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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens</title>

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<h2 id="pgepubid00036">
      CHAPTER XXXI — INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
    </h2>
<h3 id="pgepubid00037">
      ‘Who’s that?’ inquired Brittles, opening the door a little way, with the
      chain up, and peeping out, shading the candle with his hand.
    </h3>
<p>
      ‘Open the door,’ replied a man outside; ‘it’s the officers from Bow
      Street, as was sent to to-day.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Much comforted by this assurance, Brittles opened the door to its full
      width, and confronted a portly man in a great-coat; who walked in, without
      saying anything more, and wiped his shoes on the mat, as coolly as if he
      lived there.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, young man?’ said the
      officer; ‘he’s in the gig, a-minding the prad. Have you got a coach ‘us
      here, that you could put it up in, for five or ten minutes?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Brittles replying in the affirmative, and pointing out the building, the
      portly man stepped back to the garden-gate, and helped his companion to
      put up the gig: while Brittles lighted them, in a state of great
      admiration. This done, they returned to the house, and, being shown into a
      parlour, took off their great-coats and hats, and showed like what they
      were.
    </p>
<p>
      The man who had knocked at the door, was a stout personage of middle
      height, aged about fifty: with shiny black hair, cropped pretty close;
      half-whiskers, a round face, and sharp eyes. The other was a red-headed,
      bony man, in top-boots; with a rather ill-favoured countenance, and a
      turned-up sinister-looking nose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff is here, will you?’ said the
      stouter man, smoothing down his hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on
      the table. ‘Oh! Good-evening, master. Can I have a word or two with you in
      private, if you please?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now made his appearance; that
      gentleman, motioning Brittles to retire, brought in the two ladies, and
      shut the door.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘This is the lady of the house,’ said Mr. Losberne, motioning towards Mrs.
      Maylie.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on the
      floor, and taking a chair, motioned to Duff to do the same. The latter
      gentleman, who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good society, or
      quite so much at his ease in it—one of the two—seated himself,
      after undergoing several muscular affections of the limbs, and the head of
      his stick into his mouth, with some embarrassment.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,’ said Blathers. ‘What are
      the circumstances?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at
      great length, and with much circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff
      looked very knowing meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I can’t say, for certain, till I see the work, of course,’ said Blathers;
      ‘but my opinion at once is,—I don’t mind committing myself to that
      extent,—that this wasn’t done by a yokel; eh, Duff?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Certainly not,’ replied Duff.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I
      apprehend your meaning to be, that this attempt was not made by a
      countryman?’ said Mr. Losberne, with a smile.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s it, master,’ replied Blathers. ‘This is all about the robbery, is
      it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘All,’ replied the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants are a-talking
      on?’ said Blathers.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing at all,’ replied the doctor. ‘One of the frightened servants
      chose to take it into his head, that he had something to do with this
      attempt to break into the house; but it’s nonsense: sheer absurdity.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wery easy disposed of, if it is,’ remarked Duff.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What he says is quite correct,’ observed Blathers, nodding his head in a
      confirmatory way, and playing carelessly with the handcuffs, as if they
      were a pair of castanets. ‘Who is the boy? What account does he give of
      himself? Where did he come from? He didn’t drop out of the clouds, did he,
      master?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Of course not,’ replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two
      ladies. ‘I know his whole history: but we can talk about that presently.
      You would like, first, to see the place where the thieves made their
      attempt, I suppose?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Certainly,’ rejoined Mr. Blathers. ‘We had better inspect the premises
      first, and examine the servants afterwards. That’s the usual way of doing
      business.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Lights were then procured; and Messrs. Blathers and Duff, attended by the
      native constable, Brittles, Giles, and everybody else in short, went into
      the little room at the end of the passage and looked out at the window;
      and afterwards went round by way of the lawn, and looked in at the window;
      and after that, had a candle handed out to inspect the shutter with; and
      after that, a lantern to trace the footsteps with; and after that, a
      pitchfork to poke the bushes with. This done, amidst the breathless
      interest of all beholders, they came in again; and Mr. Giles and Brittles
      were put through a melodramatic representation of their share in the
      previous night’s adventures: which they performed some six times over:
      contradicting each other, in not more than one important respect, the
      first time, and in not more than a dozen the last. This consummation being
      arrived at, Blathers and Duff cleared the room, and held a long council
      together, compared with which, for secrecy and solemnity, a consultation
      of great doctors on the knottiest point in medicine, would be mere child’s
      play.
