“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. “Call a coach, somebody, pray. Directly!”

A coach was obtained, and Oliver having been carefully laid on the seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other.

“May I accompany you?” said the bookstall keeper, looking in.

“Bless me, yes, my dear sir,” said Mr. Brownlow quickly. “I forgot you. Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! There’s no time to lose.”

The bookstall keeper got into the coach; and away they drove.