December 7, 1828

… I lost exactly 35.24 pounds that night thanks to the cheating of the Dodger and the trickiness of Messrs. Peter and Samuel. I hoped that I could win without stooping to their level. Darn!

The next day, Sunday, was just like Saturday. Everyone stayed in bed. I awoke once again to the sound of silence. I got up, all the same, and went into the kitchen. I spent an hour trying to cook breakfast for myself. Not because I am a bad cook or can't follow a recipe, but because I had a hard time trying to find all the cookery items I needed. Nothing was put away in logical manner. I spent ten minutes trying to locate a missing measuring spoon – and I never found it. Basically, it was one of the most trying things – a nightmare to any chef!

By the time I was washing up, Fagin emerged from his bedroom. He looked tired. He had been out late last night (who knows where?) and I had not seen him since seven p.m.

He walked over to another door leading from the room and put his ear to it. He listened for some time and then came on over.

"Good morning, my dear. I was just checking…"

Crash, Crash, BANG!!!! THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

"Ah, yes," he grinned at me, " the boys are awake."

I guess that that was what he was listening for. He gave a sheepish smile that plainly told that his enthusiasm about the "awakening" of the boys was purely sarcastic. He sighed as the boys began to come down the stairs and into the room.

"Breakfast time, my dears!" said the old gentleman. He pulled out a pan and filled it with water.

"What's that you're cooking?" asked one of the smaller boys.

"Oatmeal," was the answer.

The boy crinkled his nose and made a gagging noise. There was an explosion of laughter from the rest of the crowd at this pantomime of the effects of oatmeal on the body.

Fagin, once he had the chance, jokingly tapped the boy on the head with a wooden spoon as punishment.

"Have you eaten, my dear Tom?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?" asked another boy.

"An omelet," I answered, feeling a bit guilty.

"That's not fair!" cried someone.

"Yes, that isn't far at all! If you're a mast'r chef, why don't you cook for us?" cried Peter.

"Yer, can't ask for that! George is allergic to eggs! Ha, ha, ha…!" Charlie was obviously in perfect health now – not only in body, but also in character.

Now everyone was talking and laughing all at once. They made jokes about the blandness of the menu – some saying that this was not a five-star restaurant and that they would not recommend it to their friends. This was often met with a reply that the said friends were in that very room and needed no recommendation. Others (mostly the younger ones who had less intellect and skill the art of crafty jest) were pleased simply to mimic the afore-said pantomime. Everything was getting toward a chaotic state, when the elderly gentleman stepped in…

"SILENCE!" Fagin was standing in front of the fire, spoon in hand, and he glared at all the children. They fell silent and still at once. I didn't blame them. Fagin seemed to grow menacing with the fire behind him and his eerie shadow covering the entire right wall, "I will have no more complaints! You will give us away! Go upstairs!" He pointed towards heaven with his spoon.

They all ran back up to the second floor as quick as if they had been set on fire. Only the elderly gentleman and I were left. He turned back to the fire and grabbed the pan off the flames. He tossed the water out the window and then sat down at the table.

"I don't know what got into me, my dear," he sighed again and rested his head on his hand. We stared at the fire for a while.

I ventured to break the silence, "You need a vacation."

He nodded, rose from the chair, and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" I was surprised by his sudden actions.

"On vacation, my dear," he grabbed his had and greatcoat, "keep then in line while I'm gone."

And with that he left. I ran to the window and watched him until he turned the corner at the end of the lane. What was I to do now?…

Cheerio! A short one, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A special thanks to Broken Amethyst, Charlene Bates, and all the rest! More chapters and fun to come! – Elaine Dawkins