    </p>
<p>
      Meanwhile, the doctor walked up and down the next room in a very uneasy
      state; and Mrs. Maylie and Rose looked on, with anxious faces.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Upon my word,’ he said, making a halt, after a great number of very rapid
      turns, ‘I hardly know what to do.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Surely,’ said Rose, ‘the poor child’s story, faithfully repeated to these
      men, will be sufficient to exonerate him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I doubt it, my dear young lady,’ said the doctor, shaking his head. ‘I
      don’t think it would exonerate him, either with them, or with legal
      functionaries of a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would say? A
      runaway. Judged by mere worldly considerations and probabilities, his
      story is a very doubtful one.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You believe it, surely?’ interrupted Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘<i>I</i> believe it, strange as it is; and perhaps I may be an old fool
      for doing so,’ rejoined the doctor; ‘but I don’t think it is exactly the
      tale for a practical police-officer, nevertheless.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why not?’ demanded Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Because, my pretty cross-examiner,’ replied the doctor: ‘because, viewed
      with their eyes, there are many ugly points about it; he can only prove
      the parts that look ill, and none of those that look well. Confound the
      fellows, they <i>will</i> have the why and the wherefore, and will take
      nothing for granted. On his own showing, you see, he has been the
      companion of thieves for some time past; he has been carried to a
      police-officer, on a charge of picking a gentleman’s pocket; he has been
      taken away, forcibly, from that gentleman’s house, to a place which he
      cannot describe or point out, and of the situation of which he has not the
      remotest idea. He is brought down to Chertsey, by men who seem to have
      taken a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no; and is put through a
      window to rob a house; and then, just at the very moment when he is going
      to alarm the inmates, and so do the very thing that would set him all to
      rights, there rushes into the way, a blundering dog of a half-bred butler,
      and shoots him! As if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for
      himself! Don’t you see all this?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I see it, of course,’ replied Rose, smiling at the doctor’s impetuosity;
      ‘but still I do not see anything in it, to criminate the poor child.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No,’ replied the doctor; ‘of course not! Bless the bright eyes of your
      sex! They never see, whether for good or bad, more than one side of any
      question; and that is, always, the one which first presents itself to
      them.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor put his hands
      into his pockets, and walked up and down the room with even greater
      rapidity than before.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The more I think of it,’ said the doctor, ‘the more I see that it will
      occasion endless trouble and difficulty if we put these men in possession
      of the boy’s real story. I am certain it will not be believed; and even if
      they can do nothing to him in the end, still the dragging it forward, and
      giving publicity to all the doubts that will be cast upon it, must
      interfere, materially, with your benevolent plan of rescuing him from
      misery.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh! what is to be done?’ cried Rose. ‘Dear, dear! why did they send for
      these people?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Maylie. ‘I would not have had them here, for
      the world.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘All I know is,’ said Mr. Losberne, at last: sitting down with a kind of
      desperate calmness, ‘that we must try and carry it off with a bold face.
