Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter

of an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second

slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the

care of an old woman, returned; and, telling him it was a board

night, informed him that the board had said he was to appear

Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board

was, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was

not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no