oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第14部分

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said；　that　that　mother　of　his　made　her　way　here；　against　difficulties　
and　pain　that　would　have　killed　any　well…disposed　woman；　weeks　
before。”　

At　this　point　of　Mr。　Bumble’s　discourse；　Oliver；　just　hearing　
enough　to　know　that　some　new　allusion　was　being　made　to　his　
mother；　recommenced　kicking；　with　a　violence　that　rendered　
every　other　sound　inaudible。　Sowerberry　returned　at　this　
juncture。　Oliver’s　offence　having　been　explained　to　him；　with　such　
exaggerations　as　the　ladies　thought　best　calculated　to　rouse　his　ire；　
he　unlocked　the　cellar…door　in　a　twinkling；　and　dragged　his　
rebellious　apprentice　out；　by　the　collar。　Oliver’s　clothes　had　been　
torn　in　the　beating　he　had　received；　his　face　was　bruised　and　
scratched；　and　his　hair　scattered　over　his　forehead。　The　angry　
flush　had　not　disappeared；　however；　and　when　he　was　pulled　out　
of　his　prison；　he　scowled　boldly　on　Noah；　and　looked　quite　
undismayed。　

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“Now；　you　are　a　nice　young　fellow；　ain’t　you？”　said　Sowerberry；　
giving　Oliver　a　shake；　and　a　box　on　the　ear。　

“He　called　my　mother　names；”　replied　Oliver。　

“Well；　and　what　if　he　did；　you　little；　ungrateful　wretch？”　said　
Mrs。　Sowerberry。　“She　deserved　what　he　said；　and　worse。”　

“She　didn’t；”　said　Oliver。　

“She　did；”　said　Mrs。　Sowerberry。　

“It’s　a　lie！”　said　Oliver。　

Mrs。　Sowerberry　burst　into　a　flood　of　tears。　

This　flood　of　tears　left　Mr。　Sowerberry　no　alternative。　If　he　had　
hesitated　for　one　instant　to　punish　Oliver　most　severely；　it　must　be　
quite　clear　to　every　experienced　reader　that　he　would　have　been；　
according　to　all　precedents　in　disputes　of　matrimony　established；　a　
brute；　an　unnatural　husband；　an　insulting　creature；　a　base　
imitation　of　a　man；　and　various　other　agreeable　characters　too　
numerous　for　recital　within　the　limits　of　this　chapter。　To　do　him　
justice；　he　was；　as　far　as　his　power　went—it　was　not　very　
extensive—kindly　disposed　towards　the　boy；　perhaps；　because　it　
was　his　interest　to　do　so；　perhaps；　because　his　wife　disliked　him。　
The　flood　of　tears；　however；　left　him　no　resource；　so　he　at　once　
gave　him　a　drubbing；　which　satisfied　even　Mrs。　Sowerberry　
herself；　and　rendered　Mr。　Bumble’s　subsequent　application　of　the　
parochial　cane；　rather　unnecessary。　For　the　rest　of　the　day；　he　was　
shut　up　in　the　back　kitchen；　in　company　with　a　pump　and　a　slice　of　
bread；　and；　at　night；　Mrs。　Sowerberry；　after　making　various　
remarks　outside　the　door；　by　no　means　complimentary　to　the　
memory　of　his　mother；　looked　into　the　room；　and；　amidst　the　jeers　
and　pointings　of　Noah　and　Charlotte；　ordered　him　upstairs　to　his　
dismal　bed。　

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It　was　not　until　he　was　left　alone　in　the　silence　and　stillness　of　
the　gloomy　workshop　of　the　undertaker；　that　Oliver　gave　way　to　
the　feelings　which　the　day’s　treatment　may　be　supposed　likely　to　
have　awakened　in　a　mere　child。　He　had　listened　to　their　taunts　
with　a　look　of　contempt；　he　had　borne　the　lash　without　a　cry；　for　
he　felt　that　pride　swelling　in　his　heart　which　would　have　kept　
down　a　shriek　to　the　last；　though　they　had　roasted　him　alive。　But　
now；　when　there　were　none　to　see　or　hear　him；　he　fell　upon　his　
knees　on　the　floor；　and；　hiding　his　face　in　his　hands；　wept　such　
tears　as—God　send　for　the　credit　of　our　nature—few　so　young　may　
ever　have　cause　to　pour　out　before　Him！　

For　a　long　time；　Oliver　remained　motionless　in　this　attitude。　
The　candle　was　burning　low　in　the　socket　when　he　rose　to　his　feet。　
Having　gazed　curiously　round　him　and　listened　intently；　he　gently　
undid　the　fastenings　of　the　door；　and　looked　abroad。　

It　was　a　cold；　dark　night。　The　stars　seemed；　to　the　boy’s　eyes；　
farther　from　the　earth　than　he　had　ever　seen　them　before；　there　
was　no　wind；　and　the　sombre　shadows　thrown　by　the　trees　upon　
the　ground；　looked　sepulchral　and　death…like；　from　being　so　still。　
He　softly　reclosed　the　door。　Having　availed　himself　of　the　expiring　
light　of　the　candle　to　tie　up　in　a　handkerchief　the　few　articles　of　
wearing　apparel　he　had；　sat　himself　down　upon　a　bench；　to　wait　
for　morning。　

With　the　first　ray　of　light　that　struggled　through　the　crevices　in　
the　shutters；　Oliver　arose；　and　again　unbarred　the　door。　One　timid　
look　around—one　moment’s　pause　of　hesitation—he　had　closed　it　
behind　him；　and　was　in　the　open　street。　

He　looked　to　the　right　and　to　the　left；　uncertain　whither　to　fly。　
He　remembered　to　have　seen　the　wagons；　as　they　went　out；　toiling　

