A Brave and Honest Boy, Oliver Twist Page #4

"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

								

upon him of all the dirty odds and ends which nobody else would eat.

"Ah!" said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down to earth
again; "the only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to leave
him in the cellar for a day or so, till he's a little starved down; and
then to take him out, and keep him on gruel all through his
apprenticeship. He comes of a bad family. Excitable natures, Mrs.
Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor 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 moment. Oliver's offense 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.

"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 nothing else to do; so he at
once gave Oliver a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs. Sowerberry
herself. For the rest of the day he was shut up in the backs 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
kind to the memory of his mother, looked into the room, and, amidst the
jeers and pointings of Noah and Charlotte, ordered him up-stairs to his
dismal bed.

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 was none to see or hear him, he
fell upon his knees on the floor; and, hiding his face in his hands,
wept bitter tears and prayed in his bleeding heart that God would help
him to get away from these cruel people. There, upon his knees, Oliver
determined to run away, and, rising, tied up a few clothes in a
handkerchief and went to bed.

With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in the
shutters, Oliver arose and 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 which way to fly. He
remembered to have seen the wagons, as they went out, toiling up the
hill. He took the same route; and arriving at a foot-path across the
fields, which he knew, after some distance, led out again into the road,
struck into it, and walked quickly on.

Along this same foot-path, Oliver well remembered he had trotted beside
Mr. Bumble when he first carried him to the workhouse from the farm. 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 the people inside
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 anyone 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!"

"Yes, yes, I will to say good-by 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
around Oliver's neck: "Good-by, 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.

Oliver soon got into 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 mile-stone.

The stone by which he was seated had a sign on it which said 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 in the 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 made the distance between himself and London less by full four
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