'You know you've got no father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don't you ?' 'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.
'What are you crying for ?' inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

And to be sure it was very extraordinary.

What _could_ the boy be crying for?
'I hope you say your prayers every night,' said another gentleman in a gruff voice; 'and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of you--like a Christian.' 'Yes, sir,' stammered the boy.

The gentleman who spoke last was unconsciously right.

It would have been very like a Christian, and a marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people who fed and took care of _him_.