The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his shop, was making some entries in his daybook by the light of a most appropriate dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.

“Aha!” said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing in the middle of a word; “is that you, Bumble?”

“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” replied the beadle. “Here! I’ve brought the boy.” Oliver made a bow.

“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker: raising the candle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. “ Mrs. Sowerberry, will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear?”