally, of course. With many interruptions and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to state his case, observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after the boy because he had saw him running away, and expressing his hope that, if the magistrate should believe him, although not actually the thief to be connected with the thieves, he would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow. "'He has been hurt already,' said the old gentleman in conclusion. "'And I fear,' he added, with great energy, looking towards the bar, "'I really fear that he is ill.' "'Oh, yes, I dare say,' said Mr. Fang with a sneer. "'Come, none of your tricks here, you young vagabond, they won't do. What's your name?' Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale, and the whole place seemed turning round and round. "'What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?' demanded Mr. Fang. "'Office, and what's his name?' This was addressed to a bluff old fellow in a striped waistcoat who was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver and repeated the inquiry, but finding him really incapable of understanding the question, and knowing that his not replying would only infuriate the magistrate the more, and add to the severity of his sentence, he hazarded a guess. "'He says his name's Tom White, your worship,' said the kind-hearted thief-ticker. "'Oh, he won't speak out, will he?' said Fang, very well, very well. "'Where does he live?' "'Where he can, your worship,' replied the officer, again pretending to receive Oliver's answer. "'Has he any parents?' inquired Mr. Fang. "'He says they died in his infancy, your worship,' replied the officer, hazarding the usual reply. At this point of the inquiry Oliver raised his head, and looking round with imploring eyes murmured a feeble prayer for a draft of water. "'Stuff and nonsense,' said Mr. Fang. "'And don't try to make a fool of me.' "'I think he really is ill, your worship,' demonstrated the officer. "'I know better,' said Mr. Fang. "'Take care of him, officer,' said the old gentleman, raising his hands instinctively. "'He'll fall down.' "'Stand away, officer,' cried Fang. "'Let him, if he likes.' Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to the floor in a fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other, but no one dared to stir. "'I knew he was shamming,' said Fang, as if this were incontestable proof of the fact. "'Let him lie there. He'll soon be tired of that.' "'How do you propose to deal with the case?' inquired the clerk in a low voice. "'Some narrowly,' replied Mr. Fang. "'He stands. Can make it fall three months. Hard labor, of course. Clear the office.' The door was open for this purpose, and a couple of men were prepared to carry the insensible boy to his cell, when an elderly man of decent but poor appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed hastily into the office, and advanced towards the bench. "'Stop, stop. Don't take him away for heaven's sake. Stop a moment!' cried the newcomer, breathless with haste. Although the presiding genie in such an office as this exercised a summary and arbitrary power over the liberties, the good name, the character, almost the lives of Her Majesty's subjects, especially of the poorer class, and although within such walls enough fantastic tricks are daily played to make the angels blind with weeping, they are closed to the public, saved through the medium of the daily press—footnote, or were virtually then. Mr. Fang was consequently not a little indignant to see an unbidden guest enter in such a reverent disorder. "'What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office!' cried Mr. Fang. "'I will speak,' cried the man. "'I will not be turned out. I saw it all. I keep the bookstall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be put down. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse there.' The man was right. His manner was determined, and the matter was growing rather too serious to be hushed up. "'Swear the man,' growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace. "'Now, man, what have you got to say?' "'This,' said the man. "'I saw three boys—two others—and the prisoner here.' Loitering, on the opposite side of the way when this gentleman was reading, the robbery was committed by another boy. I saw it done, and I saw that this boy was perfectly amazed and stupefied by it. Having by this time recovered a little breath, the worthy bookstall keeper proceeded to relate the exact circumstances of the robbery. "'Why didn't you come here before?' said Fang, after a pause. "'I headed the soul to mind the shop,' replied the man. "'Everybody who could have helped me had joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody till five minutes ago, and I've run here all the way.' The prosecutor was reading. Was he?' inquired Fang, after another pause. "'Yes,' replied the man. "'The very book he has in his hand.' "'Oh, that book, eh?' said Fang. "'Is it paid for?' "'No, it is not,' replied the man, with a smile. "'Oh, dear me, I forgot all about it,' exclaimed the absent old gentleman innocently. "'A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy,' said Fang, with a comical effect to look humane. "'I consider, sir, that you have obtained position of that book, under very suspicious and disreputable circumstances, and you may think yourself very fortunate that the owner of the property declines to prosecute.  The boy is discharged. Clear the office!' "'Damn me,' cried the old gentleman, bursting out with the rage he had kept down so long. "'Damn me, I'll clear the office,' said the magistrate. "'Office as? Do you hear? Clear the office!' The mandate was obeyed, and the indignant Mr. Brownlow was conveyed out, with the book in one hand and the bamboo cane in the other, at a perfect frenzy of rage and defiance. He reached the yard, and his passion vanished in a moment. Little Oliver Twist lay on his back on the pavement, with his shirt unbuttoned, and his temples bathed with water, his face a deadly white, and a cold tremble convulsing his whole frame. "'Poor boy, poor boy,' said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. "'Call a coach, somebody, pray directly.' A coach was obtained, and Oliver, having been carefully laid on the seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other. "'May I accompany you,' said the book-stallkeeper, looking in. "'Bless me, yes, my dear sir,' said Mr. Brownlow, quickly. "'I forgot you, dear-dear, I have this unhappy book still. Jump in, poor fellow, there's no time to lose.' The book-stallkeeper got into the couch, and away they drove.' CHAPTER XII. The coach rattled away over nearly the same ground as that which Oliver had traversed when he first entered London in company with the Dodger, and turning a different way when it reached the Angel at Islington, stopped at length before a neat house in a quiet shady street near Pentonville. Here a bed was prepared without loss of time in which Mr. Brownlow saw his young charge carefully uncomfortably deposited, and here he was tended with a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds. But for many days Oliver remained insensible to all the goodness of his new friends. The sun rose and sank, and rose and sank again, and many times after that, and still the boy lay stretched on his uneasy bed, dwindling away beneath the dry and wasting heat of fever. The worm does not work more surely