CHAPTER II. TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD

ble,“wehaveneverbeenabletodiscoverwhoishisfather,orwhatwashismother’ssettlement,name,orcondition.” Mrs.Mannraisedherhandsinastonishmentbutadded,afteramoment’sreflection,“Howcomeshetohaveanynameatall,then?” Thebeadledrewhimselfupwithgreatpride,andsaid,“Iinwentedit.” “You,Mr.Bumble!” “I,Mrs.Mann.Wenameourfondlingsinalphabeticalorder.ThelastwasaS,—Swubble,Inamedhim.ThiswasaT,—Twist,Inamedhim.ThenextonecomeswillbeUnwin,andthenextVilkins.Ihavegotnamesreadymadetotheendofthealphabet,andallthewaythroughitagain,whenwecometoZ.” “Why,you’requitealiterarycharacter,sir!”saidMrs.Mann. “Well,well,”saidthebeadle,evidentlygratifiedwiththecompliment“perhapsImaybe.PerhapsImaybe,Mrs.Mann.”Hefinishedthegin-and-water,andadded,“Oliverbeingnowtoooldtoremainhere,theboardhavedeterminedtohavehimbackintothehouse.Ihavecomeoutmyselftotakehimthere.Soletmeseehimatonce.” “I’llfetchhimdirectly,”saidMrs.Mann,leavingtheroomforthatpurpose.Oliver,havinghadbythistimeasmuchoftheoutercoatofdirtwhichencrustedhisfaceandhands,removed,ascouldbescrubbedoffinonewashing,wasledintotheroombyhisbenevolentprotectress. “Makeabowtothegentleman,Oliver,”saidMrs.Mann. Olivermadeabow,whichwasdividedbetweenthebeadleonthechair,andthecockedhatonthetable. “Willyougoalongwithme,Oliver?”saidMr.Bumble,inamajesticvoice. Oliverwasabouttosaythathewouldgoalongwithanybodywithgreatreadiness,when,glancingupward,hecaughtsightofMrs.Mann,whohadgotbehindthebeadle’schair,andwasshakingherfistathimwithafuriouscountenance.Hetookthehintatonce,forthefisthadbeentoooftenimpresseduponhisbodynottobedeeplyimpresseduponhisrecollection. “Willshegowithme?”inquiredpoorOliver. “No,shecan’t,”repliedMr.Bumble.“Butshe’llcomeandseeyousometimes.” Thiswasnoverygreatconsolationtothechild.Youngashewas,however,hehadsenseenoughtomakeafeintoffeelinggreatregretatgoingaway.Itwasnoverydifficultmatterfortheboytocalltearsintohiseyes.Hungerandrecentill-usagearegreatassistantsifyouwanttocryandOlivercriedverynaturallyindeed.Mrs.Manngavehimathousandembraces,andwhatOliverwantedagreatdealmore,apieceofbreadandbutter,lessheshouldseemtoohungrywhenhegottotheworkhouse.Withthesliceofbreadinhishand,andthelittlebrown-clothparishcaponhishead,OliverwasthenledawaybyMr.Bumblefromthewretchedhomewhereonekindwordorlookhadneverlightedthegloomofhisinfantyears.Andyetheburstintoanagonyofchildishgrief,asthecottage-gateclosedafterhim.Wretchedaswerethelittlecompanionsinmiseryhewasleavingbehind,theyweretheonlyfriendshehadeverknownandasenseofhislonelinessinthegreatwideworld,sankintothechild’sheartforthefirsttime. Mr.BumblewalkedonwithlongstrideslittleOliver,firmlygraspinghisgold-lacedcuff,trottedbesidehim,inquiringattheendofeveryquarterofamilewhethertheywere“nearlythere.”TotheseinterrogationsMr.Bumblereturnedverybriefandsnappishrepliesforthetemporaryblandnesswhichgin-and-waterawakensinsomebosomshadbythistimeevaporatedandhewasonceagainabeadle. Oliverhadnotbeenwithinthewallsoftheworkhouseaquarterofanhour,andhadscarcelycompletedthedemolitionofasecondsliceofbread,whenMr.Bumble,whohadhandedhimovertothecareofanoldwoman,returnedand,tellinghimitwasaboardnight,informedhimthattheboardhadsaidhewastoappearbeforeitforthwith. Nothavingaveryclearlydefinednotionofwhataliveboardwas,Oliverwasratherastoundedbythisintelligence,andwasnotquitecertainwhetherheoughttolaughorcry.Hehadnotimetothinkaboutthematter,howeverforMr.Bumblegavehimataponthehead,withhiscane,towakehimup:andanotheronthebacktomakehimlively:andbiddinghimtofollow,conductedhimintoalargewhite-washedroom,whereeightortenfatgentlemenweresittingroundatable.Atthetopofthetable,seatedinanarm-chairratherhigherthantherest,wasaparticularlyfatgentlemanwithaveryround,redface. “Bowtothebo