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water, which Noah had poured over her head and shoulders. 'Oh!
Charlotte, what a mercy we have not all been murdered in our
beds!'

'Ah! mercy indeed, ma'am,' was the reply. I only hope this'll
teach master not to have any more of these dreadful creatures,
that are born to be murderers and robbers from their very cradle.
Poor Noah! He was all but killed, ma'am, when I come in.'

'Poor fellow!' said Mrs. Sowerberry: looking piteously on the
charity-boy.

Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might have been somewhere on a
level with the crown of Oliver's head, rubbed his eyes with the
inside of his wrists while this commiseration was bestowed upon
him, and performed some affecting tears and sniffs.

'What's to be done!' exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. 'Your master's
not at home; there's not a man in the house, and he'll kick that
door down in ten minutes.' Oliver's vigorous plunges against the
bit of timber in question, rendered this occurance highly
probable.

'Dear, dear! I don't know, ma'am,' said Charlotte, 'unless we
send for the police-officers.'

'Or the millingtary,' suggested Mr. Claypole.

'No, no,' said Mrs. Sowerberry: bethinking herself of Oliver's
old friend. 'Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come here
directly, and not to lose a minute; never mind your cap! Make
haste! You can hold a knife to that black eye, as you run along.
It'll keep the swelling down.'

Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his fullest
speed; and very much it astonished the people who were out
walking, to see a charity-boy tearing through the streets
pell-mell, with no cap on his head, and a clasp-knife at his eye.




CHAPTER VII

OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY

Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, and
paused not once for breath, until he reached the workhouse-gate.
Having rested here, for a minute or so, to collect a good burst
of sobs and an imposing show of tears and terror, he knocked
loudly at the wicket; and presented such a rueful face to the
aged pauper who opened it, that even he, who saw nothing but
rueful faces about him at the best of times, started back in
astonishment.

'Why, what's the matter with the boy!' said the old pauper.

'Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!' cried Noah, with well-affected dismay:
and in tones so loud and agitated, that they not only caught the
ear of Mr. Bumble himself, who happened to be hard by, but
alarmed him so much that he rushed into the yard without his
cocked hat,--which is a very curious and remarkable
circumstance: as showing that even a beadle, acted upon a sudden
and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a momentary
visitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of
personal dignity.

'Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!' said Noah: 'Oliver, sir,--Oliver has--'

'What? What?' interposed Mr. Bumble: with a gleam of pleasure
in his metallic eyes. 'Not run away; he hasn't run away, has he,
Noah?'

'No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious,'
replied Noah.

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