on the dead body than does this slow creeping fire upon the living frame. Weak and thin and pallid, he awoke at last from what seemed to have been a long and troubled dream. Feebly raising himself in the bed, with his head resting on his trembling arm, he looked anxiously around. "'What room is this? Where have I been brought to?' said Oliver. "'This is not the place I went to sleep in.' He uttered these words in a feeble voice, being very faint and weak, but they were overheard at once. The curtain at the bed's head was hastily drawn back, and a motherly old lady, very neatly and precisely dressed, rose as she undrew it from an armchair close by, in which she had been sitting at needlework. "'Hush, my dear,' said the old lady softly, "'you must be very quiet, or you will be ill again, and you have been very bad, as bad as bad could be, pretty nigh. Lay down again, there's a dear.' With these words the old lady very gently placed Oliver's head upon the pillow, and smoothing back his hair from his forehead, looked so kindly and loving in his face that he could not help placing his little withered hand in hers, and drawing it round his neck. "'Save us,' said the old lady, with tears in her eyes. "'What a grateful little dear it is, pretty creature! What would his mother feel if she had sat by him as I have, and could see him now?' "'Perhaps she does see me,' whispered Oliver, folding his hands together. "'Perhaps she has sat by me. I almost feel as if she had.' "'That was the fever, my dear,' said the old lady mildly. "'I suppose it was,' replied Oliver. "'Because heaven is a long way off, and they are too happy there to come down to the bedside of a poor boy. But if she knew I was ill she must have pitted me even there, for she was very ill herself before she died. She can't know anything about me, though,' added Oliver, after a moment silence. If she had seen me hurt it would have made her sorrowful, and her face has always looked sweet and happy when I have dreamed of her. The old lady made no reply to this. But wiping her eyes first and her spectacles, which lay on the counter-pane afterwards as if they were part and parcel of those features, brought some cool stuff for Oliver to drink, and then patting him on the cheek told him he must lie very quiet or he would be ill again. So Oliver kept very still, partly because he was anxious to obey the kind old lady and all things, and partly to tell the truth, because he was completely exhausted with what he had already said. He soon fell into a gentle dose from which he was awakened by the light of a candle, which, being brought near the bed, showed him a gentleman with a very large and loud ticking gold watch in his hand, who felt his pulse and said he was a great deal better. "'You are a great deal better? Are you not, my dear?' said the gentleman. "'Yes, thank you, sir,' replied Oliver. "'Yes, I know you are,' said the gentleman. "'You're hungry, too, ain't you?' "'No, sir,' answered Oliver. "'Hem,' said the gentleman. "'No, I know you're not. He is not hungry, Mrs. Bedwin,' said the gentleman, looking very wise. The old lady made a respectable inclination of the head, which seemed to say that she thought the doctor was a very clever man. The doctor appeared much of the same opinion himself. "'You feel sleepy, don't you, my dear?' said the doctor. "'No, sir,' replied Oliver. "'No,' said the doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied look. "'You're not sleepy, nor thirsty, are you?' "'Yes, sir, rather thirsty,' answered Oliver. "'Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin,' said the doctor. "'It's very natural that he should be thirsty. You may give him a little tea, ma'am, and some dry toast without any butter. Don't keep him too warm, ma'am, but be careful that you don't let him be too cold. Will you have the goodness?' The old lady dropped a curtsy. The doctor, after tasting the cool stuff and expressing a qualified approval of it, hurried away. His boots creaking in a very important and wealthy manner as he went downstairs. Oliver dozed off again soon after this. When he awoke it was nearly twelve o'clock.  Using the latter on her head and the former on the table, the old woman, after telling Oliver that she had come to set up with him, drew her chair close to the fire and went off into a series of short naps, checkered at frequent intervals with sundry trembling forward, and divers moans and chokings. These, however, had no worse effect than causing her to rub her nose very hard and then fall asleep again. And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay awake for some time, counting the little circles of light which the reflection of the rush-light shade threw upon the ceiling, or tracing with his languid eyes the intricate pattern of the paper on the wall. The darkness and the deep stillness of the room were very solemn, as they brought into the boy's mind the thought that death had been hovering there for many days and nights, and might yet fill it with the gloom and dread of his awful presence. He turned his face upon the pillow and fervently prayed to heaven. Gradually he fell into that deep tranquil sleep which eased from recent suffering alone in parts, that calm and peaceful rest which it is a pain to wake from, who, if this were death, would be roused again to all the struggles and turmoil of life, to all its cares for the present, its anxieties for the future, more than all its weary recollections of the past. It had been bright day for hours when Oliver opened his eyes. He felt cheerful and happy. The crisis of the disease was safely past. He belonged to the world again. In three days' time he was able to sit in an easy chair well propped up with pillows, and as he was still too weak to walk Mrs. Bedwin had him carried downstairs into the little housekeeper's room which belonged to her. Having him set here by the fireside the good old lady sat herself down too, and being in a state of considerable delight at seeing him so much better, forthwith began to cry most violently. "'Never mind me, my dear,' said the old lady. "'I'm only having a regular good cry. There. It's all over now, and I'm quite comfortable.' "'You're very, very kind to me, ma'am,' said Oliver. "'Wherever you mind that, my dear,' said the old lady. "'That's got nothing to do with your broth, and its full time you had it, for the doctor says Mr. Brownlow may come in and see you this morning, and we must get up our best looks, because the better we look, the more he'll be pleased. And with this the old lady applied herself to warming up in a little saucepan, a basin full of broth, strong enough, Oliver thought, to furnish an ample dinner when reduced to the regulation strength, for three hundred and fifty poppers at the lowest computation. "'Are you fond of pictures, dear?' inquired the old lady, seeing that Oliver had fixed his eyes most intently, on a portrait which hung against the wall, just opposite his chair. "'I don't quite know, ma'am,' said Oliver, without taking his eyes from the canvas. "'I have seen so few that I hardly know. Would a beautiful mild face that lady's is.' "'Ah,' said the old lady, "'painters always make ladies out prettier than they are, or they wouldn't get any custom, child. The man that invented the machine for taking lektises might have known that would never succeed. It's a deal too honest. A deal,' said the old lady, laughing very heartily at her own acuteness. "'Is—is that a likeness, ma'am?' said Oliver. "'Yes,' said the old lady, looking up for a moment from the broth. That's a portrait. "'Whose, ma'am?' asked Oliver. "'Why, really, my dear, I don't know,' answered the old lady in a good, humored manner. "'It's not a likeness of anybody that you or I know, I expect. It seems to strike your fancy, dear.' "'It is so pretty,' replied Oliver. "'Well, I sure you're not afraid of it,' said the old lady, observing in great surprise the look of awe with which the child regarded the painting. "'Oh, no, no,' returned Oliver quickly. "'But the eyes look so sorrowful, and where I sit they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat,' added Oliver, in a low voice, as if it were alive and wanted to speak to me but couldn't. "'You could save us,' exclaimed the old lady, starting. "'Don't talk in that way, child. You're weak and nervous after your illness. Let me wheel your chair round to the other side, and then you won't see it.' "'There,' said the old lady, suiting the action to the word. You don't see it now at all events.' Oliver did see it in his mind's eye as distinctly as if he had not altered his position. But he thought it better not to worry the kind old lady, so he smiled gently when she looked at him. When Mrs. Bedwin satisfied that he felt more comfortable, salted and broke bits of toasted bread into the broth, with all the bustle befitting so solemn a preparation, Oliver got through it with extraordinary expedition. He had scarcely swallowed the last spoonful when there came a soft wrap at the door. "'Come in,' said the old lady, and in walked Mr. Brownlow. Now the old gentleman came in as brisk as need be, but he had no sooner raised his spectacles on his forehead and thrust his hands behind the skirts of his dressing-gown to take a good long look at Oliver than his countenance underwent a very great variety of odd contortions. Oliver looked very worn and shadowy from sickness, and made an ineffectual attempt to stand up out of respect to his benefactor, which terminated in his sinking back into the chair again. And the fact is, if the truth must be told, that Mr. Brownlow's heart, being large enough for any six ordinary old gentleman of humane disposition, forced a supply of tears into his eyes by some hydraulic process which we are not sufficiently philosophical to be in a condition to explain. "'Poor boy, poor boy,' said Mr. Brownlow, clearing his throat. "'I'm rather hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin. I'm afraid I have caught cold. I hope not, sir,' said Mrs. Bedwin. "'Everything you have had has been well-earned, sir. "'I don't know, Bedwin. I don't know,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'I rather think I had a damp napkin at dinner time yesterday, but never mind that. "'How do you feel, my dear?' "'Very happy, sir,' replied Oliver. "'And very grateful indeed, sir, for your goodness to me.' "'Good boy,' said Mr. Brownlow, stoutly. "'Have you given him any nourishment, Bedwin? Any slop, say?' "'He has just had a basin of beautiful, strong broth, sir,' replied Mrs. Baldwin, drawing herself up slightly and laying strong emphasis on the last word, to intimate that between slops and broth well-compounded there existed no affinity or connection whatsoever.' "'Ugh,' said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder. "'A couple of glasses of port wine would have done him a great deal more good. Wouldn't they, Tom White, eh?' "'My name is Oliver, sir,' replied the little invalid, with a look of great astonishment. "'Oliver,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'Oliver what?' "'Oliver White?' "'No, sir, twist. Oliver, twist.' "'Queer name,' said the old gentleman. "'What made you tell the magistrate your name was White? I never told him so, sir,' returned Oliver in amazement. That sounded so like a false word that the old gentleman looked somewhat sternly in Oliver's face. It was impossible to doubt him. There was truth in every one of its thin and sharpened liniments. Some mistake,' said Mr. Brownlow. But although his motive for looking steadily at Oliver no longer existed, the old idea of the resemblance between his features and some familiar face came upon him so strongly that he could not withdraw his gaze. "'I hope you are not angry with me, sir,' said Oliver, raising his eyes beseechingly. "'No, no,' replied the old gentleman. "'Why, what's this? Bedwin, look there.' As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture over Oliver's head and then to the boy's face. There was its living copy—the eyes, the head, the mouth. Every feature was the same. The expression was, for the instant so precisely alike, that the minutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy. Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation, for not being strong enough to bear the start it gave him, he fainted away. A weakness on his part which affords the narrative an opportunity of relieving the reader from suspense in behalf of the two young pupils of the merry old gentleman, and of recording. Bedwin the Dodger, and his accomplished friend, Master Bates, joined in the human cry which was raised at Oliver's heels in consequence of their executing an illegal conveyance of Mr. Brownlow's personal property, as has been already described. They were actuated by a very laudable and becoming regard for themselves, and for as much as the freedom of the subject and the liberty of the individual are among the first and proudest boasts of a true-hearted Englishman. So I need hardly beg the reader to observe that this action should tend to exalt them in the opinion of all public and patriotic men, in almost as great a degree as this strong proof of their anxiety for their own preservation and safety goes to corroborate and confirm the little code of laws which certain profound and sound judging philosophers have laid down as the main springs of all nature's deeds and actions. The said philosophers very widely reducing the good ladies' proceedings to matters of maximum theory, and by a very neat and pretty compliment to her exalted wisdom and understanding, putting entirely out of sight any considerations of heart or generous impulse and feeling. For these are matters totally beneath a female who is acknowledged by universal admission to be far above the numerous little foibles and weaknesses of her sex. If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical nature of the conduct of these young gentlemen in their very delicate predicament, I should at once find it in the fact, also record it in a foregoing part of this narrative, of their quitting the pursuit when the general attention was fixed upon Oliver and making immediately for their home by the shortest possible cut. Although I do not mean to assert that it is usually the practice of renowned and learned sages to shorten the road to any great conclusion, their course indeed being rather to lengthen the distance by various circumlocutions and discursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunken men under the pressure of a too mighty flow of eye-dears are prone to indulge. Still I do mean to say, and do say distinctly, that it is the invariable practice of many mighty philosophers in carrying out their theories to evince great wisdom and foresight in providing against every possible contingency which can be supposed at all likely to affect themselves. Thus, to do a great right, you may do a little wrong, and you may