Oliver Twist HTML version

Chapter 5
Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker's shop, set the lamp down on a workman's
bench, and gazed timidly about him with a feeling of awe and dread, which many people
a good deal older than he will be at no loss to understand. An unfinished coffin on black
tressels, which stood in the middle of the shop, looked so gloomy and death-like that a
cold tremble came over him, every time his eyes wandered in the direction of the dismal
object: from which he almost expected to see some frightful form slowly rear its head, to
drive him mad with terror. Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of
elm boards cut in the same shape: looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered ghosts
with their hands in their breeches pockets. Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails,
and shreds of black cloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counter was
ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very stiff neckcloths, on duty at a
large private door, with a hearse drawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance.
The shop was close and hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins.
The recess beneath the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust, looked like a
Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver. He was alone in a
strange place; and we all know how chilled and desolate the best of us will sometimes
feel in such a situation. The boy had no friends to care for, or to care for him. The regret
of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; the absence of no loved and well-
remembered face sank heavily into his heart.
But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he crept into his narrow bed,
that that were his coffin, and that he could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in the
churchyard ground, with the tall grass waving gently above his head, and the sound of the
old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep.
Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of the shop-door:
which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was repeated, in an angry and impetuous
manner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs desisted, and
a voice began.
'Open the door, will yer?' cried the voice which belonged to the legs which had kicked at
the door.
'I will, directly, sir,' replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and turning the key.
'I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer?' said the voice through the key-hole.
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver.