Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.
'Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,' said Mrs.Mann.
Oliver made a bow, which was divided between 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 upward, 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.

Young as he was, however, 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 tears into his eyes.