take any means which the end to be attained will justify. The amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, or indeed the distinction between the two, being left entirely to the philosopher concerned to be settled and determined by his clear comprehensive and impartial view of his own particular case. It was not until the two boys had scoured with great rapidity through a most intricate maze of narrow streets and courts that they ventured to halt beneath a low and dark archway, having remained silent here, just long enough to recover breath to speak. Master Bates uttered an exclamation of amusement and delight, and bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, flung himself upon a doorstep, and rolled thereon into a transport of mirth. "'What's the matter?' inquired the Dodger. "'Ha, ha, ha!' roared Charlie Bates. "'Hold your noise,' remonstrated the Dodger, looking cautiously round. "'Do you want to be grabbed, stupid?' "'I can't help it,' said Charlie. "'I can't help it. To see him splitting away at that pace and cutting round the corners and knocking up against the post, and starting on again as if he was made of iron as well as them, and me with the wipe in my pocket singing out after him, oh, my eye, the vivid imagination of Master Bates, presented the scene before him in two strong colours. As he arrived at this apostrophe he again rolled upon the doorstep and laughed louder than before. "'What'll Faggan say?' inquired the Dodger, taking advantage of the next interval of breathlessness on the part of his friend to propound the question. "'What?' repeated Charlie Bates. "'Ah, what?' said the Dodger. "'Why, what should he say?' inquired Charlie, stopping rather suddenly at his merriment, for the Dodger's matter was impressive. What should he say?' "'Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes, then taking off his hat scratched his head and nodded thrice. "'What do you mean?' said Charlie. "'Turululu, gammon and spitige, the frog he wouldn't, and high cock-a-lorum,' said the Dodger, with a slight steer on his intellectual confidence. This was explanatory but not satisfactory. Master Bates felt it so, and again said, "'What do you mean?' The Dodger made no reply, but putting his hat on again and gathering the skirts of his long-tailed coat under his arm, thrust his tongue into his cheek, slapped the bridge of his nose some half-dozen times in a familiar but expressive manner, and turning on his heels slunk down the court. Master Bates followed, with a thoughtful countenance. The noise of footsteps on the creaking stairs a few minutes after the occurrence of this conversation roused the merry old gentleman as he sat over the fire, with a Savalloy and a small loaf in his hand, a pocket-knife in his right, and a pewter pot on the trivet. There was a rascally smile on his white face as he turned round and looked sharply out from under his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear towards the door and listened. "'Why, how is this?' muttered the Jew, changing countenance. "'Only two of him wears the third. They can't have got trouble. Hark!' The footsteps approached nearer. They reached the landing. The door was slowly opened, and the Dodger and Charlie Bates entered, closing it behind them. CHAPTER XIII. Some new acquaintances are introduced to the intelligent reader, connected with whom various pleasant matters are related, appertaining to this history. "'Where's Oliver?' said the Jew, rising with a menacing look. "'Where's the boy?' The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if they were alarmed at his violence, and looked uneasily at each other, but they made no reply. "'What speak, cab of the boy?' said the Jew, seizing the Dodger tightly by the collar and threatening him with horrid implications. "'Speak out, or I'll throttle you!' Mr. Faggin looked so very much in earnest that Charlie Bates, who deemed it prudent in all cases to be on the safe side, and who conceived it by no means improbable that it might be his turn to be throttled second, dropped upon his knees, and raised a loud, well sustained and continuous roar, something between a mad bull and a speaking trumpet. "'Will you speak?' thundered the Jew, shaking the Dodger so much that his keeping in the big coat at all seemed perfectly miraculous. "'Why, the traps have got him, and that's about it,' said the Dodger, suddenly. "'Come, let go of me, will you?' and swinging himself at one jerk, clean out of the big coat which he left in the Jew's hand, the Dodger snatched up the toasting-fork and made a pass at the merry old gentleman's waistcoat, which, if it had taken effect, would have let a little more menoment out than could have been easily replaced. The Jew stepped back in this emergency, with more agility than could have been anticipated in a man of his apparent decrepitude, and seizing up the pot, prepared to hurl it at his assailant's head. But Charlie Bates at this moment, calling his attention by a perfectly terrific howl, he suddenly altered its destination and flung it full at that young gentleman. "'Why, what in the blazes is in the wind now?' growled a deep voice. "'Who pitched that air at me? It's well it's the beer, and not the pot has hit me. Or I'd have settled somebody. I might have known as nobody but an infertile rich plundering, thundering old Jew could afford to throw away any drink but water, and not that unless he'd done the river-company every quarter. What's it all about, Faggin? Dammy if my neck-hankerchief ain't lined with beer. Come in, you sneak-and-warm-it. What are you stopping outside for? As if you was ashamed of your master. Come in!' The man who growled out these words was a stoutly-built fellow of about five-and-thirty at a black, velveteen coat, very soiled, drab britches, lace-up half-boots, and gray cotton stockings which enclosed a bulky pair of legs with large, swelling calves, the kind of legs which in such costume always looked in an unfinished and incomplete state without a set of fetters to garnish them.  He disclosed, when he had done so, a broad, heavy countenance, with a beard of three days' growth and two scowling eyes, one of which displayed various party-colored symptoms of having been recently damaged by a blow. Come in, do you hear, growl, this engaging ruffian. A white, shaggy dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty different places, sulked into the room. Why didn't you come in afore, said the man? You're getting too proud to own me a forecompany, are you? Lie down! This command was accompanied with a kick which sent the animal to the other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however, for he coiled himself up in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound, and, winking his very ill-looking eyes twenty times in a minute, appeared to occupy himself in taking a survey of the apartment. What are you up to? Ill-treating the boys, your covetous, avaricious, insatiable old feds, said the man, seating himself deliberately.  I would if I was them. If I'd been your pretuce, I'd have done it long ago.  Hush, hush, Mr. Sykes, said the Jew, trembling. Don't speak so loud. None of your mistering, replied the Ruffian. You always mean mischief when you come that. You know my name, out with it. A shat disgrace it where the time comes. Well, well then. Bill Sykes, said the Jew, with abject humility. You seem out of humor, Bill. Perhaps I am, replied Sykes. I should think you was rather out of sorts, too. Unless you mean as little harm when you throw pewter pots about as you do in your blab. And are you mad, said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve and pointing towards the boys? Mr.  