CHAPTER II

Early Years

For the next eight or ten months Oliver was brought up by hand. Then he was sent to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other young parentless children rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing. They were under the charge of an elderly woman called Mrs. Mann who received from the government sevenpence halfpenny weekly for each child. Being a woman of wisdom and experience she knew what was good for the children and what was good for herself. So she kept the greater part of the weekly money for her own use, and gave the children in her charge hardly enough to keep them alive.

It cannot be expected that this system of bringing up children would produce any very extraordinary or strong ones. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday found him a pale, weak child, very thin and rather below average height. But the child was full of spirit.

He was keeping his ninth birthday in the coal-cellar with two other children; they had, all three, been beaten by Mrs. Mann and then locked up for daring to say they were hungry.

Suddenly, Mrs. Mann was startled by the appearance of Mr. Bumble, a workhouse official; a fat man, full of a sense of his own importance. The purpose of his visit was to take Oliver back to the workhouse, for he was now too old to remain with Mrs. Mann.

Oliver, whose face and hands had by this time been washed in a hurry, was led into the room by his kind-hearted protectress.

"Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann.

Oliver obeyed.

"Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble in a majestic voice.

Oliver was about to say that he would readily go along with anybody, when, looking upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind Mr. Bumble's chair, and was shaking her fist at him. He understood what she meant at once.

"Will she go with me?" asked poor Oliver.

"No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble. "But she'll come and see you sometimes."

Oliver pretended to be very sad at going away; it was easy for him to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent bad treatment are great helpers if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand kisses, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse. Oliver was led away by Mr. Bumble from the miserable home where one kind word or look had never lighted the darkness of his early years.

Life in the workhouse was very severe indeed. The members of the board which managed it had made a rule that the children should work to earn their living, and that they should be given three meals of thin soup a day, with an onion twice a week and half a cake on Sundays.

The room in which the boys were fed was a large stone hall, with a huge pot at one end: out of which the master, assisted by one or two women, served out the soup at mealtimes. Each boy had one small bowl, and no more—except on feast days, when he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never needed washing. The boys polished them with their spoons till they shone again, and when they had performed this operation they would sit staring at the huge pot, with such eager eyes, as if they could have eaten it up.

Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the pangs of slow starvation for three months; at last they got so wild with hunger that one boy, who was tall for his age, told his companions that unless he had another bowl of soup every day, he was afraid he might some night eat the boy who slept next to him. He had a wild hungry eye, and they fully believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist.

The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in his cook's uniform, stood beside the huge pot, with his two assistants behind him; the soup was served out. It quickly disappeared; the boys whispered to each other and made signs to Oliver. He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, bowl in hand, said, "Please, sir, I want some more."

The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed with horror and astonishment on the small boy for some seconds.

"What!" he said at length in a faint voice.

"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."

The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with his big spoon; held him tight in his arms; and cried aloud for Mr. Bumble.

Mr. Bumble, hearing the cry, and learning the cause for it, rushed into the room where the board were sitting in a solemn meeting, and addressing the gentleman in the high chair, said,

"Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir. Oliver Twist has asked for more."

There was a general alarm. Horror was on every face.

"For more!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Be calm, Bumble, and answer me clearly. Do you mean to say that he asked for more, after he had eaten the supper given by the board?"

"He did, sir," replied Bumble.

"That boy will be hanged," said one of the gentlemen on the board. "I know that boy will be hanged."

Oliver was locked up at once; and next morning a notice was put up on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the workhouse. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade or business.