tween the beadle on the chair and the cocked hat on the table.
"Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble in a majestic voice.
Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great readiness, when, glancing upwards, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.
"Will she go with me?" inquired poor Oliver.
"No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble; "but she'll come and see you sometimes."
This was no very great consolation to the child; but, young as he was, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call the tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very