      The object is a good one, and that must be our excuse. The boy has strong
      symptoms of fever upon him, and is in no condition to be talked to any
      more; that’s one comfort. We must make the best of it; and if bad be the
      best, it is no fault of ours. Come in!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, master,’ said Blathers, entering the room followed by his
      colleague, and making the door fast, before he said any more. ‘This warn’t
      a put-up thing.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And what the devil’s a put-up thing?’ demanded the doctor, impatiently.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We call it a put-up robbery, ladies,’ said Blathers, turning to them, as
      if he pitied their ignorance, but had a contempt for the doctor’s, ‘when
      the servants is in it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nobody suspected them, in this case,’ said Mrs. Maylie.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wery likely not, ma’am,’ replied Blathers; ‘but they might have been in
      it, for all that.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘More likely on that wery account,’ said Duff.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We find it was a town hand,’ said Blathers, continuing his report; ‘for
      the style of work is first-rate.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wery pretty indeed it is,’ remarked Duff, in an undertone.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There was two of ‘em in it,’ continued Blathers; ‘and they had a boy with
      ‘em; that’s plain from the size of the window. That’s all to be said at
      present. We’ll see this lad that you’ve got upstairs at once, if you
      please.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Perhaps they will take something to drink first, Mrs. Maylie?’ said the
      doctor: his face brightening, as if some new thought had occurred to him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh! to be sure!’ exclaimed Rose, eagerly. ‘You shall have it immediately,
      if you will.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, thank you, miss!’ said Blathers, drawing his coat-sleeve across his
      mouth; ‘it’s dry work, this sort of duty. Anythink that’s handy, miss;
      don’t put yourself out of the way, on our accounts.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What shall it be?’ asked the doctor, following the young lady to the
      sideboard.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A little drop of spirits, master, if it’s all the same,’ replied
      Blathers. ‘It’s a cold ride from London, ma’am; and I always find that
      spirits comes home warmer to the feelings.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who received
      it very graciously. While it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped
      out of the room.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Blathers: not holding his wine-glass by the stem, but
      grasping the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand: and
      placing it in front of his chest; ‘I have seen a good many pieces of
      business like this, in my time, ladies.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,’ said Mr. Duff,
      assisting his colleague’s memory.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That was something in this way, warn’t it?’ rejoined Mr. Blathers; ‘that
      was done by Conkey Chickweed, that was.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You always gave that to him’ replied Duff. ‘It was the Family Pet, I tell
      you. Conkey hadn’t any more to do with it than I had.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Get out!’ retorted Mr. Blathers; ‘I know better. Do you mind that time
      when Conkey was robbed of his money, though? What a start that was! Better
      than any novel-book <i>I</i> ever see!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What was that?’ inquired Rose: anxious to encourage any symptoms of
      good-humour in the unwelcome visitors.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It was a robbery, miss, that hardly anybody would have been down upon,’ 
      said Blathers. ‘This here Conkey Chickweed—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Conkey means Nosey, ma’am,’ interposed Duff.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Of course the lady knows that, don’t she?’ demanded Mr. Blathers. ‘Always
      interrupting, you are, partner! This here Conkey Chickweed, miss, kept a
      public-house over Battlebridge way, and he had a cellar, where a good many
      young lords went to see cock-fighting, and badger-drawing, and that; and a
      wery intellectual manner the sports was conducted in, for I’ve seen ‘em
      off’en. He warn’t one of the family, at that time; and one night he was
      robbed of three hundred and twenty-seven guineas in a canvas bag, that was
      stole out of his bedroom in the dead of night, by a tall man with a black
      patch over his eye, who had concealed himself under the bed, and after
      committing the robbery, jumped slap out of window: which was only a story
      high. He was wery quick about it. But Conkey was quick, too; for he fired
      a blunderbuss arter him, and roused the neighbourhood. They set up a
      hue-and-cry, directly, and when they came to look about ‘em, found that
      Conkey had hit the robber; for there was traces of blood, all the way to
      some palings a good distance off; and there they lost ‘em. However, he had
      made off with the blunt; and, consequently, the name of Mr. Chickweed,
      licensed witler, appeared in the Gazette among the other bankrupts; and
      all manner of benefits and subscriptions, and I don’t know what all, was
      got up for the poor man, who was in a wery low state of mind about his
      loss, and went up and down the streets, for three or four days, a pulling
      his hair off in such a desperate manner that many people was afraid he
      might be going to make away with himself. One day he came up to the
      office, all in a hurry, and had a private interview with the magistrate,
      who, after a deal of talk, rings the bell, and orders Jem Spyers in (Jem
      was a active officer), and tells him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed in
      apprehending the man as robbed his house. “I see him, Spyers,” said
      Chickweed, “pass my house yesterday morning,” “Why didn’t you up, and
      collar him!” says Spyers. “I was so struck all of a heap, that you might
      have fractured my skull with a toothpick,” says the poor man; “but we’re
      sure to have him; for between ten and eleven o’clock at night he passed
      again.” Spyers no sooner heard this, than he put some clean linen and a
      comb, in his pocket, in case he should have to stop a day or two; and away
      he goes, and sets himself down at one of the public-house windows behind
      the little red curtain, with his hat on, all ready to bolt out, at a
      moment’s notice. He was smoking his pipe here, late at night, when all of
      a sudden Chickweed roars out, “Here he is! Stop thief! Murder!” Jem Spyers
      dashes out; and there he sees Chickweed, a-tearing down the street full
      cry. Away goes Spyers; on goes Chickweed; round turns the people;
      everybody roars out, “Thieves!” and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting,
      all the time, like mad. Spyers loses sight of him a minute as he turns a
      corner; shoots round; sees a little crowd; dives in; “Which is the man?”