He then, in Kant terms, with which his whole conversation was plentifully besprinkled, but which would be quite unintelligible if they were recorded here, demanded a glass of liquor. And mind you don't poison it, said Mr. Sykes, laying his hat upon the table. This was said in jest, but if the speaker could have seen the evil ear with which the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard, he might have thought the cost should not necessary, or the wish at all events to improve upon the distiller's ingenuity not very far from the old gentleman's merry heart. After swallowing two or three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sykes condescended to take some notice of the young gentleman, which gracious act led to a conversation in which the cause and matter of Oliver's capture were circumstantially detailed with such alterations and improvements on the truth as to the dodger appeared most advisable under the circumstances. I am afraid, said the Jew, that he may say something which will get us into trouble. That's very likely, returned Sykes, with a malicious grin. You're bloated upon, Fagin! And I am afraid, you see, out at the Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed the interruption and regarded the other closely as he did so. I am afraid that if the game was up with us, it might be up with a good many more. That it would come out rather worse for you than it would for me might hear. The man started, and turned round upon the Jew. But the old gentleman's shoulders were shrugged up to his ears, and his eyes were vacantly staring on the opposite wall. There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie appeared plunged at his own reflections, not accepting the dog, who by a certain malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating and attack upon the legs of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter in the streets when he went out. Somebody must find out what's been done at the office, said Mr. Sykes, in a much lower tone than he had taken since he came in. The Jew nodded ascent. If he hasn't peached and is committed, there's no fear till he comes out again, said Mr. Sykes, and then he must be taken care on. You must get hold of him somehow. Again the Jew nodded. The prudence of this line of action indeed was obvious, but unfortunately there was one very strong objection to its being adopted. This was that the Dodger and Charlie Bates and Fagan and Mr. William Sykes happened one at all to entertain a violent and deeply rooted antipathy to going near a police officer on any ground or pretext whatever. How long they might have sat and looked at each other in a state of uncertainty, not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to guess. It is not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however, for the sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on a former occasion caused the conversation to flow afresh. The very thing, said the Jew, bet will go, won't you, my dear? Where's? inquired the young lady. Only just up to the office, my dear, said the Jew coaxingly. It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm that she would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and earnest desire to be blessed if she would. A polite and delicate evasion of the request, which shows the young lady to have been possessed of that natural good breeding which cannot bear to inflict upon a fellow creature the pain of a direct and pointed refusal. The Jew's countenance fell. He turned from this young lady, who was gaily, not to say gorgeously, attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl-papers, to the other female. Nancy, my dear, said the Jew in a soothing manner. What do you say? That it won't do, so it's no use a-trying it on, Fagin, replied Nancy. What do you mean by that? said Mr. Sykes, looking up at a surly manner. What I say, Bill, replied the lady collectively. Why, you're just the very person for it, reasoned Mr. Sykes. Nobody about here knows anything of you. And as I don't want him to neither, replied Nancy in the same composed manner, it's rather more no than yes with me, Bill. She'll go, Fagin, said Sykes. No, she won't, Fagin, said Nancy. Yes, she will, Fagin, said Sykes. And Mr. Sykes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and bribes, the lady in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake the mission. She was not, indeed, withheld by the same considerations as her agreeable friend, for having recently removed into the neighbourhood of Field Lane from the remote but gentile suburb of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same apprehension of being recognized by any of her numerous acquaintances. Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown and her curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet, both articles of dress being provided from the Jew's inexhaustible stock, Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on her errand.  Carry that in one hand, it looks more respectable, my dear. Give her a door-key to carry into the one, Fagin, said Sykes. It looks real and genuine-like. Yes, yes, my dear, so it does, said the Jew, handing a large street-door-key on the forefinger of the young lady's right hand. There, very good, very good indeed, my dear, said the Jew, rubbing his hands. Oh, my brother, my poor dear, sweet, innocent little brother, examined Nancy, bursting into tears and ringing the little basket of the street-door-key in an agony of distress. What has become of him? Where have they taken him to?  Having uttered these words in a most lamentable and heartbreaking tone, to the immeasurable delight of her hearers, Miss Nancy paused, winked to the company, nodded, smilingly round, and disappeared. Ah, she's a clever girl, my dear, as said the Jew, turning round to his young friends, and shaking his head gravely, as if in mute admonition to them to follow the bright examples they had just beheld. She's an honour to a sex, said Mr. Sykes, filling her glass and smiting the table with his enormous fist. Here's her health and wishing they was all like her! While these and many other Ecomiums were being passed on the accomplished Nancy, that young lady made the best of her way to the police office, with her notwithstanding a little natural timidity consequent upon walking through the streets alone and unprotected, she arrived in perfect safety shortly afterwards. Entering by the back way she tapped softly with the key at one of the cell doors and listened. There was no sound within, so she coughed and listened again. Still there was no reply, so she spoke. Nolly, dear, murmured Nancy in a gentle voice, Nolly! There was nobody inside but a miserable, shoeless criminal who had been taken up for playing the flute, and who the offence against society having been clearly proved, had been very properly committed by Mr. Fang to the House of Corrections for one month, with the appropriate and amusing remark that since he had so much breath to spare it would be more wholesomely expended on the treadmill than in a musical instrument. He made no answer, being occupied mentally bewailing the loss of the flute, which had been confiscated for the use of the county, so Nancy passed on