‘Clasp your arm tighter,’ said Sikes,
as he drew him through the window. ’Give
me a shawl here. They’ve hit him.
Quick! How the boy bleeds!’
Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with
the noise of fire-arms, and the shouts of men, and
the sensation of being carried over uneven ground
at a rapid pace. And then, the noises grew confused
in the distance; and a cold deadly feeling crept over
the boy’s heart; and he saw or heard no more.
WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION
BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN
A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the
ground, frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only
the heaps that had drifted into byways and corners
were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad:
which, as if expending increased fury on such prey
as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and,
whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered
it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it
was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round
the bright fire and thank God they were at home; and
for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him down and
die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes
in our bare streets, at such times, who, let their
crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them
in a more bitter world.
Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when
Mrs. Corney, the matron of the workhouse to which
our readers have been already introduced as the birthplace
of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful
fire in her own little room, and glanced, with no
small degree of complacency, at a small round table:
on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished
with all necessary materials for the most grateful
meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney
was about to solace herself with a cup of tea.
As she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where
the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a
small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction
evidently increased,—so much so, indeed,
that Mrs. Corney smiled.
‘Well!’ said the matron, leaning her elbow
on the table, and looking reflectively at the fire;
’I’m sure we have all on us a great deal
to be grateful for! A great deal, if we did but
know it. Ah!’
Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring
the mental blindness of those paupers who did not
know it; and thrusting a silver spoon (private property)
into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy,
proceeded to make the tea.
How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of
our frail minds! The black teapot, being very
small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney
was moralising; and the water slightly scalded Mrs.
Corney’s hand.
‘Drat the pot!’ said the worthy matron,
setting it down very hastily on the hob; ’a
little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups!
What use is it of, to anybody! Except,’
said Mrs. Corney, pausing, ’except to a poor
desolate creature like me. Oh dear!’
