At least half a dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box, besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other articles of jewellery, of such magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that Oliver had no idea, even of their names.

At length the bright, dark eyes of the Jew, which had been staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver’s face; the boy’s eyes were fixed on his in mute curiosity; and, although the recognition was only for an instant,—­it was enough to show the man that he had been observed.  He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a bread knife which was on the table, started furiously up.

“What’s that?” said the Jew.  “What do you watch me for?  Why are you awake?  What have you seen?  Speak out, boy!  Quick—­quick! for your life!”

“I wasn’t able to sleep any longer, sir,” replied Oliver meekly.  “I am very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir.”

“You were not awake an hour ago?” said the Jew, scowling fiercely.

“No!  No indeed!” replied Oliver.

“Are you sure?” cried the Jew, with a still fiercer look than before, and a threatening attitude.

“Upon my word I was not, sir,” replied Oliver, earnestly.  “I was not, indeed, sir.”

“Tush, tush, my dear!” said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner.  “Of course I know that, my dear, I only tried to frighten you.  You’re a brave boy.  Ha! ha! you’re a brave boy, Oliver!”

The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding.

“Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?” said the Jew.

“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver.

“Ah!” said Fagin, turning rather pale.  “They—­they’re mine, Oliver; my little property.  All I have to live upon in my old age.  The folks call me a miser, my dear.  Only a miser; that’s all.”

Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a dirty place, with so many watches; but thinking that perhaps his fondness for the Dodger and the other boys, cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a deferential look at the Jew, and asked if he might get up.  Permission being granted him, he got up, walked across the room, and stooped for an instant to raise the water-pitcher.  When he turned his head, the box was gone.

Presently the Dodger returned with a friend, Charley Bates, and the four sat down to a breakfast of coffee, and some hot rolls, and ham, which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat.

“Well,” said the Jew, “I hope you’ve been at work this morning, my dears?”

“Hard,” replied the Dodger.

“As Nails,” added Charley Bates.

“Good boys, good boys!” said the Jew.  “What have you got, Dodger?”

“A couple of pocket-books,” replied the young gentleman.

“Lined?” inquired the Jew, with eagerness.

“Pretty well,” replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books.