alike and had little to eat and many whippings.

Mr. Bumble, the master of the poorhouse, was a pompous, self-important
bully who browbeat every one weaker than himself and scolded and cuffed
the paupers to his heart's content. It was he who named the baby "Oliver
Twist." He used to name all the babies as they came along, by the
letters of the alphabet. The one before Oliver was named Swubble; then
came Oliver with a T; the next would be Unwin, the next Vilkins, and so
on down to Z. Then he would begin the alphabet all over again.

Little Oliver, the baby, grew without any idea of who he was. When he
was a year old he was sent to the poor-farm where an old woman took care
of orphan children for a very small sum apiece each week. This money,
which was paid by the town, was hardly enough to buy them food, but
nevertheless the old woman took good care to save the bigger share for
herself.

He lived there till he was a pale, handsome boy of nine years, and then
he was taken to the workhouse, where, with many other boys of his own
age or older, he had to work hard all day picking oakum.

The boys had nothing but thin gruel for their meals, with an onion twice
a week and half a roll on Sundays. They ate in a great stone hall, in
one end of which stood the big copper of gruel which Mr. Bumble ladled
out. Each boy got only one helping, and the bowls never needed washing,
because, when the meal was through, there was not a drop of gruel left
in them. After each meal they all sat staring at the copper and sucking
their fingers, but nobody dared ask for more.

One day they felt so terribly hungry that one of the biggest boys said
unless he got another helping of gruel he was afraid he would have to
eat the boy who slept next him. The little boys all believed this and
cast lots to see who should ask for more. It fell to Oliver Twist.

So that night after supper, though he was dreadfully frightened, Oliver
rose and went up to the end of the room and said to Mr. Bumble, "Please,
sir, I want some more."

Mr. Bumble was so surprised he turned pale. "What!" he gasped.

"Please, sir," said Oliver again, "I want some more."

Mr. Bumble picked up the ladle and struck Oliver on the head with it;
then he pounced on him and shook him. When he was tired shaking him, he
dragged him away and shut him up in a dark room, where he stayed a whole
week, and was only taken out once a day to be whipped. Then, to make an
example of him, a noti