“Is Mr. Brownlow at home?” inquired Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened the door. To this inquiry the girl returned the not uncommon, but rather evasive reply of, “I don’t know—where do you come from?” Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver’s name in explanation of his errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at the parlour-door, hastened into the passage in a breathless state. “Come in—come in,” said the old lady: “I knew we should hear of him. Poor dear! I knew we should,—I was certain of it. Bless his heart! I said so all along.” Having said this, the worthy old lady hurried back into the parlour again, and, seating herself on a sofa, burst into tears. The girl, who was not quite so susceptible, had run up-stairs meanwhile, and now returned with a request that Mr. Bumble would follow her immediately, which he did. He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his friend Mr. Grimwig, with decanters and glasses before them. The latter gentleman eyed him closely, and at once burst into the exclamation, “A beadle—a parish beadle, or I’ll eat my head!” “Pray don’t interrupt just now,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Take a seat, will you?” Mr. Bumble sat himself down, quite confounded by the oddity of Mr. Grimwig’s manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp so as to obtain an uninterrupted view of the beadle’s countenance, and said with a little impatience, “Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen the advertisement?” “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bumble. “And you _are_ a beadle, are you not?” inquired Mr. Grimwig. “I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen,” rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly. “Of course,” observed Mr. Grimwig aside to his friend. “I knew he was. His greatcoat is a parochial cut, and he looks a beadle all over.” Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on his friend, and resumed: “Do you know where this poor boy is now?” “No more than nobody,” replied Mr. Bumble. “Well, what _do_ you know of him?” inquired the old gentleman. “Speak out, my friend, if you have anything to say. What do you know of him?” “You don’t happen to know any good of him, do you?” said Mr. Grimwig caustically, after an attentive perusal of Mr. Bumble’s features. Mr. Bumble caught at the inquiry very quickly, and shook his head with portentous solemnity. “You see this?” said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumphantly at Mr. Brownlow. Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Bumble’s pursed-up countenance, and requested him to communicate what he knew regarding Oliver, in as few words as possible. Mr. Bumble put down his hat, unbuttoned his coat, folded his arms, inclined his head in a retrospective manner, and, after a few moments’ reflection, commenced his story.