'Well! Of _all_ the ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the--' 'No, no, sir,' sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the well-known cane; 'no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so--so--' 'So what ?' inquired Mr.Bumble in amazement.
'So lonely, sir! So very lonely!' cried the child.

'Everybody hates me.

Oh! sir, don't, don't pray be cross to me!' The child beat his hand upon his heart; and looked in his companion's face, with tears of real agony.
Mr.Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous and helpless look, with some astonishment, for a few seconds; hemmed three or four times in a husky manner; and after muttering something about 'that troublesome cough,' bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy.

Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with him in silence.
The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his shop, was making some entries in his day-book by the light of a most appropriate dismal candle, when Mr.Bumble entered.
'Aha!' said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing in the middle of a word; 'is that you, Bumble ?' 'No one else, Mr.Sowerberry,' replied the beadle.

'Here! I've brought the boy.' Oliver made a bow.
'Oh! that's the boy, is it ?' said the undertaker: raising the candle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver.