When Oliver came down to the housekeeper's room one morning, he glanced up at the portrait of the lady. But it wasn't there anymore.
"Why have they taken it away?" he asked Mrs. Bedwin.
"Mr. Brownlow thought it bothered you. He didn't want it to prevent you from getting well."
"Oh, no, it didn't bother me. I liked to see it. I quite loved it."
"Well, you get better as fast as you can, dear, and it will be hung up again. Now let's talk of something else."
Those were happy days for Oliver. Everything was so quiet and neat in this house. Everybody was so kind and gentle. Mr. Brownlow bought Oliver a new set of clothes and shoes. Oliver gave his old things to a servant who had been nice to him. He wanted her to sell the clothes and keep the money for herself.
Late one afternoon Mr. Brownlow asked Oliver to come upstairs to his study. Oliver found himself in a little room full of books overlooking a pleasant garden. Mr. Brownlow was reading at a table.
"Now I want you to pay attention to what I'm saying," began Mr. Brownlow.
Oliver instantly felt alarmed. "Oh, don't tell me you're going to send me away!"
"My dear child, I will never abandon you unless you give me cause."
"I never will, sir."
"I hope not. I've been deceived in the past by people whom I've tried to help. But I feel strongly that I can trust you. I only want you to know that I've suffered great pain and sorrow so that you'll be careful not to wound me. Now I want to hear your story. Who were your parents? Where did you live?"
But before Oliver could respond, Mrs. Bedwin came in and laid some books on the table. The bookseller's boy had just delivered them.
"Ask the boy to wait," said Mr. Brownlow.
"He has gone, sir," replied Mrs. Bedwin.
"Call down the street after him. The bookseller is a poor man, and these books are not paid for. I want him to have the money today. There are some books to be taken back too."
Mrs. Bedwin and Oliver rushed downstairs. The housekeeper stood on the front step and called for the boy. Oliver ran one way down the street and a servant girl ran the other. Soon Oliver and the girl returned to report that they couldn't find the boy.
"Dear me, I'm very sorry about that," said Mr. Brownlow, who had joined them. "I particularly wished those books to be returned tonight."
"Send Oliver to the bookseller's with them," suggested Mrs. Bedwin.
"Yes, do let me take them, sir," said Oliver. "I'll run all the way."
The old gentleman nodded. "The books are on a chair by my table. Please fetch them."
Delighted to be of use, Oliver brought down the books in a great bustle. He waited, cap in hand, to hear what message he was to take.
"You're to say that you've brought those books back because I've decided not to buy them. You should then pay the four pounds I owe." Mr. Brownlow handed Oliver some money. "This is a five-pound note, so you must bring back the change."
"I'll be back in ten minutes, sir." Oliver put the money in his pocket and picked up the books. Then he made a respectful bow and left the room.
Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the front door. "Bless his sweet face!" she said as Oliver departed. "Somehow I can't bear to let him out of my sight."
At that moment Oliver looked back at her and nodded before he turned the corner. Mrs. Bedwin smiled back at him and closed the door.
Mr. Brownlow had returned to his study upstairs. "Let me see, he'll be back in twenty minutes at the most," he murmured, pulling out his watch and laying it on the table. "It'll be dark by that time."
Meanwhile Oliver walked toward the bookseller's. When he was almost there, he accidentally turned down a side street. He didn't realize his mistake until he was halfway down the street. Thinking it must lead in the right direction, he didn't turn back. He was walking along, thinking how happy he was, when he was startled by a young woman.
"Oh, my dear brother!" she screamed, throwing her arms tightly around his neck.
"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who are you? Why are you stopping me?"
The only reply to this was more cries from the young woman, who was wearing a white apron and carrying a little basket.
"Oh, my gracious!" said the young woman. "I've found him! Oh, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me suffer such distress on your account."
And with that she burst into such tears that a woman passing by asked if she needed a doctor.
"Oh, no, never mind. I'm better now." The young woman grasped Oliver's hand. "Come home right now, you cruel boy."
"What's the matter, ma'am?" inquired the other woman.
"About a month ago he ran away from his parents, who are hardworking and respectable people. He went and joined a group of thieves and almost broke his mother's heart."
"Do go home, you little brute," said the other woman.
"But I don't know her," said Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't have a sister or a mother or father. I'm an orphan and I live with Mr. Brownlow now."
"Oh, hear, how he keeps it up," said the young woman.
"Why, it's Nancy!" exclaimed Oliver, who now saw her face for the first time.
"You see, he does know me!" cried Nancy, appealing to the crowd that had begun to gather. "Make him come home before he kills his dear mother and father and breaks my heart."
"What on earth is this?" said a man, bursting out from a pub with a white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver, come home directly."
"I don't belong to them. I don't know them. Help! Help!" Oliver struggled in the man's powerful grasp.
"Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal," said the man. "Whose books are these? You've been stealing them, haven't you?"
With that, he snatched the books from Oliver's grasp and dragged the boy away.
At Mr. Brownlow's house, the gas lamps were lighted. Mrs. Bedwin was waiting anxiously at the open door. A servant had run up the street many times to see if there was any trace of Oliver. And Mr. Brownlow sat in his dark study with his watch on the table.