oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第29章

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dutiful　letters　home　four　times　a　year；　that　it　brought　the　tears　into　
her　eyes　to　talk　about　them。　When　the　old　lady　had　expatiated；　a　
long　time；　on　the　excellences　of　her　children；　and　the　merits　of　her　
kind　good　husband　besides；　who　had　been　dead　and　gone；　poor　
dear　soul！　just　six…and…twenty　years；　it　was　time　to　have　tea。　After　
tea　she　began　to　teach　Oliver　cribbage；　which　he　learned　as　
quickly　as　she　could　teach；　and　at　which　game　they　played；　with　
great　interest　and　gravity；　until　it　was　time　for　the　invalid　to　have　
some　warm　wine…and…water；　with　a　slice　of　dry　toast；　and　then　to　
go　cosily　to　bed。　

These　were　happy　days；　those　of　Oliver’s　recovery。　Everything　
was　so　quiet；　and　neat；　and　orderly；　everybody　so　kind　and　gentle；　
that　after　the　noise　and　turbulence　in　the　midst　of　which　he　had　
always　lived；　it　seemed　like　heaven　itself。　He　was　no　sooner　strong　
enough　to　put　his　clothes　on；　properly；　than　Mr。　Brownlow　caused　
a　complete　new　suit；　and　a　new　cap；　and　a　new　pair　of　shoes；　to　be　
provided　for　him。　As　Oliver　was　told　that　he　might　do　what　he　
liked　with　the　old　clothes；　he　gave　them　to　a　servant　who　had　been　
very　kind　to　him　and　asked　her　to　sell　them　to　a　Jew；　and　keep　the　

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money　for　herself。　This　she　very　readily　did；　and；　as　Oliver　looked　
out　of　the　parlour　window；　and　saw　the　Jew　roll　them　up　in　his　bag　
and　walk　away　he　felt　quite　delighted　to　think　that　they　were　
safely　gone；　and　that　there　was　now　no　possible　danger　of　his　ever　
being　able　to　wear　them　again。　They　were　sad　rags；　to　tell　the　
truth；　and　Oliver　had　never　had　a　new　suit　before。　

One　evening；　about　a　week　after　the　affair　of　the　picture；　as　he　
was　sitting　talking　to　Mrs。　Bedwin；　there　came　a　message　down　
from　Mr。　Brownlow；　that　if　Oliver　Twist　felt　pretty　well；　he　should　
like　to　see　him　in　his　study；　and　talk　to　him　a　little　while。　

“Bless　us；　and　save　us！　Wash　your　hands；　and　let　me　part　your　
hair　nicely　for　you；　child；”　said　Mrs。　Bedwin。　“Dear　heart　alive！　If　
we　had　known　he　would　have　asked　for　you　we　would　have　put　
you　a　clean　collar　on；　and　made　you　as　smart　as　sixpence！”　

Oliver　did　as　the　old　lady　bade　him；　and；　although　she　lamented　
grievously；　meanwhile；　that　there　was　not　even　time　to　crimp　the　
little　frill；　that　bordered　his　shirt　collar；　he　looked　so　delicate　and　
handsome；　despite　that　important　personal　advantage；　that　she　
went　so　far　as　to　say；　looking　at　him　with　great　complacency；　from　
head　to　foot；　that　she　really　didn’t　think　it　would　have　been　
possible；　on　the　longest　notice；　to　have　made　much　difference　in　
him　for　the　better。　

Thus　encouraged；　Oliver　tapped　at　the　study　door。　On　Mr。　
Brownlow　calling　to　him　to　come　in；　he　found　himself　in　a　little；　
back　room；　quite　full　of　books；　with　a　window；　looking　into　some　
pleasant　little　gardens。　There　was　a　table　drawn　up　before　the　
window；　at　which　Mr。　Brownlow　was　seated　reading。　When　he　saw　
Oliver；　he　pushed　the　book　away　from　him；　and　told　him　to　come　
near　the　table；　and　sit　down。　Oliver　complied；　marvelling　where　

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the　people　could　be　found　to　read　such　a　great　number　of　books　as　
seemed　to　be　written　to　make　the　world　wiser。　Which　is　still　a　
marvel　to　more　experienced　people　than　Oliver　Twist；　every　day　of　
their　lives。　

“There　are　a　good　many　books；　are　there　not；　my　boy？”　said　
Mr。　Brownlow；　observing　the　curiosity　with　which　Oliver　surveyed　
the　shelves　that　reached　from　the　floor　to　the　ceiling。　

“A　great　number；　sir；”　replied　Oliver。　“I　never　saw　so　many。”　

“You　shall　read　them；　if　you　behave　well；”　said　the　old　
gentleman　kindly；　“and　you　will　like　that；　better　than　looking　at　
the　outsides—that　is；　in　some　cases；　because　there　are　books　of　
which　the　backs　and　covers　are　by　far　the　best　parts。”　

“I　suppose　they　are　those　heavy　ones；　sir；”　said　Oliver；　pointing　
to　some　large　quartos；　with　a　good　deal　of　gilding　about　the　
binding。　