       “D—me!” says Chickweed, “I’ve lost him again!” It was a remarkable
      occurrence, but he warn’t to be seen nowhere, so they went back to the
      public-house. Next morning, Spyers took his old place, and looked out,
      from behind the curtain, for a tall man with a black patch over his eye,
      till his own two eyes ached again. At last, he couldn’t help shutting ‘em,
      to ease ‘em a minute; and the very moment he did so, he hears Chickweed
      a-roaring out, “Here he is!” Off he starts once more, with Chickweed
      half-way down the street ahead of him; and after twice as long a run as
      the yesterday’s one, the man’s lost again! This was done, once or twice
      more, till one-half the neighbours gave out that Mr. Chickweed had been
      robbed by the devil, who was playing tricks with him arterwards; and the
      other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with grief.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What did Jem Spyers say?’ inquired the doctor; who had returned to the
      room shortly after the commencement of the story.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Jem Spyers,’ resumed the officer, ‘for a long time said nothing at all,
      and listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he understood
      his business. But, one morning, he walked into the bar, and taking out his
      snuffbox, says “Chickweed, I’ve found out who done this here robbery.”
       “Have you?” said Chickweed. “Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me have
      wengeance, and I shall die contented! Oh, my dear Spyers, where is the
      villain!” “Come!” said Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, “none of
      that gammon! You did it yourself.” So he had; and a good bit of money he
      had made by it, too; and nobody would never have found it out, if he
      hadn’t been so precious anxious to keep up appearances!’ said Mr.
      Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking the handcuffs
      together.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Very curious, indeed,’ observed the doctor. ‘Now, if you please, you can
      walk upstairs.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If <i>you</i> please, sir,’ returned Mr. Blathers. Closely following Mr.
      Losberne, the two officers ascended to Oliver’s bedroom; Mr. Giles
      preceding the party, with a lighted candle.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver had been dozing; but looked worse, and was more feverish than he
      had appeared yet. Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in
      bed for a minute or so; and looked at the strangers without at all
      understanding what was going forward—in fact, without seeming to
      recollect where he was, or what had been passing.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="0169m " src="1646223070011777107_0169m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6239911680261437527"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0169.jpg.id-2812775683067993085.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-2812775683067993085" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<p>
      ‘This,’ said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great vehemence
      notwithstanding, ‘this is the lad, who, being accidently wounded by a
      spring-gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d’ ye-call-him’s grounds,
      at the back here, comes to the house for assistance this morning, and is
      immediately laid hold of and maltreated, by that ingenious gentleman with
      the candle in his hand: who has placed his life in considerable danger, as
      I can professionally certify.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus recommended
      to their notice. The bewildered butler gazed from them towards Oliver, and
      from Oliver towards Mr. Losberne, with a most ludicrous mixture of fear
      and perplexity.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You don’t mean to deny that, I suppose?’ said the doctor, laying Oliver
      gently down again.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It was all done for the—for the best, sir,’ answered Giles. ‘I am
      sure I thought it was the boy, or I wouldn’t have meddled with him. I am
      not of an inhuman disposition, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Thought it was what boy?’ inquired the senior officer.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The housebreaker’s boy, sir!’ replied Giles. ‘They—they certainly
      had a boy.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well? Do you think so now?’ inquired Blathers.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Think what, now?’ replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Think it’s the same boy, Stupid-head?’ rejoined Blathers, impatiently.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I don’t know; I really don’t know,’ said Giles, with a rueful
      countenance. ‘I couldn’t swear to him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What do you think?’ asked Mr. Blathers.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I don’t know what to think,’ replied poor Giles. ‘I don’t think it is the
      boy; indeed, I’m almost certain that it isn’t. You know it can’t be.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Has this man been a-drinking, sir?’ inquired Blathers, turning to the
      doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What a precious muddle-headed chap you are!’ said Duff, addressing Mr.
      Giles, with supreme contempt.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient’s pulse during this short
      dialogue; but he now rose from the chair by the bedside, and remarked,
      that if the officers had any doubts upon the subject, they would perhaps
      like to step into the next room, and have Brittles before them.