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up　the　hill。　He　took　the　same　route；　and；　arriving　at　a　footpath　
across　the　fields；　which　he　knew；　after　some　distance；　led　out　again　
into　the　road；　struck　into　it；　and　walked　quickly　on。　

Along　the　same　footpath；　Oliver　well　remembered　he　had　
trotted　beside　Mr。　Bumble；　when　he　first　carried　him　to　the　
workhouse　from　the　farm。　His　way　lay　directly　in　front　of　the　
cottage。　His　heart　beat　quickly　when　he　bethought　himself　of　this；　
and　he　half…resolved　to　turn　back。　He　had　come　a　long　way　though；　
and　should　lose　a　great　deal　of　time　by　doing　so。　Besides；　it　was　so　
early　that　there　was　very　little　fear　of　his　being　seen；　so　he　walked　
on。　

He　reached　the　house。　There　was　no　appearance　of　its　inmates　
stirring　at　that　early　hour。　Oliver　stopped；　and　peeped　into　the　
garden。　A　child　was　weeding　one　of　the　little　beds；　as　he　stopped；　
he　raised　his　pale　face　and　disclosed　the　features　of　one　of　his　
former　companions。　Oliver　felt　glad　to　see　him；　before　he　went；　
for；　though　younger　than　himself；　he　had　been　his　little　friend　and　
playmate。　They　had　been　beaten；　and　starved；　and　shut　up　
together；　many　and　many　a　time。　

“Hush；　Dick！”　said　Oliver；　as　the　boy　ran　to　the　gate；　and　thrust　
his　thin　arm　between　the　rails　to　greet　him。　“Is　any　one　up？”　

“Nobody　but　me；”　replied　the　child。　

“You　mustn’t　say　you　saw　me；　Dick；”　said　Oliver。　“I　am　running　
away。　They　beat　and　ill…use　me；　Dick；　and　I　am　going　to　seek　my　
fortune；　some　long　way　off。　I　don’t　know　where。　How　pale　you　
are！”　

“I　heard　the　doctor　tell　them　I　was　dying；”　replied　the　child；　
with　a　faint　smile。　“I　am　very　glad　to　see　you；　dear；　but　don’t　stop；　
don’t　stop！”　

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“Yes；　yes；　I　will；　to　say　good…bye　to　you；”　replied　Oliver。　“I　shall　
see　you　again；　Dick。　I　know　I　shall！　You　will　be　well　and　happy！”　

“I　hope　so；”　replied　the　child。　“After　I　am　dead；　but　not　before。　I　
know　the　doctor　must　be　right；　Oliver；　because　I　dream　so　much　of　
heaven；　and　angels；　and　kind　faces　that　I　never　see　when　I　am　
awake。　Kiss　me；”　said　the　child；　climbing　up　the　low　gate；　and　
flinging　his　little　arms　round　Oliver’s　neck。　“Good…bye；　dear！　God　
bless　you！”　

The　blessing　was　from　a　young　child’s　lips；　but　it　was　the　first　
that　Oliver　had　ever　heard　invoked　upon　his　head；　and　through　
the　struggles　and　sufferings；　and　troubles　and　changes；　of　his　after　
life；　he　never　once　forgot　it。　

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Chapter　8　

Oliver　Walks　To　London—He　Encounters　On　The
Road　A　Strange　Sort　Of　Young　Gentleman。


O　liver　reached　the　stile；　at　which　the　by…path　terminated；　
and　once　more　gained　the　high…road。　It　was　eight　o’clock　
now。　Though　he　was　nearly　five　miles　away　from　the　
town；　he　ran；　and　hid　behind　the　hedges；　by　turns；　till　noon；　
fearing　that　he　might　be　pursued　and　overtaken。　Then　he　sat　
down　to　rest　by　the　side　of　the　milestone；　and　began　to　think；　for　
the　first　time；　where　he　had　better　go　and　try　to　live。　

The　stone　by　which　he　was　seated；　bore；　in　large　characters；　an　
intimation　that　it　was　just　seventy　miles　from　that　spot　to　London。　
The　name　awakened　a　new　train　of　ideas　in　the　boy’s　mind。　
London！—that　great　large　place！—nobody—not　even　Mr。　
Bumble—could　ever　find　him　there！　He　had　often　heard　the　old　
men　in　the　workhouse；　too；　say　that　no　lad　of　spirit　need　want　in　
London；　and　that　there　were　ways　of　living　in　that　vast　city；　which　
those　who　had　been　bred　up　in　country　parts　had　no　idea　of。　It　was　
the　very　place　for　a　homeless　boy；　who　must　die　in　the　streets　
unless　some　one　helped　him。　As　these　things　passed　through　his　
thoughts；　he　jumped　upon　his　feet；　and　again　walked　forward。　

He　had　diminished　the　distance　between　himself　and　London　
by　full　four　miles　more；　before　he　recollected　how　much　he　must　
undergo　ere　he　could　hope　to　reach　his　place　of　destination。　As　
this　consideration　forced　itself　upon　him；　he　slackened　his　pace　a　
little；　and　meditated　upon　his　means　of　getting　there。　He　had　a　

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crust　of　bread；　a　coarse　shirt；　and　two　pairs　of　stockings；　in　his　
bundle。　He　had　a　penny　too—a　gift　of　Sowerberry’s　after　some　
funeral　in　which　he　had　acquitted　himself　more　than　ordinarily　
well—in　his　pocket。　“A　clean　shirt；”　thought　Oliver；　“is　a　very　
comfortable　thing；　very；　and　so　are　two　pairs　of　darned　stockings；　
and　so　is　a　penny；　but　they　are　small　helps　to　a　sixty…five　miles’　
wal