A Brave and Honest Boy, Oliver Twist Page #3

"A Brave and Honest Boy, Oliver Twist" is a retelling of Charles Dickens' classic tale, "Oliver Twist," which follows the journey of a young orphan boy named Oliver. Born into a life of poverty and hardship in a workhouse, Oliver escapes to seek a better life in London. Along the way, he encounters a colorful cast of characters, including kind-hearted souls and criminal elements, as he grapples with issues of morality, identity, and the search for belonging. Through his courage and innocence, Oliver's story highlights the struggles of the underprivileged and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. This adaptation emphasizes themes of bravery, honesty, and the quest for love and acceptance.

• Children

								

hung; which is more likely than either, isn't it?"

Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and table;
seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of his rage, till
his teeth chattered in his head; and, collecting his whole force into
one heavy blow, felled him to the ground.

A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejected creature that
harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused at last; the
cruel insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire. His breast
heaved; his form was erect; his eye bright and vivid; his whole person
changed, as he stood glaring over the cowardly tormentor who now lay
crouching at his feet; and defied him with an energy he had never known
before.

"He'll murder me!" blubbered Noah. "Charlotte! missis! Here's the new
boy a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad! Char--lotte!"

Noah's shouts were responded to by a loud scream from Charlotte and a
louder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into the kitchen
by a side-door, while the latter paused on the staircase till she was
quite certain that it was safe to come farther down.

"Oh, you little wretch!" screamed Charlotte, seizing Oliver with her
utmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderately strong man
in particularly good training. "Oh, you little un-grate-ful,
mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!" And between every syllable Charlotte gave
Oliver a blow with all her might.

Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; and Mrs. Sowerberry
plunged into the kitchen and assisted to hold him with one hand, while
she scratched his face with the other. In this favorable position of
affairs, Noah rose from the ground and pommeled him behind.

When they were all wearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, they
dragged Oliver, struggling and shouting, but nothing daunted, into the
dust-cellar, and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry
sunk into a chair and burst into tears.

"Oh! Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "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.

"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 door did seem as if
he would break it.

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

"Or the millingtary," suggested Noah.

"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!"

Noah set off with all his might, and paused not once for breath until he
reached the workhouse gate.

"Why, what's the matter with the boy!" said the people as Noah rushed
up.

"Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!" cried Noah, with well-pretended alarm. "Oh,
Mr. Bumble, sir! Oliver, sir--Oliver has--"

"What? What?" interposed Mr. Bumble, with a gleam of pleasure in his
steel-like 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.
"He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder Charlotte; and
then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!" And
here Noah writhed and twisted his body into an extensive variety of
eel-like positions, by which the gentleman's notice was very soon
attracted; for he had not walked three paces, when he turned angrily
round and inquired what that young cur was howling for.

"It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. Bumble, "who
has been nearly murdered--all but murdered, sir--by young Twist."

"By Jove!" exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping
short. "I knew it! I felt from the very first that that terrible young
savage would come to be hung!"

"He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant," said Mr.
Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness.

"And his missis," interposed Noah.

"And his master, too. I think you said, Noah?" added Mr. Bumble.

"No! he's out, or he would have murdered him," replied Noah. "He said he
wanted to."

"Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?" inquired the gentleman in the
white waistcoat.

"Yes, sir. And please, sir," replied Noah, "missis wants to know whether
Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog
him--'cause master's out."

"Certainly, my boy; certainly," said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat, smiling benignly and patting Noah's head, which was about
three inches higher than his own. "You're a good boy--a very good boy.
Here's a penny for you. Bumble just step up to Sowerberry's with your
cane, and see what's to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble."

"No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle as he hurried away.

Meantime, Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished vigor, at the
cellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity, as related by Mrs. Sowerberry
and Charlotte, were of so startling a nature that Mr. Bumble judged it
prudent to parley before opening the door. With this view he gave a kick
at the outside, by way of prelude; and then, putting his mouth to the
keyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone:

"Oliver!"

"Come, you let me out!" replied Oliver, from the inside.

"Do you know this here voice, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble.

"Yes," replied Oliver.

"Ain't you afraid of it, sir? Ain't you a-trembling while I speak, sir?"
said Mr. Bumble.

"No!" replied Oliver, boldly.

An answer so different from the one he had expected to hear, and was in
the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little.

"Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "No
boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you."

"It's not madness, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments of
deep meditation. "It's meat."

"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.

"Meat, ma'am, meat," replied Bumble, with stern emphasis. "You've
overfed him, ma'am."

"Dear, dear!" ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising her eyes to
the kitchen ceiling; "this comes of being liberal!"

The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver had consisted in a bestowal
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