    </p>
<p>
      Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring apartment,
      where Mr. Brittles, being called in, involved himself and his respected
      superior in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and
      impossibilities, as tended to throw no particular light on anything, but
      the fact of his own strong mystification; except, indeed, his declarations
      that he shouldn’t know the real boy, if he were put before him that
      instant; that he had only taken Oliver to be he, because Mr. Giles had
      said he was; and that Mr. Giles had, five minutes previously, admitted in
      the kitchen, that he began to be very much afraid he had been a little too
      hasty.
    </p>
<p>
      Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then raised, whether Mr.
      Giles had really hit anybody; and upon examination of the fellow pistol to
      that which he had fired, it turned out to have no more destructive loading
      than gunpowder and brown paper: a discovery which made a considerable
      impression on everybody but the doctor, who had drawn the ball about ten
      minutes before. Upon no one, however, did it make a greater impression
      than on Mr. Giles himself; who, after labouring, for some hours, under the
      fear of having mortally wounded a fellow-creature, eagerly caught at this
      new idea, and favoured it to the utmost. Finally, the officers, without
      troubling themselves very much about Oliver, left the Chertsey constable
      in the house, and took up their rest for that night in the town; promising
      to return the next morning.
    </p>
<p>
      With the next morning, there came a rumour, that two men and a boy were in
      the cage at Kingston, who had been apprehended over night under suspicious
      circumstances; and to Kingston Messrs. Blathers and Duff journeyed
      accordingly. The suspicious circumstances, however, resolving themselves,
      on investigation, into the one fact, that they had been discovered
      sleeping under a haystack; which, although a great crime, is only
      punishable by imprisonment, and is, in the merciful eye of the English
      law, and its comprehensive love of all the King’s subjects, held to be no
      satisfactory proof, in the absence of all other evidence, that the
      sleeper, or sleepers, have committed burglary accompanied with violence,
      and have therefore rendered themselves liable to the punishment of death;
      Messrs. Blathers and Duff came back again, as wise as they went.
    </p>
<p>
      In short, after some more examination, and a great deal more conversation,
      a neighbouring magistrate was readily induced to take the joint bail of
      Mrs. Maylie and Mr. Losberne for Oliver’s appearance if he should ever be
      called upon; and Blathers and Duff, being rewarded with a couple of
      guineas, returned to town with divided opinions on the subject of their
      expedition: the latter gentleman on a mature consideration of all the
      circumstances, inclining to the belief that the burglarious attempt had
      originated with the Family Pet; and the former being equally disposed to
      concede the full merit of it to the great Mr. Conkey Chickweed.
    </p>
<p>
      Meanwhile, Oliver gradually throve and prospered under the united care of
      Mrs. Maylie, Rose, and the kind-hearted Mr. Losberne. If fervent prayers,
      gushing from hearts overcharged with gratitude, be heard in heaven—and
      if they be not, what prayers are!—the blessings which the orphan
      child called down upon them, sunk into their souls, diffusing peace and
      happiness.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
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<p>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00038">
      CHAPTER XXXII — OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND
      FRIENDS
    </h2>
<p>
      Oliver’s ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain and
      delay attendant on a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had
      brought on fever and ague: which hung about him for many weeks, and
      reduced him sadly. But, at length, he began, by slow degrees, to get
      better, and to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words, how
      deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how ardently he
      hoped that when he grew strong and well again, he could do something to
      show his gratitude; only something, which would let them see the love and
      duty with which his breast was full; something, however slight, which
      would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not been cast away; but
      that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued from misery, or death,
      was eager to serve them with his whole heart and soul.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Poor fellow!’ said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly endeavouring
      to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale lips; ‘you shall
      have many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We are going into the
      country, and my aunt intends that you shall accompany us. The quiet place,
      the pure air, and all the pleasure and beauties of spring, will restore
      you in a few days. We will employ you in a hundred ways, when you can bear
      the trouble.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The trouble!’ cried Oliver. ‘Oh! dear lady, if I could but work for you;
      if I could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers, or watching
      your birds, or running up and down the whole day long, to make you happy;
      what would I give to do it!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You shall give nothing at all,’ said Miss Maylie, smiling; ‘for, as I
      told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only
      take half the trouble to please us, that you promise now, you will make me
      very happy indeed.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Happy, ma’am!’ cried Oliver; ‘how kind of you to say so!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You will make me happier than I can tell you,’ replied the young lady.