to the next cell and knocked there. Well, cried a faint and feeble voice. Is there a little boy here, inquired Nancy with a preliminary sob? No, replied the voice. God forbid! This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to prison for not playing the flute, or, in other words, for begging in the street, and doing nothing for his livelihood. In the next cell was another man, who was going to the same prison for hawking ten saucepens without license, thereby doing something for his living in defiance of the stamp office. But as neither of these criminals answered to the name of Oliver, or knew anything about him, Nancy made straight up to the bluff officer in the striped waistcoat, and with the most piteous wailings and lamentations rendered more piteous by a prompt and efficient use of the street-door key in the little basket demanded her own dear brother. I haven't got him, my dear, said the old man. Where is he, screamed Nancy, in a distracted manner? Why, the gentleman's got him, replied the officer. What gentleman! O gracious heavens! What gentleman! exclaimed Nancy. In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old man informed the deeply affected sister that Oliver had been taken ill in the office, and discharged in consequence of a witness having proved the robbery to have been committed by another boy not in custody, and that the prosecutor had carried him away in an insensible condition of his own residence, of and concerning which all the informant knew was that it was somewhere in Pentonville, he having heard that word mentioned in the direction to the coachman. In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, the agonized young woman staggered to the gate, and then, exchanging her faltering walk for a swift run, returned by the most devious and complicated route she could think of to the domicile of the Jew. Mr. Bill Sykes, no sooner, heard the account of the expedition delivered, that he very hastily called up the white dog and putting on his hat expeditiously departed, without devoting any time to the formality of wishing the company good morning. We must know where he is, my dear, as he must be found, to the Jew, greatly excited.  Nancy, my dear, I must have him found, I trust you, my dear, to you, and to the artful for everything. Stay, stay, added the Jew, unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand.  You know where to find me. Don't stop here a minute, not an instant, my dears. With these words he pushed them from the room, and carefully double-locking and barring the door behind him, through from its place of concealment the box which he had unintentionally disclosed to Oliver. Then he hastily proceeded to dispose the watches and jewelry beneath his clothing. A wrap at the door startled him in his occupation. Who's there? he cried in a shrill tone. Me, replied the voice of the Dodger through the keyhole. What now? cried the Jew impatiently. Is he to be kidnapped to the other Ken, Nancy says, inquired the Dodger. Yes, replied the Jew. Where does she lay's hands on him? Find him, find him, oh, that's all. I shall know what to do next, never fear." The boy murmured a reply of intelligence, and hurried downstairs after his companions. He has not peached so far, said the Jew, as he pursued his occupation. If he means to blab us among his new friends, we may stop his mouth yet. CHAPTER XIV. Comprising further particulars of Oliver stay at Mr. Brownlow's, with the remarkable prediction which one Mr. Grimwig uttered concerning him when he went out on an errand. Ever soon recovering from the fainting fit into which Mr. Brownlow's abrupt exclamation had thrown him, the subject of the picture was carefully avoided, both by the old gentleman and Mrs. Bedwin in the conversation that ensued, which indeed bore no reference to Oliver's history or prospects, but was confined to such topics as might amuse without exciting him. He was still too weak to get up to breakfast, but when he came down into the housekeeper's room next day his first act was to cast an eager glance at the wall, in the hope of a gain looking on the face of the beautiful lady. His expectations were disappointed, however, for the picture had been removed. Ah! said the host-keeper, watching the direction of Oliver's eyes. It is gone, you see. I see it is, ma'am, replied Oliver. Why have they taken it away? It has been taken down, child, because Mr. Brownlow said that as it seemed to worry you, perhaps it might prevent you from getting well, you know, rejoined the old lady. Oh, no, indeed. It didn't worry me, ma'am, said Oliver. I liked to see it. I quite loved it. Well, well, said the old lady, good-humoredly. You get well as fast as ever you can, dear, and it shall be hung up again. There! I promise you that. Now, let us talk about something else. This was all the information Oliver could obtain about the picture at that time, as the old lady had been so kind to him in his illness. He endeavored to think no more of the subject just then. So he listened attentively to a great Benny story she told him about an amiable and handsome daughter of hers, who was married to an amiable and handsome man and lived in the country, and about a son who was clerked to a merchant in the West Indies, and who was also such a good young man and wrote such dutiful letters home four times a year that it brought the tears into her eyes to talk about them. When the old lady had expatiated a long time on the excellences of her children, and the merits of her kind good husband besides, who had been dead and gone, poor dear soul, just six and twenty years, it was time to have tea. After tea she began to teach Oliver cribbage, which he learned as quickly as she could teach, and at which game they played with great interest and gravity until it was time for the invalid to have some warm wine and water, with a slice of dry toast, and then go cosily to bed. They were happy days, those of Oliver's recovery. Everything was so quiet and neat and orderly, everybody so kind and gentle, that after the noise and turbulence in the midst of which he had always lived it seemed like heaven itself. He was no sooner strong enough to put his clothes on properly than Mr. Brownlow caused a complete new suit and a new cap and a new pair of shoes to be provided for him. As Oliver was told that he might do what he liked with the old clothes, he gave them to a servant who had been very kind to him, and asked her to sell them to a Jew, and keep the money for herself. This she very readily did, and as Oliver looked out of the parter window, and saw the Jew roll them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite delighted to think that they were safely gone, and that there was now no possible danger of his ever being able to wear them again. They were sad rags to tell the truth, and Oliver had never had a new suit before. One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, as he was sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a message down from Mr. Brownlow that if Oliver Twist felt pretty well he should like to see him in his study and talk to him a little while.  "'Dear heart alive, if we had known he would have asked for you, we would have put you a clean collar on, and make 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 the 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.  