Chapter XXXII

by Charles Dickens

　　Of the Happy Life Oliver Began to Lead With His Kind FriendsOliver's ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to thepain and delay attendant on a broken limb, his exposure to thewet and cold had brought on fever and ague: which hung about himfor many weeks, and reduced him sadly. But, at length, he began,by slow degrees, to get better, and to be able to say sometimes,in a few tearful words, how deeply he felt the goodness of thetwo sweet ladies, and how ardently he hoped that when he grewstrong and well again, he could do something to show hisgratitude; only something, which would let them see the love andduty with which his breast was full; something, however slight,which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not beencast away; but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescuedfrom misery, or death, was eager to serve them with his wholeheart and soul.'Poor fellow!' said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feeblyendeavouring to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to hispale lips; 'you shall have many opportunities of serving us, ifyou will. We are going into the country, and my aunt intendsthat you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air, andall the pleasure and beauties of spring, will restore you in afew days. We will employ you in a hundred ways, when you canbear the trouble.''The trouble!' cried Oliver. 'Oh! dear lady, if I could but workfor you; if I could only give you pleasure by watering yourflowers, or watching your birds, or running up and down the wholeday long, to make you happy; what would I give to do it!''You shall give nothing at all,' said Miss Maylie, smiling; 'for,as I told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; andif you only take half the trouble to please us, that you promisenow, you will make me very happy indeed.''Happy, ma'am!' cried Oliver; 'how kind of you to say so!''You will make me happier than I can tell you,' replied the younglady. 'To think that my dear good aunt should have been themeans of rescuing any one from such sad misery as you havedescribed to us, would be an unspeakable pleasure to me; but toknow that the object of her goodness and compassion was sincerelygrateful and attached, in consequence, would delight me, morethan you can well imagine. Do you understand me?' she inquired,watching Oliver's thoughtful face.'Oh yes, ma'am, yes!' replied Oliver eagerly; 'but I was thinkingthat I am ungrateful now.''To whom?' inquired the young lady.'To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so muchcare of me before,' rejoined Oliver. 'If they knew how happy Iam, they would be pleased, I am sure.''I am sure they would,' rejoined Oliver's benefactress; 'and Mr.Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that when youare well enough to bear the journey, he will carry you to seethem.''Has he, ma'am?' cried Oliver, his face brightening withpleasure. 'I don't know what I shall do for joy when I see theirkind faces once again!'In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo thefatigue of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Losberne setout, accordingly, in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs.Maylie. When they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned verypale, and uttered a loud exclamation.'What's the matter with the boy?' cried the doctor, as usual, allin a bustle. 'Do you see anything--hear anything--feelanything--eh?''That, sir,' cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window.'That house!''Yes; well, what of it? Stop coachman. Pull up here,' cried thedoctor. 'What of the house, my man; eh?''The thieves--the house they took me to!' whispered Oliver.'The devil it is!' cried the doctor. 'Hallo, there! let me out!'But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he hadtumbled out of the coach, by some means or other; and, runningdown to the deserted tenement, began kicking at the door like amadman.'Halloa?' said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the doorso suddenly, that the doctor, from the very impetus of his lastkick, nearly fell forward into the passage. 'What's the matterhere?''Matter!' exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment'sreflection. 'A good deal. Robbery is the matter.''There'll be Murder the matter, too,' replied the hump-backedman, coolly, 'if you don't take your hands off. Do you hear me?''I hear you,' said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake.'Where's--confound the fellow, what's his rascally name--Sikes;that's it. Where's Sikes, you thief?'The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement andindignation; then, twisting himself, dexterously, from thedoctor's grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths, andretired into the house. Before he could shut the door, however,the doctor had passed into the parlour, without a word of parley.He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not avestige of anything, animate or inanimate; not even the positionof the cupboards; answered Oliver's description!'Now!' said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly,'what do you mean by coming into my house, in this violent way?Do you want to rob me, or to murder me? Which is it?''Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot anda pair, you ridiculous old vampire?' said the irritable doctor.'What do you want, then?' demanded the hunchback. 'Will you takeyourself off, before I do you a mischief? Curse you!''As soon as I think proper,' said Mr. Losberne, looking into theother parlour; which, like the first, bore no resemblancewhatever to Oliver's account of it. 'I shall find you out, someday, my friend.''Will you?' sneered the ill-favoured cripple. 