“Well, never you mind that, my dear,” said the old lady; “that’s got nothing to do with your broth; and it’s full time you had it; for the doctor says Mr. Brownlow may come in to see you this morning; and we must get up our best looks, because the better we look, the more he’ll be pleased.” And with this, the old lady applied herself to warming up, in a little saucepan, a basin full of broth: strong enough, Oliver thought, to furnish an ample dinner, when reduced to the regulation strength, for three hundred and fifty paupers, at the lowest computation.

“Are you fond of pictures, dear?” inquired the old lady, seeing that Oliver had fixed his eyes, most intently, on a portrait which hung against the wall; just opposite his chair.

“I don’t quite know, ma’am,” said Oliver, without taking his eyes from the canvas; “I have seen so few that I hardly know. What a beautiful, mild face that lady’s is!”