      ‘To think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing
      any one from such sad misery as you have described to us, would be an
      unspeakable pleasure to me; but to know that the object of her goodness
      and compassion was sincerely grateful and attached, in consequence, would
      delight me, more than you can well imagine. Do you understand me?’ she
      inquired, watching Oliver’s thoughtful face.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh yes, ma’am, yes!’ replied Oliver eagerly; ‘but I was thinking that I
      am ungrateful now.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘To whom?’ inquired the young lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so much care of
      me before,’ rejoined Oliver. ‘If they knew how happy I am, they would be
      pleased, I am sure.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I am sure they would,’ rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; ‘and Mr. Losberne
      has already been kind enough to promise that when you are well enough to
      bear the journey, he will carry you to see them.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Has he, ma’am?’ cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure. ‘I
      don’t know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once
      again!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue
      of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Losberne set out, accordingly,
      in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When they came to
      Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s the matter with the boy?’ cried the doctor, as usual, all in a
      bustle. ‘Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That, sir,’ cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. ‘That
      house!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes; well, what of it? Stop coachman. Pull up here,’ cried the doctor.
      ‘What of the house, my man; eh?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The thieves—the house they took me to!’ whispered Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The devil it is!’ cried the doctor. ‘Hallo, there! let me out!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled out
      of the coach, by some means or other; and, running down to the deserted
      tenement, began kicking at the door like a madman.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Halloa?’ said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the door so
      suddenly, that the doctor, from the very impetus of his last kick, nearly
      fell forward into the passage. ‘What’s the matter here?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Matter!’ exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s
      reflection. ‘A good deal. Robbery is the matter.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There’ll be Murder the matter, too,’ replied the hump-backed man, coolly,
      ‘if you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I hear you,’ said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes;
      that’s it. Where’s Sikes, you thief?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement and indignation;
      then, twisting himself, dexterously, from the doctor’s grasp, growled
      forth a volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the house. Before he
      could shut the door, however, the doctor had passed into the parlour,
      without a word of parley.
    </p>
<p>
      He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not a vestige of
      anything, animate or inanimate; not even the position of the cupboards;
      answered Oliver’s description!
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now!’ said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, ‘what do you
      mean by coming into my house, in this violent way? Do you want to rob me,
      or to murder me? Which is it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pair, you
      ridiculous old vampire?’ said the irritable doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What do you want, then?’ demanded the hunchback. ‘Will you take yourself
      off, before I do you a mischief? Curse you!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘As soon as I think proper,’ said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other
      parlour; which, like the first, bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver’s
      account of it. ‘I shall find you out, some day, my friend.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Will you?’ sneered the ill-favoured cripple. ‘If you ever want me, I’m
      here. I haven’t lived here mad and all alone, for five-and-twenty years,
      to be scared by you. You shall pay for this; you shall pay for this.’ And
      so saying, the mis-shapen little demon set up a yell, and danced upon the
      ground, as if wild with rage.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Stupid enough, this,’ muttered the doctor to himself; ‘the boy must have
      made a mistake. Here! Put that in your pocket, and shut yourself up
      again.’ With these words he flung the hunchback a piece of money, and
      returned to the carriage.
    </p>
<p>
      The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildest imprecations
      and curses all the way; but as Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the driver,
      he looked into the carriage, and eyed Oliver for an instant with a glance
      so sharp and fierce and at the same time so furious and vindictive, that,
      waking or sleeping, he could not forget it for months afterwards. He
      continued to utter the most fearful imprecations, until the driver had
      resumed his seat; and when they were once more on their way, they could
      see him some distance behind: beating his feet upon the ground, and
      tearing his hair, in transports of real or pretended rage.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I am an ass!’ said the doctor, after a long silence. ‘Did you know that
      before, Oliver?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then don’t forget it another time.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘An ass,’ said the doctor again, after a further silence of some minutes.
      ‘Even if it had been the right place, and the right fellows had been
      there, what could I have done, single-handed? And if I had had assistance,
      I see no good that I should have done, except leading to my own exposure,
      and an unavoidable statement of the manner in which I have hushed up this
      business. That would have served me right, though. I am always involving
      myself in some scrape or other, by acting on impulse. It might have done
      me good.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Now, the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted upon anything
      but impulse all through his life, and it was no bad compliment to the
      nature of the impulses which governed him, that so far from being involved
      in any peculiar troubles or misfortunes, he had the warmest respect and
      esteem of all who knew him. If the truth must be told, he was a little out
      of temper, for a minute or two, at being disappointed in procuring
      corroborative evidence of Oliver’s story on the very first occasion on
      which he had a chance of obtaining any. He soon came round again, however;
      and finding that Oliver’s replies to his questions, were still as
      straightforward and consistent, and still delivered with as much apparent
      sincerity and truth, as they had ever been, he made up his mind to attach
      full credence to them, from that time forth.