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, marveling 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 shells that reached from the floor to the ceiling. "'A great number, sir,' replied Oliver. "'I 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, 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,' said Oliver, pointing to some large quartos with a good deal of gilding about the binding. "'Not always those,' said the old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head, and smiling as he did so. "'There are other equally heavy ones, though of a much smaller size. "'How should you like to grow up a clever man and write books, eh?' "'I think I would rather read them, sir,' replied Oliver. "'What? Wouldn't you like to be a book writer?' said the old gentleman. Oliver considered a little while, and at last said, he should think it would be a 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, "'don't be afraid. We won't make an author of you while there's an honorable trade to be learnt, or brick-making to turn to. "'Thank you, sir,' said Oliver. 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 known him assume yet, "'I want you to pay great attention, my boy, to what I am going to say. "'I shall talk to you without any reserve, because I am sure you are well able to understand me, as many older persons would be. "'Oh, don't tell you are going to send me away, sir,' pray, exclaimed Oliver, alarmed at 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.' "'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. I never, never will, sir,' interposed Oliver. "'I hope not,' rejoined the old gentleman. "'I do not think you ever will. I have been deceived before on the objects whom I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel strongly disposed to trust you nevertheless, and I am more interested 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 the happiness and delight of my life lie 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 but strengthened and refined them.' As the old gentleman said this in a low voice, more to himself than to his companion, and as he remained silent for a short time afterwards, Oliver sat quite still. "'Well, well,' said the old gentleman at length in a more cheerful tone. "'I only say this because you have a young heart, and knowing that I have suffered great pain and sorrow, you will be more careful perhaps not to wound me again.  All the inquiries I have been able to make confirm the statement. Let me hear your story, where you come from, who brought you up, and how you got in the company in which I found you. Speak the truth, and you shall not be friendless while I live.' He was on the point of beginning to relate how he had been brought up at the farm, and carried to the work-house by Mr. Bumble, a peculiarly impatient little double-knock was heard at the street door, and the servant running upstairs announced Mr. Grimwig. "'Is he coming up?' inquired Mr. Brownlow. "'Yes, sir,' replied the servant. He asked if there were any muffins in the house, and when I told him yes, he said he had come to tea. Mr. Brownlow smiled, and, turning to Oliver, said that Mr. Grimwig was an old friend of his, and he must not mind his being a little rough in his matters, for he was a worthy creature at bottom, as he had reason to know. "'Shall I go downstairs, sir?' inquired Oliver. "'No,' replied Mr. Brownlow. "'I would rather you remained here.'  The ends of his white-neckerchief were twisting into a ball about the size of an orange, a variety of shapes into which his countenance was twisted to find description. He had a manner of screwing his head on one side when he spoke, and of looking out the corners of his eyes at the same time, which irresistibly reminded the beholder of a parrot. In this attitude he fixed himself the moment he made his appearance, and holding out a small piece of orange peel at arm's length exclaimed in a growling, discontented voice. "'Look, kid, you'll see this. Isn't it a most wonderful and extraordinary thing that I can't call the man's house, but I find a piece of this poor surgeon's friend on the staircase? I've been lame with orange peel once, and I know orange peel will be my death, or I'll be content to eat my own head, sir.' This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grimwig backed and confirmed nearly every assertion he made, and it was the more singular in his case because, even admitting for the sake of argument the possibility of scientific improvements being brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat his own head in the event of his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig's head was such a particularly large one that at the most sanguine man alive could hardly entertain a hope of being able to get through it at a sitting to put entirely out of the question a very thick coating of powder.  "'Hello, what's that?' looking at Oliver and retreating a pace or two. "'This is young Oliver Twist, whom we were speaking about,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'Oliver Boud.' "'You don't mean to say that's the boy who had the fever, I hope?' said Mr. Grimwig, recording a little more. "'Wait a minute. Don't speak. Stop!' continued Mr. Grimwig abruptly, losing all dread of the fever in his triumph at the discovery. That's the boy who had the orange. If that's not the boy, sir, who had the orange and threw this bit of peel upon the staircase, I'll eat my head and his too. No, no, he has not had one,' said Mr. Brownlow, laughing. "'Come, put down your heart and speak to my young friend.' "'I feel strongly on this subject, sir,' said the irritable old gentleman, drawing off his gloves. "'There's always more or less orange peel on the pavement in our street, and I know it's put there by the surgeon's boy at the corner. A young woman stumbled over a bit last night, and fell against my garden railings. Directly she got up. While her look towards the infernal red lamp with the pantomime light. Don't go to him, I called, out of the window. He's an assassin, a man-trap. So he is. If he is not, hear the irascible old gentleman give a great knock on the ground with his stick, which was always understood by his friends to imply the customary offer whenever it was not expressed in words. Then, still keeping his stick at his hand, he sat down, and opening a double-eye glass which he wore attached to a broad black ribbon, took a view of Oliver, who, seeing that he was the object of inspection, cuttered and bowed again. "'That's the boy, is it?' said Mr. Grimwig at length. "'That's the boy,' replied Mr. Brownlow. "'How are you, boy?' said Mr. Grimwig. "'A great deal better, thank you, sir,' replied Oliver. "'Mr. Brownlow, seething to apprehend that his singular friend was about to say something disagreeable, asked Oliver to step downstairs and tell Mrs. Bent when they were ready for tea, which, as he did not half-like the visitor's manner, he was very happy to do. "'He's a nice-looking boy, is he not?' inquired Mr. Brownlow. "'I don't know,' replied Mr. Grimwig pettishly. "'Don't know.' "'No, I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys, mealy boys and beef-faced boys.' "'And which is Oliver?' "'Mealy. "'I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy, a fine boy,' they call him, with a round head and red cheeks and glaring eyes, a horrid boy with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes, with the voice of a pilot and the appetite of a wolf. "'I know him, the wretch.' "'Come,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'These