'If you ever wantme, I'm here. I haven't lived here mad and all alone, forfive-and-twenty years, to be scared by you. You shall pay forthis; you shall pay for this.' And so saying, the mis-shapenlittle demon set up a yell, and danced upon the ground, as ifwild with rage.'Stupid enough, this,' muttered the doctor to himself; 'the boymust have made a mistake. Here! Put that in your pocket, andshut yourself up again.' With these words he flung the hunchbacka piece of money, and returned to the carriage.The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildestimprecations and curses all the way; but as Mr. Losberne turnedto speak to the driver, he looked into the carriage, and eyedOliver for an instant with a glance so sharp and fierce and atthe same time so furious and vindictive, that, waking orsleeping, he could not forget it for months afterwards. Hecontinued to utter the most fearful imprecations, until thedriver had resumed his seat; and when they were once more ontheir way, they could see him some distance behind: beating hisfeet upon the ground, and tearing his hair, in transports of realor pretended rage.'I am an ass!' said the doctor, after a long silence. 'Did youknow that before, Oliver?''No, sir.''Then don't forget it another time.''An ass,' said the doctor again, after a further silence of someminutes. 'Even if it had been the right place, and the rightfellows had been there, what could I have done, single-handed?And if I had had assistance, I see no good that I should havedone, except leading to my own exposure, and an unavoidablestatement of the manner in which I have hushed up this business.That would have served me right, though. I am always involvingmyself in some scrape or other, by acting on impulse. It mighthave done me good.'Now, the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted uponanything but impulse all through his life, and if was no badcompliment to the nature of the impulses which governed him, thatso far from being involved in any peculiar troubles ormisfortunes, he had the warmest respect and esteem of all whoknew him. If the truth must be told, he was a little out oftemper, for a minute or two, at being disappointed in procuringcorroborative evidence of Oliver's story on the very firstoccasion on which he had a chance of obtaining any. He soon cameround again, however; and finding that Oliver's replies to hisquestions, were still as straightforward and consistent, andstill delivered with as much apparent sincerity and truth, asthey had ever been, he made up his mind to attach full credenceto them, from that time forth.As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlowresided, they were enabled to drive straight thither. When thecoach turned into it, his heart beat so violently, that he couldscarcely draw his breath.'Now, my boy, which house is it?' inquired Mr. Losberne.'That! That!' replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of thewindow. 'The white house. Oh! make haste! Pray make haste! Ifeel as if I should die: it makes me tremble so.''Come, come!' said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder.'You will see them directly, and they will be overjoyed to findyou safe and well.''Oh! I hope so!' cried Oliver. 'They were so good to me; sovery, very good to me.'The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the wrong house;the next door. It went on a few paces, and stopped again.Oliver looked up at the windows, with tears of happy expectationcoursing down his face.Alas! the white house was empty, and there was a bill in thewindow. 'To Let.''Knock at the next door,' cried Mr. Losberne, taking Oliver's armin his. 'What has become of Mr. Brownlow, who used to live inthe adjoining house, do you know?'The servant did not know; but would go and inquire. Shepresently returned, and said, that Mr. Brownlow had sold off hisgoods, and gone to the West Indies, six weeks before. Oliverclasped his hands, and sank feebly backward.'Has his housekeeper gone too?' inquired Mr. Losberne, after amoment's pause.'Yes, sir'; replied the servant. 'The old gentleman, thehousekeeper, and a gentleman who was a friend of Mr. Brownlow's,all went together.'Then turn towards home again,' said Mr. Losberne to the driver;'and don't stop to bait the horses, till you get out of thisconfounded London!''The book-stall keeper, sir?' said Oliver. 'I know the waythere. See him, pray, sir! Do see him!''My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for one day,' saidthe doctor. 'Quite enough for both of us. If we go to thebook-stall keeper's, we shall certainly find that he is dead, orhas set his house on fire, or run away. No; home againstraight!' And in obedience to the doctor's impulse, home theywent.This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much sorrow and grief,even in the midst of his happiness; for he had pleased himself,many times during his illness, with thinking of all that Mr.Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin would say to him: and what delight itwould be to tell them how many long days and nights he had passedin reflecting on what they had done for him, and in bewailing hiscruel separation from them. The hope of eventually clearinghimself with them, too, and explaining how he had been forcedaway, had buoyed him up, and sustained him, under many of hisrecent trials; and now, the idea that they should have gone sofar, and carried with them the belief that the was an impostorand a robber--a belief which might remain uncontradicted to hisdying day--was almost more than he could bear.The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in thebehaviour of his benefactors. After another fortnight, when thefine warm weather had fairly begun, and every tree and flower wasputting forth its young leaves and rich blossoms, they madepreparations for quitting the house at Chertsey, for some months.Sending the plate, which had so excited Fagin's cupidity, to thebanker's; and leaving Giles and another servant in care of thehouse, they departed to a cottage at some distance in thecountry, and took Oliver with them.Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of mind andsoft tranquillity, the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, andamong the green hills and rich woods, of an inland village! Whocan tell how scenes of peace and quietude sink into the minds ofpain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places, and carry their ownfreshness, deep into their jaded hearts! Men who have lived incrowded, pent-up streets, through lives of toil, and who havenever wished for change; men, to whom custom has indeed beensecond nature, and who have come almost to love each brick andstone that formed the narrow boundaries of their daily walks;even they, with the hand of death upon them, have been known toyearn at last for one short glimpse of Nature's face; and,carried far from the scenes of their old pains and pleasures,have seemed to pass at once into a new state of being. Crawlingforth, from day to day, to some green sunny spot, they have hadsuch memories wakened up within them by the sight of the sky, andhill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heavenitself has soothed their quick decline, and they have sunk intotheir tombs, as peacefully as the sun whose setting they watchedfrom their lonely chamber window but a few hours before, fadedfrom their dim and feeble sight! The memories which peacefulcountry scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of itsthoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how toweave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved: maypurify our thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity andhatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the leastreflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of havingheld such feelings long before, in some remote and distant time,which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, andbends down pride and worldliness beneath it.It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose dayshad been spent among squalid crowds, and in the midst of noiseand brawling, seemed to enter on a new existence there. The roseand honeysuckle clung to the cottage walls; the ivy crept roundthe trunks of the trees; and the garden-flowers perfumed the airwith delicious odours. Hard by, was a little churchyard; notcrowded with tall unsightly gravestones, but full of humblemounds, covered with fresh turf and moss: beneath which, the oldpeople of the village lay at rest. Oliver often wandered here;and, thinking of the wretched grave in which his mother lay,would sometimes sit him down and sob unseen; but, when he raisedhis eyes to the deep sky overhead, he would cease to think of heras lying in the ground, and would weep for her, sadly, butwithout pain.It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene; thenights brought with them neither fear nor care; no languishing ina wretched prison, or associating with wretched men; nothing butpleasant and happy thoughts. Every morning he went to awhite-headed old gentleman, who lived near the little church:who taught him to read better, and to write: and who spoke sokindly, and took such pains, that Oliver could never try enoughto please him. Then, he would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose,and hear them talk of books; or perhaps sit near them, in someshady place, and listen whilst the young lady read: which hecould have done, until it grew too dark to see the letters.Then, he had his own lesson for the next day to prepare; and atthis, he would work hard, in a little room which looked into thegarden, till evening came slowly on, when the ladies would walkout again, and he with them: listening with such pleasure to allthey said: and so happy if they wanted a flower that he couldclimb to reach, or had forgotten anything he could run to fetch:that he could never be quick enought about it. When it becamequite dark, and they returned home, the young lady would sit downto the piano, and play some pleasant air, or sing, in a low andgentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to hear.There would be no candles lighted at such times as these; andOliver would sit by one of the windows, listening to the sweetmusic, in a perfect rapture.And when Sunday came, how differently the day was spent, from anyway in which he had ever spent it yet! and how happily too; likeall the other days in that most happy time! There was the littlechurch, in the morning, with the green leaves fluttering at thewindows: the birds singing without: and the sweet-smelling airstealing in at the low porch, and filling the homely buildingwith its fragrance. The poor people were so neat and clean, andknelt so reverently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not atedious duty, their assembling there together; and though thesinging might be rude, it was real, and sounded more musical (toOliver's ears at least) than any he had ever heard in churchbefore. Then, there were the walks as usual, and many calls atthe clean houses of the labouring men; and at night, Oliver reada chapter or two from the Bible, which he had been studying allthe week, and in the performance of which duty he felt more proudand pleased, than if he had been the clergyman himself.In the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o'clock, roamingthe fields, and plundering the hedges, far and wide, for nosegaysof wild flowers, with which he would return laden, home; andwhich it took great care and consideration to arrange, to thebest advantage, for the embellishment of the breakfast-table.There was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss Maylie's birds, withwhich Oliver, who had been studying the subject under the abletuition of the village clerk, would decorate the cages, in themost approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce andsmart for the day, there was usually some little commission ofcharity to execute in the village; or, failing that, there wasrare cricket-playing, sometimes, on the green; or, failing that,there was always something to do in the garden, or about theplants, to which Oliver (who had studied this science also, underthe same master, who was a gardener by trade,) applied himselfwith hearty good-will, until Miss Rose made her appearance: whenthere were a thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he haddone.So three months glided away; three months which, in the life ofthe most blessed and favoured of mortals, might have beenunmingled happiness, and which, in Oliver's were true felicity.With the purest and most amiable generousity on one side; and thetruest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude on the other; it is nowonder that, by the end of that short time, Oliver Twist hadbecome completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece,and that the fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart,was repaid by their pride in, and attachment to, himself.