    </p>
<p>
      As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlow resided, they
      were enabled to drive straight thither. When the coach turned into it, his
      heart beat so violently, that he could scarcely draw his breath.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, my boy, which house is it?’ inquired Mr. Losberne.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That! That!’ replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of the window. ‘The
      white house. Oh! make haste! Pray make haste! I feel as if I should die:
      it makes me tremble so.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Come, come!’ said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You will
      see them directly, and they will be overjoyed to find you safe and well.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh! I hope so!’ cried Oliver. ‘They were so good to me; so very, very
      good to me.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the wrong house; the next
      door. It went on a few paces, and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the
      windows, with tears of happy expectation coursing down his face.
    </p>
<p>
      Alas! the white house was empty, and there was a bill in the window. ‘To
      Let.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Knock at the next door,’ cried Mr. Losberne, taking Oliver’s arm in his.
      ‘What has become of Mr. Brownlow, who used to live in the adjoining house,
      do you know?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The servant did not know; but would go and inquire. She presently
      returned, and said, that Mr. Brownlow had sold off his goods, and gone to
      the West Indies, six weeks before. Oliver clasped his hands, and sank
      feebly backward.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Has his housekeeper gone too?’ inquired Mr. Losberne, after a moment’s
      pause.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, sir’; replied the servant. ‘The old gentleman, the housekeeper, and
      a gentleman who was a friend of Mr. Brownlow’s, all went together.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then turn towards home again,’ said Mr. Losberne to the driver; ‘and
      don’t stop to bait the horses, till you get out of this confounded
      London!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The book-stall keeper, sir?’ said Oliver. ‘I know the way there. See him,
      pray, sir! Do see him!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for one day,’ said the doctor.
      ‘Quite enough for both of us. If we go to the book-stall keeper’s, we
      shall certainly find that he is dead, or has set his house on fire, or run
      away. No; home again straight!’ And in obedience to the doctor’s impulse,
      home they went.
    </p>
<p>
      This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much sorrow and grief, even in
      the midst of his happiness; for he had pleased himself, many times during
      his illness, with thinking of all that Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin would
      say to him: and what delight it would be to tell them how many long days
      and nights he had passed in reflecting on what they had done for him, and
      in bewailing his cruel separation from them. The hope of eventually
      clearing himself with them, too, and explaining how he had been forced
      away, had buoyed him up, and sustained him, under many of his recent
      trials; and now, the idea that they should have gone so far, and carried
      with them the belief that he was an impostor and a robber—a belief
      which might remain uncontradicted to his dying day—was almost more
      than he could bear.
    </p>
<p>
      The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in the behaviour of
      his benefactors. After another fortnight, when the fine warm weather had
      fairly begun, and every tree and flower was putting forth its young leaves
      and rich blossoms, they made preparations for quitting the house at
      Chertsey, for some months.
    </p>
<p>
      Sending the plate, which had so excited Fagin’s cupidity, to the banker’s;
      and leaving Giles and another servant in care of the house, they departed
      to a cottage at some distance in the country, and took Oliver with them.
    </p>
<p>
      Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of mind and soft
      tranquillity, the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, and among the green
      hills and rich woods, of an inland village! Who can tell how scenes of
      peace and quietude sink into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close and
      noisy places, and carry their own freshness, deep into their jaded hearts!
      Men who have lived in crowded, pent-up streets, through lives of toil, and
      who have never wished for change; men, to whom custom has indeed been
      second nature, and who have come almost to love each brick and stone that
      formed the narrow boundaries of their daily walks; even they, with the
      hand of death upon them, have been known to yearn at last for one short
      glimpse of Nature’s face; and, carried far from the scenes of their old
      pains and pleasures, have seemed to pass at once into a new state of
      being. Crawling forth, from day to day, to some green sunny spot, they
      have had such memories wakened up within them by the sight of the sky, and
      hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heaven itself
      has soothed their quick decline, and they have sunk into their tombs, as
      peacefully as the sun whose setting they watched from their lonely chamber
      window but a few hours before, faded from their dim and feeble sight! The
      memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor
      of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to
      weave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved: may purify our
      thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and hatred; but beneath all
      this, there lingers, in the least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed
      consciousness of having held such feelings long before, in some remote and
      distant time, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and
      bends down pride and worldliness beneath it.
