At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met
her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young. There
was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt
ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.
He sat down to the dinner that had been boarding for him by the fire; and when
she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared
embarrassed how to answer. `Is it good.' she said, `or bad?' -- to help him. `Bad,'
he answered. `We are quite ruined.' `No. There is hope yet, Caroline.' `If he relents,'
she said, amazed, `there is. Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.'
`He is past relenting,' said her husband. `He is dead.'
She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke truth; but she was thankful
in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness
the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of her heart. `What
the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to
see him and obtain a week's delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid
me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then.'
`To whom will our debt be transferred.' `I don't know. But before that time we shall
be ready with the money; and even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune
indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with
light hearts, Caroline.'
Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's faces,
hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter;
and it was a happier house for this man's death. The only emotion that the Ghost
could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure. `Let me see some tenderness
connected with a death,' said Scrooge;' or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left
just now, will be for ever present to me.'
The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and as
they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was
he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the dwelling he had visited
before; and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.
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 when ever 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
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
courts,' 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,
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
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 aye reversed, he saw an
alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down
into a bedpost.
Stave 5: 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. Oh Jacob Marley. Heaven,
and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken
voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict
with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears. `They are not torn down.' cried
Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms,' they are not torn down, rings
and all. They are here -- I am here -- the shadows of the things that would have
been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will.'
His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out,
putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to
every kind of extravagance. `I don't know what to do.' cried Scrooge, laughing and
crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings.
`I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy.
I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody. A happy New Year
to all the world. Hallo here. Whoop. Hallo.'
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.
`There's the saucepan that the gruel was in.' cried Scrooge, starting off again,
and going round the fireplace. `There's the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley
entered. There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat. There's the
window where I saw the wandering Spirits. It's all right, it's all true, it all
happened. Ha ha ha.'
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid
laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
`I don't know what day of the month it is.' said Scrooge. `I don't know how long
I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind.
I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo. Whoop. Hallo here.'
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals
he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer,
clang, clash. Oh, glorious, glorious.
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear,
bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight;
Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious. `What's to-day.'
cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered
in to look about him. `Eh.' returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. `What's
to-day, my fine fellow.' said Scrooge. `To-day.' replied the boy. `Why, Christmas
Day.' `It's Christmas Day.' said Scrooge to himself. `I haven't missed it. The Spirits
have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can.
Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow.' `Hallo.' returned the boy. `Do you know
the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner.' Scrooge inquired. `I
should hope I did,' replied the lad. `An intelligent boy.' said Scrooge. `A remarkable
boy. Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there
-- Not the little prize Turkey: the big one.' `What, the one as big as me.' returned
the boy. `What a delightful boy.' said Scrooge. `It's a pleasure to talk to him.
Yes, my buck.' `It's hanging there now,' replied the boy. `Is it.' said Scrooge.
`Go and buy it.' `Walk-er.' exclaimed the boy. `No, no,' said Scrooge, `I am in
earnest. Go and buy it, and tell them to bring it here, that I may give them the
direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling.
Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll give you half-a-crown.'