CHAPTER XVII

Oliver's Life with the Maylies

Oliver's sufferings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain of a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on fever which hung about him for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. But at length he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and was able to say, in a few tearful words, how deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how sincerely he hoped that when he grew strong and well again he could do something to show his gratitude.

"Poor fellow!" said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly trying 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 pleasures 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."

"The trouble!" cried Oliver. "Oh! dear lady, if I could but work for you!"

"You shall," said Rose.

A fortnight later, 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 leaving the house at Chertsey for some months. Leaving Giles and another servant in charge of the house, they departed to a cottage at some distance in the country, and took Oliver with them.

It was a lovely spot to which they had gone. Oliver, whose days had been spent in the midst of noise and quarrelling, seemed to enter on a new existence there. The days were peaceful and calm; the nights brought with them neither fear nor care; no suffering in a wretched prison or associating with wretched men; nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every morning he went to an old gentleman who lived near the little village church, who taught him to read better, and to write. 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 while the young lady read. Then he had his own lesson to prepare for the next day. In the evening there were more walks, and at night the young lady would sit down to the piano and play some pleasant tune, or sing in a low gentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to hear.

So three months passed away; three months of perfect happiness. With the purest and most amiable generosity on one side, and the warmest gratitude on the other, it is no wonder that, by the end of that short time, Oliver Twist had become a strongly-attached and dearly-beloved member of the small family.