'Mrs.Sowerberry, will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear ?' Mrs.Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and presented the form of a short, then, squeezed-up woman, with a vixenish countenance.
'My dear,' said Mr.Sowerberry, deferentially, 'this is the boy from the workhouse that I told you of.' Oliver bowed again.
'Dear me!' said the undertaker's wife, 'he's very small.' 'Why, he _is_ rather small,' replied Mr.Bumble: looking at Oliver as if it were his fault that he was no bigger; 'he is small.

There's no denying it.

But he'll grow, Mrs.Sowerberry--he'll grow.' 'Ah! I dare say he will,' replied the lady pettishly, 'on our victuals and our drink.

I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they always cost more to keep, than they're worth.

However, men always think they know best.