A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 22)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar<\/strong><\/p>\n to his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and<\/strong><\/p>\n there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They<\/strong><\/p>\n entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house; the dwelling he had<\/strong><\/p>\n visited before; and found the mother and the children seated<\/strong><\/p>\n round the fire.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as<\/strong><\/p>\n still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter,<\/strong><\/p>\n who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters<\/strong><\/p>\n were engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “‘And He took a child, and set him in the midst of<\/strong><\/p>\n them.'”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not<\/strong><\/p>\n dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as he<\/strong><\/p>\n and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not<\/strong><\/p>\n go on?<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her<\/strong><\/p>\n hand up to her face.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “They’re better now again,” said Cratchit’s wife. “It<\/strong><\/p>\n makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn’t show weak<\/strong><\/p>\n eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It<\/strong><\/p>\n must be near his time.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Past it rather,” Peter answered, shutting up his book.<\/strong><\/p>\n “But I think he has walked a little slower than he used,<\/strong><\/p>\n these few last evenings, mother.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a<\/strong><\/p>\n steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I have known him walk with–I have known him walk<\/strong><\/p>\n with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “And so have I,” cried Peter. “Often.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “And so have I,” exclaimed another. So had all.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “But he was very light to carry,” she resumed, intent upon<\/strong><\/p>\n her work, “and his father loved him so, that it was no<\/strong><\/p>\n trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter<\/strong><\/p>\n –he had need of it, poor fellow–came in. His tea<\/strong><\/p>\n was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should<\/strong><\/p>\n help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got<\/strong><\/p>\n upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against<\/strong><\/p>\n his face, as if they said, “Don’t mind it, father. Don’t be<\/strong><\/p>\n grieved!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to<\/strong><\/p>\n all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and<\/strong><\/p>\n praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls.<\/strong><\/p>\n They would be done long before Sunday, he said.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his<\/strong><\/p>\n wife.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Yes, my dear,” returned Bob. “I wish you could have<\/strong><\/p>\n gone. It would have done you good to see how green a<\/strong><\/p>\n place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised him that I<\/strong><\/p>\n would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!”<\/strong><\/p>\n cried Bob. “My little child!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He broke down all at once. He couldn’t help it. If he<\/strong><\/p>\n could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther<\/strong><\/p>\n apart perhaps than they were.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above,<\/strong><\/p>\n which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas.<\/strong><\/p>\n There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were<\/strong><\/p>\n signs of some one having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat<\/strong><\/p>\n down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed<\/strong><\/p>\n himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what<\/strong><\/p>\n had happened, and went down again quite happy.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother<\/strong><\/p>\n working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness<\/strong><\/p>\n of Mr. Scrooge’s nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but<\/strong><\/p>\n once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing<\/strong><\/p>\n that he looked a little–“just a little down you know,” said<\/strong><\/p>\n Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. “On<\/strong><\/p>\n which,” said Bob, “for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman<\/strong><\/p>\n you ever heard, I told him. ‘I am heartily sorry for it, Mr.<\/strong><\/p>\n Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and heartily sorry for your good wife.’<\/strong><\/p>\n By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don’t know.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Knew what, my dear?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Everybody knows that!” said Peter.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they<\/strong><\/p>\n can be of service to you in any way,’ he said, giving me<\/strong><\/p>\n his card, ‘that’s where I live. Pray come to me.’ Now, it<\/strong><\/p>\n wasn’t,” cried Bob, “for the sake of anything he might be<\/strong><\/p>\n able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was<\/strong><\/p>\n quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our<\/strong><\/p>\n Tiny Tim, and felt with us.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “if<\/strong><\/p>\n you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn’t be at all surprised–<\/strong><\/p>\n mark what I say!–if he got Peter a better situation.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping<\/strong><\/p>\n company with some one, and setting up for himself.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “It’s just as likely as not,” said Bob, “one of these days;<\/strong><\/p>\n though there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. But however<\/strong><\/p>\n and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we<\/strong><\/p>\n\n