    </p>
<p>
      It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose days had been
      spent among squalid crowds, and in the midst of noise and brawling, seemed
      to enter on a new existence there. The rose and honeysuckle clung to the
      cottage walls; the ivy crept round the trunks of the trees; and the
      garden-flowers perfumed the air with delicious odours. Hard by, was a
      little churchyard; not crowded with tall unsightly gravestones, but full
      of humble mounds, covered with fresh turf and moss: beneath which, the old
      people of the village lay at rest. Oliver often wandered here; and,
      thinking of the wretched grave in which his mother lay, would sometimes
      sit him down and sob unseen; but, when he raised his eyes to the deep sky
      overhead, he would cease to think of her as lying in the ground, and would
      weep for her, sadly, but without pain.
    </p>
<p>
      It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene; the nights brought
      with them neither fear nor care; no languishing in a wretched prison, or
      associating with wretched men; nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts.
      Every morning he went to a white-headed old gentleman, who lived near the
      little church: who taught him to read better, and to write: and who spoke
      so kindly, and took such pains, that Oliver could never try enough to
      please him. Then, he would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, and hear them
      talk of books; or perhaps sit near them, in some shady place, and listen
      whilst the young lady read: which he could have done, until it grew too
      dark to see the letters. Then, he had his own lesson for the next day to
      prepare; and at this, he would work hard, in a little room which looked
      into the garden, till evening came slowly on, when the ladies would walk
      out again, and he with them: listening with such pleasure to all they
      said: and so happy if they wanted a flower that he could climb to reach,
      or had forgotten anything he could run to fetch: that he could never be
      quick enough about it. When it became quite dark, and they returned home,
      the young lady would sit down to the piano, and play some pleasant air, or
      sing, in a low and gentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt
      to hear. There would be no candles lighted at such times as these; and
      Oliver would sit by one of the windows, listening to the sweet music, in a
      perfect rapture.
    </p>
<p>
      And when Sunday came, how differently the day was spent, from any way in
      which he had ever spent it yet! and how happily too; like all the other
      days in that most happy time! There was the little church, in the morning,
      with the green leaves fluttering at the windows: the birds singing
      without: and the sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low porch, and
      filling the homely building with its fragrance. The poor people were so
      neat and clean, and knelt so reverently in prayer, that it seemed a
      pleasure, not a tedious duty, their assembling there together; and though
      the singing might be rude, it was real, and sounded more musical (to
      Oliver’s ears at least) than any he had ever heard in church before. Then,
      there were the walks as usual, and many calls at the clean houses of the
      labouring men; and at night, Oliver read a chapter or two from the Bible,
      which he had been studying all the week, and in the performance of which
      duty he felt more proud and pleased, than if he had been the clergyman
      himself.
    </p>
<p>
      In the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o’clock, roaming the fields,
      and plundering the hedges, far and wide, for nosegays of wild flowers,
      with which he would return laden, home; and which it took great care and
      consideration to arrange, to the best advantage, for the embellishment of
      the breakfast-table. There was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss Maylie’s
      birds, with which Oliver, who had been studying the subject under the able
      tuition of the village clerk, would decorate the cages, in the most
      approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce and smart for the day,
      there was usually some little commission of charity to execute in the
      village; or, failing that, there was rare cricket-playing, sometimes, on
      the green; or, failing that, there was always something to do in the
      garden, or about the plants, to which Oliver (who had studied this science
      also, under the same master, who was a gardener by trade,) applied himself
      with hearty good-will, until Miss Rose made her appearance: when there
      were a thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he had done.
    </p>
<p>
      So three months glided away; three months which, in the life of the most
      blessed and favoured of mortals, might have been unmingled happiness, and
      which, in Oliver’s were true felicity. With the purest and most amiable
      generosity on one side; and the truest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude on
      the other; it is no wonder that, by the end of that short time, Oliver
      Twist had become completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece,
      and that the fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart, was
      repaid by their pride in, and attachment to, himself.
    </p>
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