Chapter 4
(narrated by Daniel)
London
Oliver looked to the right and to the left. He did not know where to go. He remembered that vehicles and horses went up the hill as they left the town. He remembered walking along this path with Mr Bumble, and he took the same road. Soon he passed the workhouse. Outside, a small child was working in the garden.
Oliver stopped. It was Dick, one of his old friends. He was very glad to see him before he left. They had been hungry and beaten and locked up together many times. The boy ran to the gate and pushed his arms through the bars.
'You mustn't say that you saw me, Dick,' said Oliver. 'I am running away. They beat me and were cruel to me. I am going to try and find a better life, somewhere far away. I don't know where! You are very pale!'
'I heard the doctor tell them that I was dying,' replied the child with a faint smile. 'I am very glad to see you, but don't stop, don't stop!'
'Yes, yes, I will, to say goodbye to you,' replied Oliver.
Dick climbed up the gate and put his arms around Oliver's neck and kissed him.
'Goodbye! God, bless you!' he said.
It was the first time in Oliver's sad little life that another person had blessed him, and he never forgot it.
It was eight o'clock now, and Oliver ran. He was afraid that they might follow him and catch him. At last he sat down by a big stone. The stone showed that it was just seventy miles from that place to London. London! That great city! Nobody could find him there. He had heard people talk about it. They said that a boy need not be poor and hungry there. It was a good place for a homeless boy to go, he told himself. He jumped to his feet and continued walking.
Oliver had a piece of dry bread, an old shirt and two pairs of socks. He had a penny, too, that Mr Sowerberry had given him one day when he had been pleased with Oliver's work.
'But these won't help me to walk seventy miles in the winter time,' he thought.
He walked twenty miles that day. He ate only the piece of dry bread, and drank water that people gave him along the road.
When night came, he slept in a field. He was frightened at first, and very cold and hungry. But he was tired, and he soon fell asleep and forgot his troubles.
Next morning he had to spend his penny on bread. He walked twelve miles that day. Another night in the cold air made him feel worse. His feet hurt, and his legs were weak.
As the days passed, he grew weaker and weaker. A man gave him a meal of bread and cheese, and an old lady gave him food and some kind words. Without these, Oliver imagined, he would die on the road.
Early on the seventh morning, Oliver walked slowly into the little town of Barnet, a few miles from London. The streets were empty. Oliver sat on a doorstep. He was covered in dust, and there was blood on his feet.
Soon people began to pass, but no one offered to help him.
He watched a coach and horses go past. It was strange, he thought, that it could travel the distance to London in a few hours. It had taken him a whole week to walk. He did not know what to do, so he just sat there.
Then he saw a boy looking at him. The boy had passed Oliver once and then returned. Oliver raised his head and looked at him. The boy walked across the road to Oliver.
'Hello! What is the trouble?'
He was a strange boy. He was about Oliver's age, but he behaved like a man. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his feet, and a man's hat.
'What is the matter?' he asked Oliver.
'I am very hungry and tired,' said Oliver. 'I have been walking for seven days.'
His eyes filled with tears.
'Seven days!' said the boy. 'Oh, you need food. I will pay for you. Get up now!'
He helped Oliver to stand up, and took him to an inn. There he bought some bread and meat and something to drink. Oliver had a good meal with his new friend.
'Are you going to London?' asked the strange boy, when Oliver had finished at last.
'Yes.'
'Have you got anywhere to stay? Any money? '
'No. Do you live in London?' asked Oliver.
'Yes, I do, when I am at home. I suppose you want somewhere to sleep tonight?'
'Yes,' answered Oliver. 'I haven't slept under a roof since I left the country.'
'Don't worry about it,' said the boy. 'I am going to London tonight, and I know an old gentleman who will give you a bed for nothing. He knows me very well.'
Oliver learned that the boy's name was Jack Dawkins. As Jack refused to enter London before dark, they did not reach the city until nearly eleven o'clock. Oliver followed him down a narrow street into one of the dirtiest places that he had ever seen. The
people looked dirty, and some were drunk.
Oliver began to think that he ought to run away. But suddenly Dawkins caught his arm, pushed open the door of a house and pulled him inside.
Dawkins helped Oliver up the dark and broken stairs. He threw open a door and pulled Oliver in after him.
The walls of the room were very dirty. Some meat was cooking over the fire. There was an old man standing by the fire.
He was dressed in strange clothes and most of his evil-looking face was hidden by his red hair. Half the time his attention was on his cooking. The rest of the time he was watching a line on which a lot of handkerchiefs were hanging. There were rough beds side by side on the floor. Four or five boys were sitting round the table, smoking long pipes.
'Fagin,' said Jack Dawkins to the old man, 'this is my friend Oliver Twist.'
The old man took Oliver's hand and said that he hoped to become his friend too. Then the young men with the pipes came round and shook both Oliver's hands very hard, especially the hand in which he held his handkerchief. One young man was anxious to hang up his hat for him. Another put his hands in Oliver's pockets to empty them for Oliver before he went to bed.
'We are very glad to see you, Oliver,' said Fagin. 'Ah, you are looking at those handkerchiefs. We put them there ready to wash.'
'Ha! Ha! Ha!'
The boys all laughed at this, and they began to have their supper. Oliver ate with them. Then they gave him a bed on the floor and he fell asleep immediately.