are not the characteristics of young Oliver Twist, so he needn't excite your wrath.' "'They are not,' replied Mr. Grimwig. "'He may have worse. "'Here Mr. Brownlow coughed impatiently, which appeared to afford Mr. Grimwig the most exquisite delight. "'He may have worse,' I say,' repeated Mr. Grimwig. "'Where does he come from? Who is he? What is he? He has had a fever. What of that? Fevers are not peculiar to good people, are they? Bad people have fever sometimes, haven't they, eh? I know a man who was hung in Jamaica for murdering his master. He had had a fever six times. He wasn't recommended to mercy on that account. Poo! Nonsense! Now the fact was, at the inmost recesses of his own heart, Mr. Grimwig was strongly disposed to admit that Oliver's appearance and manner were unusually prepossessing, but he had a strong appetite for contradiction, sharpened on this occasion by the finding of the orange peel, and inwardly determining that no man should dictate to him whether a boy was well looking or not. He had resolved from the first to oppose his friend. Then Mr. Brownlow admitted that on no one point of inquiry could he yet return a satisfactory answer, and that he had postponed any investigation into Oliver's previous history, until he thought the boy was strong enough to hear it, Mr. Grimwig chuckled maliciously, and he demanded with a sneer whether the housekeeper was in the habit of counting the plate at night, because if she didn't find a tablespoon or two missing some sun-shiny morning, why he would be content too, and so forth. All this, Mr. Brownlow, although himself somewhat of an impetuous gentleman, knowing his friend's peculiarities, bore with great good humor, as Mr. Grimwig at tea was graciously pleased to express his entire approval of the muffins matters went on very smoothly, and Oliver, who was made one of the party, began to feel more at his ease that he had yet done in the fierce old gentleman's and when are you going to hear a full, true, and particular account of the life and adventures of Oliver Twist, asked Grimwig of Mr. Brownlow at the conclusion of the meal, looking sideways at Oliver as he resumed the subject. "'Tomorrow morning,' replied Mr. Brownlow, I would rather he was alone with me at the time. "'Come up to me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, my dear.' "'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver. He answered with some hesitation because he was confused by Mr. Grimwig's looking so hard at him. "'I'll tell you what,' whispered that gentleman to Mr. Brownlow. "'He won't come up to you to-morrow morning. I saw him hesitate. He is deceiving you, my good friend.' "'I'll swear he has not,' replied Mr. Brownlow warmly. "'If he is not,' said Mr. Grimwig, I'll—' and down went the stick. "'I'll answer for that boy's truth with my life,' said Mr. Brownlow, knocking the table. "'And I, for his falsehood with my head,' rejoined Mr. Grimwig, knocking the table also. "'We shall see,' said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising anger. "'We will,' replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile. "'We will.' As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to bring in, at this moment, a small parcel of books which Mr. Brownlow had that morning purchased of the identical bookstore-keeper, who has already figured in this history, having laid them on the table, she prepared to leave the room. "'Stop the boy,' Mrs. Bedwin,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'There is something to go back.' "'He is gone, sir,' replied Mrs. Bedwin. "'Call after him,' said Mr. Brownlow. "'It's particular. He is a poor man, and they are not paid for. There are some books to be taken back, too.' The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way, and the girl ran another. And Mrs. Bedwin stood on the steps, screaming for the boy, but there was no boy in sight. Oliver and the girl return, in a breathless state, to report that there were no tidings of him. "'Dear me, I am very sorry for that,' exclaimed Mr. Brownlow. "'I particularly wish those books to be returned to-night.' "'Send Oliver with them,' said Grimwig, with an ironical smile. "'He will be sure to deliver them safely, you know.' "'Yes, do let me take them, if you please, sir,' said Oliver. "'I'll run all the way, sir.' The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not come out with any account, when a most malicious cough from Mr. Grimwig determined him that he should, and that by his prompt discharge of the commission he should prove to him the injustice of his suspicions, on this head at least, at once. "'You shall go, my dear,' said the old gentleman. "'The books are on a chair by my table. Fetch them down.' Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the books under his arm in a great bustle, and waited cap in hand to hear what message he was to take. "'You are to say,' said Mr. Brownlow, glancing steadily at Grimwig, "'you are to say that you have brought these books back, and that you have come to pay the four-pound ten, I owe him. This is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings change. "'I won't be ten minutes, sir,' said Oliver, eagerly. Having buttoned up the bank-note in his jacket-pocket and placed the books carefully under his arm, he made a respectful bow and left the room. Mrs. Bedwind followed him to the street-door, giving him many directions about the nearest way, and the name of the book-seller, and the name of the street, all of which Oliver said he clearly understood. Having super-rided many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, the old lady at Lane permitted him to depart. "'Bless his sweet face,' said the old lady, looking after him. "'I can't bear somehow to let him go out of my sight.' At this moment Oliver looked gaily round and nodded before he turned the corner. The old lady, smilingly returned his salutation, and closing the door, went back to her own room. "'Let me see. He'll be back in twenty minutes at the longest,' said Mr. Brownlow, pulling out his watch and placing it on the table. "'It'll be dark by that time.' "'Oh, you really expect him to come back, do you?' inquired Mr. Grimwig. "'Don't you?' asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling. The spirited contradiction was strong in Mr. Grimwig's breast at the moment, and it was rendered stronger by his friend's confident smile. "'No,' he said, smiting the table with his fist. "'I do not. The boy has a new suit of clothes on his back, a set of valuable books under his arm, and a five-pound note in his pocket. He'll join his old friends, the thieves, and laugh at you. If ever that boy returns to this house, sir, I'll eat my head.' With these words he drew his chair closer to the table, and there the two friends sat in silent expectation with the watch between them. "'It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the importance we attach to our own judgments, and the pride with which we put forth our most rash and hasty conclusions, that although Mr. Grimwig was not by any means a bad-hearted man, and though he would have been unfainingly sorry to see his respected friend duped and deceived, he really did most earnestly and strongly hope at that moment that Oliver Twist might not come back. It grew so dark that the figures on the dial-plate were scarcely discernible, but there the two old gentlemen continued to sit in silence with the watch between them."