CHAPTER IV

Oliver is Apprenticed to an Undertaker

Mr. Bumble was returning one day to the workhouse when he met at the gate Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, a tall, bony man dressed in a worn-out black suit. As he advanced to Mr. Bumble he shook him by the hand and said:

"I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night, Mr. Bumble."

"You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry," said Mr. Bumble.

"Think so?" said the undertaker. "The prices allowed by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble."

"So are the coffins," replied the latter.

Mr. Sowerberry laughed a long time at this joke. "Well, well, Mr. Bumble," he said at length, "I don't deny that, since the new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are somewhat narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Wood is expensive, sir."

"Well, well," said Mr. Bumble, "every trade has its disadvantages. By the way, you don't know anybody who wants a boy, do you?"

"Ah!" exclaimed the undertaker, "that's the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know, Mr. Bumble, I think I'll take the boy myself."

Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm and led him into the building, where it was quickly arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening.

Oliver heard this news in perfect silence, and carrying a brown paper parcel in his hand, which was all the luggage he had, he was led away by Mr. Bumble to a new scene of suffering.

For some time they walked on in silence. As they drew near to Mr. Sowerberry's shop Mr. Bumble looked down to make sure that the boy was in good order to be seen by his new master.

"Oliver!" said Mr. Bumble. "Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head."

Oliver did as he was told at once, but when he looked up at Mr. Bumble there were tears in his eyes. Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon him. The child made a strong effort to stop weeping, but the tears rolled down his cheeks and he covered his face with both his hands.

"Well" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short and looking at him angrily, "of all the most ungrateful and ill-natured boys I have ever seen, Oliver, you are the—"

"No, no, sir," cried Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the stick; "no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so—so—"

"So what?" inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.

"So lonely, sir! So very lonely!" cried the child.

The undertaker had just closed his shop and was writing the details of the day's business by the light of the candle when Mr. Bumble entered.

"Here, Mr. Sowerberry, I've brought the boy."

"Oh! that's the boy, is it?" said the undertaker, raising the candle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. "Mrs. Sowerberry, will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear?"

Mrs. Sowerberry, a short, thin, quarrelsome woman, came from a little room behind the shop.

"My dear," said Mr. Sowerberry, respectfully, "this is the boy from the workhouse that I told you of."

"Dear me!" she said. "He's very small."

"Why, he is rather small," replied Mr. Bumble, "but he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry—he'll grow."

"Ah! I dare say he will," replied the lady angrily, "on our food and drink. I see no saving in workhouse children, not I; for they always cost more to keep than they are worth. However, men always think they know best. There! Get downstairs, little bag of bones."

The undertaker's wife opened a side door and pushed Oliver down some stairs into a damp and dark room which was used as a kitchen. In it sat an untidy girl in worn-out shoes and torn blue stockings.

"Here, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, "give this boy some of the cold bits that were put up for the dog. He hasn't come home since the morning, so he may go without them."

Oliver's eyes shone at the mention of meat; a plateful of coarse broken pieces was set before him; and he ate greedily, Mrs. Sowerberry regarding him with silent horror. When he had finished she said:

"Come with me," and, taking a dim and dirty lamp, she led the way upstairs. "Your bed is under the counter. You don't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn't matter whether you do or don't, for you can't sleep anywhere else."

Oliver obediently followed his new mistress.