CHAPTER VIII. OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN

Oliverreachedthestileatwhichtheby-pathterminatedandoncemoregainedthehigh-road.Itwaseighto’clocknow.Thoughhewasnearlyfivemilesawayfromthetown,heran,andhidbehindthehedges,byturns,tillnoon:fearingthathemightbepursuedandovertaken.Thenhesatdowntorestbythesideofthemilestone,andbegantothink,forthefirsttime,wherehehadbettergoandtrytolive. Thestonebywhichhewasseated,bore,inlargecharacters,anintimationthatitwasjustseventymilesfromthatspottoLondon.Thenameawakenedanewtrainofideasintheboy’smind. London!—thatgreatplace!—nobody—notevenMr.Bumble—couldeverfindhimthere!Hehadoftenheardtheoldmenintheworkhouse,too,saythatnoladofspiritneedwantinLondonandthattherewerewaysoflivinginthatvastcity,whichthosewhohadbeenbredupincountrypartshadnoideaof.Itwastheveryplaceforahomelessboy,whomustdieinthestreetsunlesssomeonehelpedhim.Asthesethingspassedthroughhisthoughts,hejumpeduponhisfeet,andagainwalkedforward. HehaddiminishedthedistancebetweenhimselfandLondonbyfullfourmilesmore,beforeherecollectedhowmuchhemustundergoerehecouldhopetoreachhisplaceofdestination.Asthisconsiderationforceditselfuponhim,heslackenedhispacealittle,andmeditateduponhismeansofgettingthere.Hehadacrustofbread,acoarseshirt,andtwopairsofstockings,inhisbundle.Hehadapennytoo—agiftofSowerberry’saftersomefuneralinwhichhehadacquittedhimselfmorethanordinarilywell—inhispocket.“Acleanshirt,”thoughtOliver,“isaverycomfortablethingandsoaretwopairsofdarnedstockingsandsoisapennybuttheyaresmallhelpstoasixty-fivemiles’walkinwintertime.”ButOliver’sthoughts,likethoseofmostotherpeople,althoughtheywereextremelyreadyandactivetopointouthisdifficulties,werewhollyatalosstosuggestanyfeasiblemodeofsurmountingthemso,afteragooddealofthinkingtonoparticularpurpose,hechangedhislittlebundleovertotheothershoulder,andtrudgedon. Oliverwalkedtwentymilesthatdayandallthattimetastednothingbutthecrustofdrybread,andafewdraughtsofwater,whichhebeggedatthecottage-doorsbytheroad-side.Whenthenightcame,heturnedintoameadowand,creepingcloseunderahay-rick,determinedtoliethere,tillmorning.Hefeltfrightenedatfirst,forthewindmoaneddismallyovertheemptyfields:andhewascoldandhungry,andmorealonethanhehadeverfeltbefore.Beingverytiredwithhiswalk,however,hesoonfellasleepandforgothistroubles. Hefeltcoldandstiff,whenhegotupnextmorning,andsohungrythathewasobligedtoexchangethepennyforasmallloaf,intheveryfirstvillagethroughwhichhepassed.Hehadwalkednomorethantwelvemiles,whennightclosedinagain.Hisfeetweresore,andhislegssoweakthattheytrembledbeneathhim.Anothernightpassedinthebleakdampair,madehimworsewhenhesetforwardonhisjourneynextmorninghecouldhardlycrawlalong. Hewaitedatthebottomofasteephilltillastage-coachcameup,andthenbeggedoftheoutsidepassengersbuttherewereveryfewwhotookanynoticeofhim:andeventhosetoldhimtowaittilltheygottothetopofthehill,andthenletthemseehowfarhecouldrunforahalfpenny.PoorOlivertriedtokeepupwiththecoachalittleway,butwasunabletodoit,byreasonofhisfatigueandsorefeet.Whentheoutsidessawthis,theyput