A Christmas Carrol  

Seite 13.)

                       Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking
                        up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing.
                        But surely they were very quiet!

                        '"And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them."'

                        Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them
                        out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on?

                        The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.

                        'The colour hurts my eyes,' she said.

                        The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

                        'They're better now again,' said Cratchit's wife. 'It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn't
                        show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.'

                        'Past it rather,' Peter answered, shutting up his book. 'But I think he has walked a little slower than
                        he used, these few last evenings, mother.'

                        They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered
                        once:

                        'I have known him walk with- I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast
                        indeed.'

                        'And so have I,' cried Peter. 'Often.'

                        'And so have I,' exclaimed another. So had all.

                        'But he was very light to carry,' she resumed, intent upon her work, 'and his father loved him so,
                        that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!'

                        She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter- he had need of it, poor fellow- came in.
                        His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the
                        two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if
                        they said, 'Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!'

                        Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work
                        upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be
                        done long before Sunday, he said.

                        'Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?' said his wife.

                        'Yes, my dear,' returned Bob. 'I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see
                        how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday.
                        My little, little child!' cried Bob. 'My little child!'

                        He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would
                        have been farther apart perhaps than they were.

                        He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung
                        with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one
                        having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed
                        himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again
                        quite happy.

                        They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the
                        extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge's nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who,
                        meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little- 'just a little down you know,'
                        said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. 'On which,' said Bob, 'for he is the
                        pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. "I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,"
                        he said, "and heartily sorry for your good wife." By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don't know.'

                        'Knew what, my dear?'

                        'Why, that you were a good wife,' replied Bob.

                        'Everybody knows that!' said Peter.

                        'Very well observed, my boy!' cried Bob. 'I hope they do. "Heartily sorry," he said, "for your good
                        wife. If I can be of service to you in any way," he said, giving me his card, "that's where I live. Pray
                        come to me." Now, it wasn't,' cried Bob, 'for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so
                        much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our
                        Tiny Tim, and felt with us.'

                        'I'm sure he's a good soul!' said Mrs. Cratchit.

                        'You would be surer of it, my dear,' returned Bob, 'if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all
                        surprised- mark what I say!- if he got Peter a better situation.'

                        'Only hear that, Peter,' said Mrs. Cratchit.

                        'And then,' cried one of the girls, 'Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for
                        himself.'

                        'Get along with you!' retorted Peter, grinning.

                        'It's just as likely as not,' said Bob, 'one of these days; though there's plenty of time for that, my
                        dear. But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget
                        poor Tiny Tim- shall we- or this first parting that there was among us?'

                        'Never, father!' cried they all.

                        'And I know,' said Bob, 'I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he
                        was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves,

                        and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.'

                        'No, never, father!' they all cried again.

                        'I am very happy,' said little Bob, 'I am very happy!'

                        Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter
                        and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!

                        'Spectre,' said Scrooge, 'something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I
                        know not how. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead?'

                        The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before- though at a different time, he
                        thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the Future-
                        into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for
                        anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry
                        for a moment.

                        'This court,' said Scrooge, 'through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and
                        has been for a length of time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!'

                        The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

                        'The house is yonder,' Scrooge exclaimed. 'Why do you point away?'

                        The inexorable finger underwent no change.

                        Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The
                        furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as
                        before.

                        He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they
                        reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering.

                        A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the
                        ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of
                        vegetation's death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy
                        place!

                        The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling.
                        The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn
                        shape.

                        'Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,' said Scrooge, 'answer me one question. Are
                        these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?'

                        Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

                        'Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,' said
                        Scrooge. 'But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you
                        show me!'

                        The Spirit was immovable as ever.

                        Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of
                        the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.

                        'Am I that man who lay upon the bed?' he cried, upon his knees.

                        The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

                        'No, Spirit! Oh, no, no!'

                        The finger still was there.

                        'Spirit!' he cried, tight clutching at its robe, 'hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I
                        must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!'

                        For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

                        'Good Spirit,' he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: 'Your nature intercedes for me,
                        and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered
                        life!'

                        The kind hand trembled.

                        'I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the
                        Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the
                        lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!'

                        In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his
                        entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.

                        Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the
                        Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

                        Stave V

                        The End of It

                        YES! AND THE BEDPOST WAS HIS own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and
                        happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

                        'I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!' Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed.
                        'The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.