“Not　always　those；”　said　the　old　gentleman；　patting　Oliver　on　
the　head；　and　smiling　as　he　did　so；　“there　are　other　equally　heavy　
ones；　though　of　a　much　smaller　size。　How　should　you　like　to　grow　
up　a　clever　man；　and　write　books；　eh？”　

“I　think　I　would　rather　read　them；　sir；”　replied　Oliver。　

“What！　wouldn’t　you　like　to　be　a　book…writer？　said　the　old　
gentleman。　

Oliver　considered　a　little　while；　and　at　last　said；　he　should　think　
it　would　be　a　much　better　thing　to　be　a　book…seller；　upon　which　
the　old　gentleman　laughed　heartily；　and　declared　he　had　said　a　
very　good　thing。　Which　Oliver　felt　glad　to　have　done；　though　he　by　
no　means　knew　what　it　was。　

“Well；　well；”　said　the　old　gentleman；　composing　his　features。　
“Don’t　be　afraid！　We　won’t　make　an　author　of　you；　while　there’s　an　

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honest　trade　to　be　learned；　or　brick…making　to　turn　to。”　

“Thank　you；　sir；”　said　Oliver。　At　the　earnest　manner　of　his　
reply；　the　old　gentleman　laughed　again；　and　said　something　about　
a　curious　instinct；　which　Oliver；　not　understanding；　paid　no　very　
great　attention　to。　

“Now；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　speaking　if　possible　in　a　kinder；　but　
at　the　same　time　in　a　much　more　serious　manner　than　Oliver　had　
ever　known　him　assume　yet；　“I　want　you　to　pay　great　attention；　
my　boy；　to　what　I　am　going　to　say。　I　shall　talk　to　you　without　any　
reserve　because　I　am　sure　you　are　as　well　able　to　understand　me；　
as　many　older　persons　would　be。”　

“Oh；　don’t　tell　me　you　are　going　to　send　me　away；　sir；　pray！”　
exclaimed　Oliver；　alarmed　at　the　serious　tone　of　the　old　
gentleman’s　commencement。　“Don’t　turn　me　out　of　doors　to　
wander　in　the　streets　again。　Let　me　stay　here；　and　be　a　servant。　
Don’t　send　me　back　to　the　wretched　place　I　came　from。　Have　
mercy　upon　a　poor　boy；　sir！”　

“My　dear　child；”　said　the　old　gentleman；　moved　by　the　warmth　
of　Oliver’s　sudden　appeal；　“you　need　not　be　afraid　of　my　deserting　
you；　unless　you　give　me　cause。”　

“I　never；　never　will；　sir；”　interposed　Oliver。　

“I　hope　not；”　rejoined　the　old　gentleman。　“I　do　not　think　you　
ever　will。　I　have　been　deceived；　before；　in　the　objects　whom　I　have　
endeavoured　to　benefit；　but　I　feel　strongly　disposed　to　trust　you；　
nevertheless；　and　I　am　more　interested　in　your　behalf　than　I　can　
well　account　for；　even　to　myself。　The　persons　on　whom　I　have　
bestowed　my　dearest　love；　lie　deep　in　their　graves；　but；　although　
the　happiness　and　delight　of　my　life　lie　buried　there　too；　I　have　not　
made　a　coffin　of　my　heart；　and　sealed　it　up；　for　ever；　on　my　best　

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affections。　Deep　affliction　has　but　strengthened　and　refined　them。”　

As　the　old　gentleman　said　this　in　a　low　voice；　more　to　himself　
than　to　his　companion；　and　as　he　remained　silent　for　a　short　time　
afterwards；　Oliver　sat　quite　still。　

“Well；　well！”　said　the　old　gentleman　at　length；　in　a　more　
cheerful　tone；　“I　only　say　this；　because　you　have　a　young　heart；　
and　knowing　that　I　have　suffered　great　pain　and　sorrow；　you　will　
be　more　careful；　perhaps；　not　to　wound　me　again。　You　say　you　are　
an　orphan；　without　a　friend　in　the　world；　all　the　inquiries　I　have　
been　able　to　make；　confirm　the　statement。　Let　me　hear　your　
story—where　you　come　from；　who　brought　you　up；　and　how　you　
got　into　the　company　in　which　I　found　you。　Speak　the　truth；　and　
you　shall　not　be　friendless　while　I　live。”　

Oliver’s　sobs　checked　his　utterance　for　some　minutes；　when　he　
was　on　the　point　of　beginning　to　relate　how　he　had　been　brought　
up　at　the　farm；　and　carried　to　the　workhouse　by　Mr。　Bumble；　a　
peculiarly　impatient　little　double…knock　was　heard　at　the　street　
door；　and　the　servant；　running　upstairs；　announced　Mr。　Grimwig。　

“Is　he　coming　up？”　inquired　Mr。　Brownlow。　

“Yes；　sir；”　replied　the　servant。　“He　asked　if　there　were　any　
muffins　in　the　house；　and；　when　I　told　him　yes；　he　said　he　had　
come　to　tea。”　

Mr。　Brownlow　smiled；　and；　turning　to　Oliver；　said　that　Mr。　
Grimwig　was　an　old　friend　of　h