Олівер Твіст

Chapter 2

           ‘No,shecan’t,’repliedMr.Bumble.‘Butshe’llcomeandseeyousometimes.

           Thiswasnoverygreatconsolationtothechild.Youngashewas,however,hehadsenseenoughtomakeafeintoffeelinggreatregretatgoingaway.Itwasnoverydifficultmatterfortheboytocalltearsintohiseyes.Hungerandrecentill-usagearegreatassistantsifyouwanttocry;andOlivercriedverynaturallyindeed.Mrs.Manngavehimathousandembraces,andwhatOliverwantedagreatdealmore,apieceofbreadandbutter,lessheshouldseemtoohungrywhenhegottotheworkhouse.Withthesliceofbreadinhishand,andthelittlebrown-clothparishcaponhishead,OliverwasthenledawaybyMr.Bumblefromthewretchedhomewhereonekindwordorlookhadneverlightedthegloomofhisinfantyears.Andyetheburstintoanagonyofchildishgrief,asthecottage-gateclosedafterhim.Wretchedaswerethelittlecompanionsinmiseryhewasleavingbehind,theyweretheonlyfriendshehadeverknown;andasenseofhislonelinessinthegreatwideworld,sankintothechild’sheartforthefirsttime.

           Mr.Bumblewalkedonwithlongstrides;littleOliver,firmlygraspinghisgold-lacedcuff,trottedbesidehim,inquiringattheendofeveryquarterofamilewhethertheywere‘nearlythere.TotheseinterrogationsMr.Bumblereturnedverybriefandsnappishreplies;forthetemporaryblandnesswhichgin-and-waterawakensinsomebosomshadbythistimeevaporated;andhewasonceagainabeadle.

           Oliverhadnotbeenwithinthewallsoftheworkhouseaquarterofanhour,andhadscarcelycompletedthedemolitionofasecondsliceofbread,whenMr.Bumble,whohadhandedhimovertothecareofanoldwoman,returned;and,tellinghimitwasaboardnight,informedhimthattheboardhadsaidhewastoappearbeforeitforthwith.

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