st was nine years old that day, and the
Board (which meant the men in charge) had decided they must take him
away from the farm and carry him back to the workhouse. Mrs. Mann
pretended to be very sorry, and she went out and brought Oliver in,
telling him on the way that he must appear very sorry to leave her,
otherwise she would beat him. So when Oliver was asked if he wanted to
go, he said he was sorry to leave there. This was not a falsehood, for,
miserable as the place was, he dearly loved his little companions. They
were all the people he knew; and he did feel sad, and really wept with
sorrow as he told them good-by and was led by Mr. Bumble back to the
workhouse, where he was born and where his mother died nine years ago
that very day.

When he got back there he found the old nurse who remembered his mother,
and she told him she was a beautiful sweet woman and how she had kissed
him and held him in her arms when she died. Night after night little
Oliver dreamed about his beautiful mother, and she seemed sometimes to
stand by his bed and to look down upon him with the same beautiful eyes
and the same sweet smile of which the nurse told him. Every time he had
the chance he asked questions about her, but the nurse could not tell
him anything more. She did not even know her name.

Oliver had been at the workhouse only a very short time when Mr. Bumble
came in and told him he must appear before the Board at once. Now Oliver
was puzzled at this. He thought a board was a piece of flat wood, and he
could not imagine why he was to appear before that. But he was too much
afraid of Mr. Bumble to ask any questions. This gentleman had treated
him roughly in bringing him to the workhouse; and, now, when he looked a
little puzzled--for his expressive face always told what was in his
honest little heart--Mr. Bumble gave him a sharp crack on the head with
his cane and another rap over the back and told him to wake up and not
look so sleepy, and to mind to be polite when he went before the Board.
Oliver could not help tears coming into his eyes as he was pushed along,
and Mr. Bumble gave him another sharp rap, telling him to hush, and
ushered him into a room where several stern-looking gentlemen sat at a
long table. One of them, in a white waistcoat, was particularly
hard-looking. "Bow to the Board," said Mr. Bumble to Oliver. Oliver
looked about for a board, and, seeing none, he bowed to the table,
because it looked more like a bo